#{ Once again... thank you so much for this ask! }

[deliwrites]

𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕆𝕦𝕣𝕤 // Saja Boys & Huntr/x

// DATE // 30th of June 2025 → 1st of July 2025 // PAIRING // Huntr/x x Fem!Reader x Saja Boys // WARNING // !!!Mention of a su*c*de attempt through song lyrics!!!, Morally gray actions, involuntary chocking, harassment, more award show shit that I struggle to write xD // WORDS // 3.3k+ // SUMMARY // At a music awards show, Y/n unexpectedly wins a coveted prize, thrusting her into the spotlight with a powerful, raw performance that captivates everyone — but behind the scenes, tensions simmer as old wounds and unseen dangers threaten to unravel her hard-won success.

// Part One // Part Two // Part Three //

“There are only a few awards left to be given to some truly incredible artists!” Minjun says almost like he’s sad it’s nearly over.

“Oh absolutely,” Seyeon nods enthusiastically. “You know what I look most forward to?”

“What’s that, Seyeon?”

“The performance the next winner will be giving us!”

“Oh my, you’re right!” Minjun gasps in playful realization. “And it’s for none other than the ‘Heartfelt Voice Award’! I hope you guys are ready to cry. Because I sure am!”

“Wait…” panic settles into my chest. “Can- can you guys-“ I can't finish as breathing becomes to difficult. Even if it wasn’t certain yet, I couldn’t stop the panic at having to perform so unexpectedly.

“What’s wrong?” Romance asks, noticing the fast rising and falling of my chest.

“-Undo it.”

“Undo what?” Miras voice is laced with worry.

“I- I,” I stammer, my eyes not leaving the hosts as an envelope is brought to them. Watching the envelope like I can see through it and read the name on it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Rumi pulls me into her chest, grounding me. “Take a deep breath,” she takes one waiting for me to take one with her. Then gently lets it out, I do the same but mine is shaky. “Try again.”

“I can’t perform,” I whisper, voice trembling, shaking my head finally turning to look at her. “I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can!” Jinu says with a confident grin on his face. I just shake my head.

“Y/N!!” The shout of my name startles me. I freeze, eyes returning to the stage. My picture presented on the big screen. The hosts look somewhat puzzled. As do I.

There is polite clapping as Rumi gently nudges me to get up. I leave my small clutch with them, looking back at them as I hesitantly start walking. “You’ve got this!” Zoey says giving me two thumbs up, beaming.

“She wasn’t supposed to win,” it’s a grumble that she doesn’t hear while she slowly makes her way to the stage. But the others do. Eight pairs of eyes turn toward the voice. Jaewon. Staring daggers at the back of his head. None of them say anything… but the message is clear. Standing up, clapping louder than anyone else in the room. A push. A warning. And she needs it. Every last bit of it.

My legs feel like they might give out with every step I take, my heart still bounding in my chest. Once I reach the stage and am given the award I awkwardly stand in front of the mic. “Thank you, I-“ my words falter, my eyes meeting a glaring Jaewon. But then excited movement from above him brings a smile to my face. A wave, encouraging smiles and a nod that says ‘you can do this’ from Jinu. “I didn’t expect to win tonight,” I say honestly. “But it is truly an honor, thank you so much to those who listen to my songs, support me and especially voted tonight,” looking at the award as the words settle within me. “Really… thank you,” Stepping back from the mic I’m met with more applause a bit more sincere this time.

“Let me take that real quick,” Seyeon says gently, taking the award from my hands. “Good luck!” With that she and Minjun disappear at the side of the stage. The lights dim just enough to shift the mood, and then my song starts playing. Closing my eyes, I take one last breath and sing.

Finally hit the ground I'm at the bottom now Never thought I could be this low Felt like falling down an endless hole No, I don't see the light And I don't hear God Crawling in the dark Now my limbs are cold Screaming out "Help" but it just echoes

A silence falls over the room. Everyone listening with bated breath. All consumed by the unexpected depth of my voice. By the ache woven into every note, the weight of words no one dares to speak out loud.

Only one way out of here I don't think I can reach it Everything I hold dear Erased by all of my demons My sorry is sincere I've just lost all of my reasons Reasons left to stay

When I open my eyes, I’m stunned to find I’ve become the center of attention. No one is talking, everyone is quite literally staring. Wide eyed, stunned faces, confused but pleasantly surprised. As if they expected a whisper but got a storm.

So, if this is goodbye Please, don't count my cry as a sin No, I don't wanna die But it keeps getting harder to live And I put up a fight But now I've got nothing to give So, if this is goodbye, goodbye, goodbye I hope someday to see you again

The song is emotional and raw. It captures everyone in the room even the ones who didn’t know her before this very moment. She had already captured their attention when she walked in. Clumsy, quiet, walking with uncertainty. But hearing her sing this song live, it hit different.

It’s like a string got pulled tight between them and her. A need to protect. To have. To understand. And something more dangerous; an obsession.

There's nothing you could've said Nothing you could've done different It was always between me and my head Never meant to hurt you in the process But I just can't keep holding on Wish I could believe that things will get better Wish I could just flip a switch in my mind Then I could fix how I feel altogether Then I could mean it when I say I'm fine It's never that easy and neither is life Don't think I wanted to leave you behind I tried, I tried, I tried

This song, it wasn’t for Jaewon. That much was obvious. But who was it to?

The answer.

Herself.

So, if this is goodbye Please, don't count my cry as a sin No, I don't wanna die But it keeps getting harder to live And I put up a fight But now I've got nothing to give Nothing, nothing So, if this is goodbye, goodbye, goodbye I hope someday to see you again If this is goodbye I'll see you If this is goodbye Open up my eyes I don't know where I am And everything is blurry My mom's holding my hand Turns out I was in a hurry But God had other plans He said my goodbye was early Now I've got a second chance

I stood in pure silence for a moment. Everyone shocked at the emotional impact this song had on them. In the end a couple of tears were shed.

“That… was…” Seyeon enters the stage once more. Tissue in hand. Letting out a sigh as she shakes her head struggling to find the right word. “… beautiful,” is what she settles for. That seems to put the room back in motion as applause suddenly, loudly rings around the room.

Startled, tears gather in my eyes. “Thank you,” I smile through tears.

“This award,” Minjun starts as he too returns. Holding up my award. “Is extremely well deserved,” I thank them once more before exiting the stage. Climbing my way back up the stairs. I’m stared at, even get a bow here and there as I pass them. I bow back like I don’t deserve their respect.

When I get back to my seat Zoey and Rumi are crying while Mira is obviously holding back her tears.

“That was so… ethereal,” Zoey sniffles. Standing up to pull me in a hug. “You deserved this award! Even if you didn’t think so.”

Taking her phone from her clutch while she talked to the girls was almost too easy. Even when she sat back down she hadn’t noticed how Baby easily manipulated the device to unlock with his demon powers. First he found her phone number, saving it in his own phone.

The causality of how he handled it and the guys keeping her distracted made it go unnoticed for much longer. The guys had quickly noticed what their maknae was up to. Making sure he would get it done. Easily installing spying software, hiding it from her, but making sure it worked from his own device. It wasn’t about invading her privacy. It was about keeping her safe.

By the time she reached for her clutch again, it was back in it place, exactly where she thought she’d left it. Missing the pointed look Mira gave the maknae as if to tell him he better share what he finds.

“Wow,” I sigh, grabbing my clutch, using it as a fan. “Thank you,” glancing both ways trying to meet their eyes. As I thank them for their - undeserved - support. “I would not have been able to do that if it wasn’t for you,” a blush tinting my cheeks but I blame it on the heat in here. In reality there is air conditioning in the room making sure everyone was comfortable.

“Of course,” Abby smirks, but I know he’s genuine.

“It’s nothing, you needed a push,” Mira shrugs casually. “You deserved it.”

“Thank you, anyway,” I make sure they know I’m being sincere. “But I really need the bathroom now,” I chuckle awkwardly receiving understanding chuckles back. Getting up I follow the signs to the bathroom.

Inside the bathroom, I take a moment to freshen up a bit, I look at myself in the mirror. A genuine smile still playing on my lips. “I did it,” I mutter, barely believing my own words. “I actually won.”

Taking my phone from my clutch, my notification wall is full. There are new followers on every social media platform I have. Mentions of my performance. Clips, screenshots, reactions. And of course all the posts the Saja Boys and Huntr/x created to support me and my song.

Mentions of my other songs too. People finding them, loving them. It makes me feel warm. Loved. Seen.

I exit the bathroom relax, distracted even. A bit too distracted apparently when I get the air literally knocked out of me. Pushed into the wall right at the archway to the venue hall.

“Wha-”

“Shut up!” I recognize the voice immediately. Anxiety lighting a fire in my being. Eyes wide, they find his. His face is contorted in anger. “You weren’t supposed to win,” his hand balls into a fist, rising, but he knows he’s still in public. Lowering the fist he grips my upper arm instead. Tight enough to create bruising, making me squirm and whine.

“Let go of me,” my voice is small. The fear in my eyes only making him chuckle.

“No, this is how you should have looked,” he continues, voices nearly growling the words at me. “I orchestrated this. Made sure you were nominated for a song no one even knew. Made it so you had to sit with those you looked up to,” tears form in my eyes. I knew it... I knew I shouldn’t have been here. His other hand lands on my shoulder, thumb laying at the base of my neck. Pressing hard, making it uncomfortable to talk or swallow.

It seems my arms decide that they now have the strength to try and push him away. But it doesn’t work. He’s stronger than me.

“You should have ran out of here, crying! Like the weakling you are,” his voice stays the same, unfazed by my trembling attempts to push him away from me. “How did you win?” there is real anger laced with genuine curiosity. Thumb pressing harder onto my throat.

“Because she deserves it,” the voice stuns both me and Jaewon. It’s Mystery. Before I can react, Jaewon quickly pulls me to his chest. I cough with the pressure now gone from my throat. He acts like he didn’t just have a bruising grip on me. Like all he wanted to do was hug me as a way to congratulate me on the win. Even if it was all a lie to protect his image.

The way Mystery was positioned had given Jaewon the false idea that no one had caught his cruel actions towards her. But Mystery knew. They all knew, even Huntr/x who were currently performing unable to protect what was theirs. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

“Oh, I wasn’t accusing,” Jaewon continues, feigning sincerity, but the sharp tone in his voice betrays him. “Congratulations on your win, Y/n,” the way he says my name. It's sharp and I know it’s a warning. Mystery takes my hand, pulling me closer to him so I’m not in Jaewon’s reach.

“Thanks,” it’s forced and breathless as it leaves my lips. I let Mystery lead me back to our seats. Trying to fake my confidence like nothing happened.

They all know something happened, but don’t point it out. From the way she walks and sits down stiffly. Trying to portray that genuine happiness she showed earlier. Only it doesn’t reach her eyes. They know now is not the time to talk about what they all witnessed. Instead, they watch quietly, guarding her in their own way.

The rest of the award show luckily goes by swimmingly. I hate to have to say goodbye to the eight who already meant a lot to me. Now more than I ever thought possible.

But I knew this was probably the first and only time I would get to talk to them. At least for a good while. The girls gave me a hug, squeezing me tightly. Letting me know once more that I deserved the win. I’m not sure how to say goodbye to the guys. Jinu just tsk’s, and pulls me in for a hug as well.

Even if he makes it seem nonchalant he can’t stop himself from breathing in her hair as she hugs him back.

Mystery makes sure to squeeze tightly, like a reminder that he’s there for her.

Baby playfully rolls his eyes at her, poking her sides to make her jump before giving his own hug. Gently petting the top of her head.

Abby smirks, teasing her. Saying that she only wants a hug so she can feel his abs. She chuckles genuinely, making all their hearts melt.

Last is Romance who will gladly take a hug, lingering for longer than needed. Placing a peck on her soft cheek, causing a soft flush to her face.

Missing the way the girls glare at the boys with envy.

My manager had been surprisingly quiet the next day. Normally he would start calling me the moment the sun woke.

Now it’s Monday, two days after the K-pop Rising Stars Awards. Still, it’s radio silence from my manager. I had messaged him myself to ask if he saw my win. He hadn’t even read it. Nothing.

With Luminara Entertainment right around the corner from the dorms, I headed there early. I needed answers. Arriving around 8 am, I waved at Juna at the reception desk. She smiled gently but there was something almost rehearsed in it. Shrugging off the feeling I head for the elevator making my way to Kyungsoo’s office.

Outside the office door I heard voices. So I at least knew he was in. Knocking softly on the wooden door, I wait. The conversation grew silent immediately. When Kyungsoo finally cracked the door open, his eyes barely met mine.

“Hey, I messaged, but I didn’t hear from you,” I tell him, confusion clear on my face. Partially because he’s just peeking out of a small slit in the door but mostly because I hadn’t heard from him.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” I can tell immediately that it’s not sincere. Voice flat, lacking his usually somewhat warmth. “I’ve just been really busy. Just continue working on your songs in the studio. I’ll check in with you soon,” before I could respond the door closed again.

Busy or not, it was clear I wasn’t a priority. He didn’t even congratulate me. Tension rose in my shoulders like something was up but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

His phone dings with a new familiar chime. Y/n opened her phone. Picking up his own from where it rested on the coffee table.

They had been given an off day after holding a concert on Sunday the day after the Award show. The five of them relaxing a bit. Though that wasn’t the only thing going on.

Mystery had done a full deep dive on Jaewon, turns out the only reason NIOR7 was doing as well as they were. Was because of daddy’s money.

Jinu, who sat next to Baby, recognized the sound too. All of them knew what it meant, having observed her activity since she left the venue. Including making sure she actually got home safe. Not leaving the outside of Luminara dorms until they saw her face in one of the windows.

A new message came in.

Jaewon Enjoying your win

She didn’t start typing, but didn’t move away from it either. Why had she not blocked him yet? As if she heard their thoughts, she excited the chat. Going to her blocked numbers. A list of at least seventeen blocked contacts showed up. All named Jaewon.

It didn’t matter whether she blocked him. He would just get a new number and keep tormenting her.

Jaewon Not for long, I'm sure

What does that even mean? What is he up to?

Abby who stood behind the couch looking at the screen with them. “I’ll call the girls.”

When they had gotten back to Honmoon Tower after making sure Y/n had gotten back safely. The girls insisted on making a pact. Not believing they would actually share everything with them if they didn’t make a pact. They vowed to keep each other updated on everything happening with Y/n. No secrets.

The pact sealed with a tattoo of a tiny flame appearing on their ribs as a reminder, and as punishment. If they were to forget to share something, important or not. The tattoo would slowly start burning, growing stronger the longer it takes. Only stopping when the information is shared.

All they heard was Abby saying ‘It’s about Y/n’ and they appeared in their living room. Worry clear on their faces. Dressed in gym clothes, a sheen of sweat covering their skin. Still a little breathless.

“What is it?” Zoey ask, finding a seat next to Baby as Abby hangs up the phone. Rolling his eyes at their appearance playfully.

“Jaewon, he just wont stop tormenting her,” Jinu explains. “I think it’s a threat but I can’t be sure,” taking Baby’s phone from him to show Jaewon’s last message to her.

“It has to be,” Mira confirms, obvious anger at the man harassing their girl. “What else can you do with this?” she asks, talking about the mirror image of Y/n’s phone.

“A lot,” Baby smirks. “When she’s asleep I can activate her phone and look through it.”

“And if she is using it? Can you listen to what she’s saying?”

“I could yeah,” Baby nods, going to the settings and activating the mic on her phone and the speaker on his own. Her voice immediately filling the space.

“What are you talking about?” I chuckle at the absurdity of my current situation. “You’re dropping me?”

“Yes, I am,” Kyungsoo says. There is uncertainty in his voice, his posture stiff. “Effective immediately.”

“What? But my contract-”

“It’s doesn’t matter,” he cuts me off. “Because of a morality clause. The label believes it’s best to part ways with the recent… controversies surrounding you.”

“Controversies? What controversies?” he avoids my gaze as I dig for more answers.

“That’s not for me to say,” he shrugs awkwardly casual. “You have 24 hours to get out of the dorms.”

“Twenty-fo- What? That’s not enough time! Where am I meant to go!?”

“You’ll figure it out,” with that he walks out, slamming the door to the studio.

“What?” my voice a quiet whisper as I sink back down onto the couch. “What am I gonna do?” I ask myself, my voice shaky.

Bzzz…. Bzzzz

Glancing at my phone which still sat on the coffee table where I left it when Kyungsoo came in.

Unknown Hey, how is your day? It’s Romance by the way.

// Part One // Part Two // Part Three //

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[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: none just prickly Simon

“What the fuck is this?”

You glance at the photo. It’s your patient from yesterday in his crib, except there’s a teddy bear stuffed against one of the rails, next to his face. Fuck. 

“I don’t know. That wasn’t there when I left. I would have removed it.” His eyes drill into you, fire blazing in them, hot enough you’re sure it will burn you to a crisp. 

“Do we need to go over the SOP for toys in cribs?” 

“No.” You bite out, looking over his shoulder to focus on the wall. It’s not that parents do it intentionally, they just don’t know. They don’t think about the fact that soft toys, plush toys, can carry bacteria since they can’t be wiped down. You can’t fault someone for wanting their child to have something of comfort. “It must have happened after I left, like I said.” 

“Well it didn’t.” You want to push back. You want to tell him again, that it didn’t happen on your watch. That you’re not stupid or careless or not paying attention like he so clearly thinks, but you don’t. You know how it will go. 

“I’m sorry.” His jaw clenches, lip curling like you disgust him. 

“You’re sorry.” The air is being sucked from this room, the walls trying to go with it, closing in on all sides. “Keona seems to think you’re doing an excellent job, but I’m starting to think she’s just covering for you.” The accolade he gave you last week fades into oblivion, panic taking its place. You can’t lose this job. You can’t. 

“It’s a transition. I’m learning as fast as I can.” Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. He rises from his chair, coming around his desk to lean against it, thick legs stretched out towards where you’re standing, arms crossed over his chest. It could be considered a casual stance, but on him it’s anything but. He lords over you, terrifying and dominant, ready to pick you apart. 

“You need to figure out if this is the place for you before I do.” 

“It is. I can do it.” You rush out, desperate to reassure him. It’s a crack, a very small one, and you scramble to stuff it up, plaster over it to reinforce the wall it’s trying to crumble. “I can do it.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” 

You stare at the fancy lotion for too long. 

Before, you would have chucked it in your cart no problem. Twice even, one for home and one for your work locker. 

But now, your entire existence is built around a budget that’s calculated down to the dime. 

And that budget really does not have wiggle room for a twenty dollar bottle of lotion. 

Still- 

You toss it in your cart. A mistake. An irresponsible indulgence. Something you absolutely should not purchase, but the girl buried so far beneath who she is now, the one who was once reckless and wild and free, she wants that lotion. She wants it bad. She wants a relief, a reprieve, a little treat for the hell that this week has been. 

You really, really wish you hadn’t listened to her. 

“Wait… what?” 

“Sorry, the tag was incorrect.” You stare at the bag of cherries unbelieving. They were the last thing on the belt, bringing your total to a whopping one hundred and forty dollars. Forty dollars over the budget that was already twenty dollars over. 

“Okay.” Thank god for small miracles, there’s no one in line behind you to watch your shame unfold like a car crash in slow motion. 

“Do you still want them?” You do. Riley loves them. She asked for them specifically. She eats them raw from a bowl until her fingers are stained. She feeds them to the mares even though you tell her a million times not to. 

“I mean… you’re saying this bag of cherries is twenty dollars?” The clerk’s smile is sad. 

“They are twenty one dollars and fourteen cents.” The lights in the grocery store suddenly seem too bright, and the noise, the beeping and the intercom and the chattering is too loud. Too much. It’s all too much. Everything. This weight will crush you. Your vision tunnels until there’s nothing else, just you and this cashier and your stupidity. “Miss? Do you still want them?” 

“Yes, sorry. I want them.” She rings them up, total flashing on the reader in front of you. You sigh as you tap your card- 

and then freeze when it makes that dreaded sound. 

The “you’re a fucking idiot if you think you’re buying this bottle of lotion” sound. The clerk is looking at you with sympathy now. Camaraderie. 

“Maybe it was a bad read. Try again?” She tries keeps her voice down, bless her, but she’s also older than dirt so it doesn’t do much. You try your card again against your better judgement. Same noise. Same sinking feeling. You must have made an error somewhere, screwed up the math. 

“Do you have another card dear?” You swallow and shake your head. 

“No, I don’t. I’ll… can we take the lotion off?” This is your fault. Your self indulgence, the little devil sitting on your shoulder who told you to pick that stupid bottle of lotion up and put it in your cart. 

You’re not that girl anymore. You’re Riley’s, and you’re sure as shit not picking it over her cherries. Lesson learned.

“Take the lotion off?” She repeats, you’re assuming to make sure she got it right before she starts pressing buttons on the screen, and you nod. Force a smile. It’s fake but they’re the best shields. “Do you want to run back and grab a cheaper one?” Insult to injury. 

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” Your tunnel vision finally widens when the new total pops up, and your chest loosens with relief. 

For a second. 

Until you see Doctor Riley. Standing in the other line just over your cashier’s shoulder. 

Staring at you, head just barely cocked in consideration. 

Oh my fucking god. 

You lock eyes and freeze, a deer in headlights, a woman tied to the tracks. It lasts for a second and then you look away, silently praying for a tornado to come by and rip the roof off this place, carry you off. 

No such luck. 

Instead, you go through the mortifying motions of loading your cart up with the bags, casually tracking him from the corner of your eye. He finishes before you, thank god, and you stall at the end of the checkout lines until he’s fully out of sight, beelining to the truck lest you get caught in some awful, awkward small talk or worse, more eye contact. 

Great. 

“The British are coming.” 

It’s the long standing joke. Started spreading after they got here, though Doctor MacTavish apparently throws a fit over it, considering he’s not British at all. 

They all showed up together too, an already forged unit, strong alliance to one another that stretches across the hospital. There’s history there, a lot of it, but you worked with John for a while and he was pretty tight lipped. No one ever pushed him, but you and others can’t deny the curiosity. There’s nothing a hospital loves more than gossip. 

“Where?” You still eat with the ED. There’s always at least someone on break at the same time as you, and you indulge in the comfort of your friends. It’s not that you dislike anyone in the NICU, you don’t. They’re all lovely, it’s just the team in the ED knows you. They supported you when you stumbled, when you fell, when you went through hell and came out on the other side. They knew you before, and those precious pieces are long gone. The ED is your last tether to the girl who wants to buy lotion, who rode recklessly and screwed around. 

Olivia jerks her head towards the double doors on the other side of the cafeteria. 

You hope for Price. Instead, you get Garrick and your walking nightmare. “Fuck.” 

“God he’s so hot.” You bristle. It comes out of nowhere, strikes you like lightning until you look over and realize she’s staring at Doctor Garrick and not Doctor Riley. The reaction is nonsensical, and instead of trying to diagnose it, you move on. The two of you reach the end of the line, and Clara behind the counter gives you a big, genuine smile. 

“Hey honey. How’s that baby?” 

“Not a baby anymore, that’s for sure.” She asks this every time. It’s sweet. “How are your grandkids?” 

“Oh you know. Terrors.” You snort. 

“I know your pain.” You wait for Olivia, who clears her throat when she makes it back to your side. 

“Is it just me or… is Doctor Riley staring at you?”  Heat floods your cheeks. 

“It’s not just you. He does that.” You don’t look. The embarrassment from the last time you saw him, the grocery store fiasco this weekend, is still stagnant in your brain, taking up way too much space. She raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ve never seen someone so scary, and hot at the same time. It’s like the fear makes it better.” You swallow that feeling again, and nod. 

“I saw him without a shirt on like two weeks ago.” She squeaks. Just the memory of the bulk of him, the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, the well carried layer of fat on his belly covered in hair makes your stomach swoop. 

“You what?!” 

“Yeah I had to wake him up. Needed him at bedside. He’s... huge. Built like a bear, I bet he could take one. And he has a full sleeve.” She gives you a look, and you give her one back. Mischief and malice. “Don’t.” 

“I’m just saying… how long has it been for you? Since before Riley?” 

“Olivia, come on. You know I don’t have time. And even if I did, you’d never catch me sleeping with a provider. Especially him. He’s a dick, and he hates me.” It’s not like you have anything against it, you don’t. You don’t judge. It’s just not for you. There are happy endings sure, but they’re rare, and it’s not worth the headache. Olivia however, is an equal opportunity employer. She sniffs. 

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” 

“I won’t be trying it.” 

You could cry. 

You could. 

You haven’t done it so long and it would be well within your right today, though you won’t. Even if you wanted to, your automatic response is to hold your tears back no matter what, no matter how, and this is no different. 

You spot Mabel on the hill right away. She’s the only one who strays from the pasture when the gate gets loose, always taking off towards the highest point on the property, probably so she can look down on her kingdom. 

It doesn’t help that she hates Blue, your horse, and as soon as you get close, she bares her teeth. 

“We know, we know. You’re in charge. Come on lady.” You reach for her halter, but she side steps away from you, jerking backwards. “Mabel. Stop.” You squeeze Blue with your thighs, urging her forward, closer, and reach again, snagging your fingers into the side of the halter. She tries to pull away again, but you hold her firm. She won’t follow Blue back because following any other horse or even human is beneath her, but if she realizes you’re not going to be giving up, she’ll high tail it back to the barn. You’ve got a good grip, now you just need to wait until she gets the picture. You lift your face to the pink streaked sky. “You know, it would have been a lot easier on me if you hadn’t spoiled the shit out of her.” You chastise the clouds and give them a dirty look. “It’s like I’m still getting bullied by you through your god damn horse.” Mabel snorts, and you glare at her. “Don’t start with me. You’re worth tens of thousands of dollars. I could have sold you.” It’s an empty threat. You’d rather lay down and be trampled. 

She decides she’s had enough and pulls ahead, intention clear, and trots off towards the barn. 

For a minute, a brief, hazy minute, she’s not alone. 

Your sister is there, turned around in the saddle, laughing and telling you to hurry up. The sunset is painting her in a rainbow of pink and coral and orange, glowing on her face, saddle squeaking under her pregnant belly. Mabel’s gait is smooth, smoother than it’s ever been, like it has been for months, since she started to show. You’re convinced she knows, instinctively. One mother to another. 

“Come on crazy Daisy.” She moves Mabel into a canter, and you grit your teeth. 

“Tess,” you’re about to tell her for the seventeenth time that she’s supposed to be taking it easy, but she cuts you off. 

“I’m fine. Hurry up. I’m hungry and Liam is making mac and cheese.” She looks over her shoulder one last time, smile bright, so bright it could blind you, a nearly perfect mirror of your own, and you roll your eyes. 

“You’re the worst.” She laughs. 

“But you love me.” 

The minute passes. It slips through your fingers and you swallow, once, twice, three times. 

You could cry. 

You could. 

But you can’t. You have a little girl back at the house who doesn’t need her aunt fucking crying every time shit gets hard or sad or both. You have a responsibility, and that responsibility depends on you to be strong, to be in control, to take care of her and make sure she’s safe, healthy, happy. 

So you are. 

And that’s all there is to it. 

[inseobts]

Ink & Memories

law x fem!reader

you’re his ex tattoo artist and girlfriend, so what happens when you meet him again years later?

a/n: this was suggested by someone, I don't remember if it was anon or not but if you're reading this THANK YOU omg

words count: 5.2k

tags: MDNI, smut, ex-lovers, reunion, tattoo artist reader, angst with fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The sea breeze brushes against your cheek as you lean against the doorframe of your tattoo shop, a cup of tea in hand. It’s been a slow day. Not many people walk into a tattoo shop in a port like this. Not unless they’ve just won a bet or lost a bet.

You sip your drink and glance toward the docks, bored. Then your eyes freeze... No way.

You squint.

Tall man, black hat with white spots, fluffy. That long coat, that walk... You drop the cup. It hits the ground with a soft clink.

“Law??” you call out, loud and without thinking.

The man stops. The whole crew turns around.

Your heart skips.

It is him.

He turns, slowly, eyes locking with yours.

“Y/N…” he says. Low. Surprised.

You can’t help but grin.

You step closer “Oh my god... how are you?? I’ve seen you on the news so many times. You’re a warlord now?! I never thought I’d see you again.”

He doesn’t smile, but his eyes soften. You recognize that look. He remembers.

His crew is staring now.

One with goggles leans over to the bear in a hoodie.

“Who’s that?” he whispers.

The polar bear shrugs “Dunno. But she knows the captain.”

You glance at them and chuckle.

Law still says nothing. He looks like he’s thinking too hard, jaw tight. Typical.

You roll your eyes “Right. You’re not gonna say it, huh?”

You take a step forward, hand on your hip.

“I’m Y/N,” you say, loud enough for the whole crew to hear “I used to be Law’s girlfriend. And I’m his first tattoo artist.”

Gasps. Real ones.

“WHAAAT??”

“EX-girlfriend?!”

“Tattoo artist?! So she did those?!”

“Wait, he has tattoos??”

“He let someone touch him?!”

Even the bear goes shocked.

Law sighs and rubs the back of his neck “You still talk too much, Y/N.”

You laugh “And you still say nothing at all.”

You grin “You’re really here, huh? After all these years.”

You walk with the crew through the market near the docks. Law’s beside you quiet, as always, but his steps match yours. The others keep throwing you glances like you’re some kind of rare animal.

The tall one with goggles Shachi, you think his name is, can’t hold it in anymore.

“So, wait. You’re the one who did the tattoos on the Captain?”

“Yup” you nod.

“ALL of them?”

“I guess. I don't know if he had another tattoo artist later.”

"I didn't." he says and only you seems to hear it.

“Even the ones on his fingers? And the arms??”

You smirk “I’ve touched more of your captain than all of you combined.”

“WHA—” They all choke.

Law sighs again, rubbing his temples “Y/N…”

“I’m just saying facts, Law.”

You keep walking, passing a fruit stand. Penguin, the one with the hat, nudges you “So… you really dated him?”

You shrug “Yeah. For a while. Before he was famous. Before the crew.”

Bepo tilts his head “Why’d you break up?”

You pause “Life stuff. Timing. Goals. Pirates and tattoo shops don’t mix well.”

Shachi whistles “Man, that’s wild. I still can’t picture him dating someone.”

“I didn’t believe it either at first,” you say, smiling to yourself “He’s... complicated.”

Then Penguin says, “I bet the one on the chest hurt the most though, right Captain?”

Your body goes still.

Law stops walking too. You both freeze at the same time.

Your mind doesn’t ask permission... it just goes.

Flashback. Your tattoo studio, late at night. Warm orange light. Law’s shirt is off. He sits on the tattoo chair, toned chest exposed, calm as ever. “I want the next one here.” he says, touching the center of his chest. You arch a brow “You sure?” He nods once “Yeah.” You bite your lip. You two are already a thing now, nights together, kisses stolen in your shop, your toothbrush next to his blades. But this feels more...intimate. “Alright,” you whisper, clicking your tattoo pen on “Then let’s make it count.” You don’t sit on the stool. You don’t ask for permission. You straddle him. Right on his lap. His eyes widen, just slightly. His hands go to your waist, not pushing you away, just resting there, tight. “This okay?” you ask, fake-innocent. He grits his teeth “Tch. You know it is.” You smile and lower the needle to his chest. You work slowly, carefully, your hips close to his, your breath brushing his face. His jaw clenches. You can feel how tense he is... but he doesn’t flinch. Not from pain. No... It’s because of you. By the time the ink is done, you’ve forgotten what hurts more, his grip on your thighs or your own heartbeat. And after that... Well, let’s just say he didn’t get up from the chair right away.

Back to now.

You blink. Snap out of it.

Your face is hot. Lips tight. Brows furrowed.

You glance at Law. He’s not looking at you.

But his face?

Same.

Jaw clenched. Eyes distant. Tension written all over his shoulders.

You both remembered. You know it.

Shachi whistles “...Why do you both look like you smelled something cursed?”

Bepo tilts his head “Are you okay?”

You wave it off “Fine. Just, uh, a memory.”

Law doesn’t say a word. He just keeps walking, hands in pockets, eyes forward.

But you see the small twitch at the corner of his mouth.

And it’s driving you insane.

You’re still walking with the crew, but the energy is weird now. Like a storm’s rolling in, just under your skin.

The others keep chatting and asking questions, but your brain keeps stuttering... stuck between now and then.

“Captain doesn’t talk much about his past,” Penguin says, chewing on some weird fruit he picked up “It’s kinda cool hearing this stuff. Makes him seem more human.”

“He is human...” you say without thinking.

Shachi chuckles “You sure about that? I saw him take out ten guys with one swing of his sword.”

Bepo grins “By the way, did you start with the ones on his arms first?”

You hum “Arms first. Then the fingers. Then chest. Then—”

You stop. Too late.

“Then?” Shachi raises his brows.

You bite your lip “Forget it.”

“Nooo, don’t do that,” Penguin whines “We wanna hear!”

You sigh “Fine. The weirdest one was... the one on his back.”

That shuts them up.

“His back?!”

“Where on his back??”

“Wait, why "weirdest"??”

“Dude, that must’ve hurt so bad!”

You shrug “He didn’t complain.”

But your voice is quieter now.

Flashback. Another night. Another quiet request. “I want something here.” Law says, pulling off his shirt and turning away. His back is smooth, pale, all muscle and scars. But bare. “You want... a tattoo on your back?” He nods once “Yeah. I already have something in mind.” You stare at him for a moment “You sure?” He doesn’t answer. He just sits. Waiting. You prepare the tools. The ink. The stencil. But as you move behind him, he grabs your wrist. Pulls you around. Suddenly, you’re in his lap. Again. You blink at him “This how we’re doing tattoos now?” His lips twitch into a rare smile “Only when it’s you.” His voice is low. Dangerous. The kind of sound that always melts your brain. You start the needle, shaking a little “Well, too bad I can't tattoo your back from here.” “Try your best.” You laugh but then you stand and go to his back. The tattoo is slow. Intimate. You’re touching his back delicately even for a tattoo, and every move you make makes him breathe harder, even more when you randomly leave kisses on his bare skin where the ink hasn't reavhed yet. By the time the tattoo is halfway done, his hands are on your waist again, but this time... tighter. “You gonna finish it?” he asks, voice husky. You kiss him instead. You never finish the tattoo that night.

Back to now.

Your face is boiling. You know it. You can feel it. And when you dare to glance at Law, you regret everything.

He looks just like he did after the flashback from earlier.

Tense. Focused. Eyes darker than usual.

And you know he remembered that too.

You inhale sharply and shake it off “Well... sorry to cut this short, but I gotta head back. I have a client in fifteen minutes.”

“FIFTEEN??” Bepo looks horrified “That’s not enough time to say goodbye!”

“We just met! I want to talk more!!” Penguin adds, actually pouting.

“We should do dinner!” Shachi suggests “Or drinks! Or matching tattoos for my birthday...”

“I don’t even know your birthday,” you laugh, trying to hide the heaviness in your chest “You guys are too much. But I had a lot of fun. Thank you for taking care of Law.”

"He's the one who takes care of us."

"Yeah, I don't think so..."

You turn to Law, slower than you mean to.

He’s just standing there. Watching you. Hands in his pockets. Saying nothing.

So, of course, you have to fill the silence.

“Hey.” You meet his eyes.

“If you ever want a new tattoo... my shop’s always open for you.” You smile, but it’s faint “Even after closing time.”

Something flickers in his eyes. But still, he doesn’t say a word.

You wave at the crew, who’s already acting like they’ve known you for twenty years and are sending you off to war.

“Bye, guys. Keep taking care of him, alright?”

They all yell goodbyes and promises and dramatic sobs.

You walk away before your voice cracks.

Back in your shop, the silence is loud.

You lean against your work table, staring at your equipment. The ink. The gloves. The chair.

All the places he’s been.

You try to shake the feeling. But it’s hard. Because you didn’t stop loving him. You just... couldn’t keep up with his world.

Now he’s bigger than life. Famous. Feared. A pirate captain.

And you’re just a tattoo artist in a tiny port town.

So no... you don’t think he’ll come tonight.

He’s got his crew. His ship. His missions.

He probably doesn’t love you anymore.

You sit down and try not to cry.

Your client leaves right on time.

A small anchor tattoo. Nothing fancy. Nothing meaningful. But you smile and treat them with care, because that’s what you do.

Still, when they leave, the shop feels colder.

You sweep the floor. Clean your tools. Wipe the chair down like muscle memory. Then you sit behind the counter.

And wait.

It’s not like you said he had to come. You just offered.

“My shop’s always open for you. Even after closing time.”

You curse under your breath, hand to your face.

Why did you say it like that? Like you were waiting? Like you were... still his?

You glance at the clock.

One hour after closing.

Two.

Then three.

You haven’t moved.

The lights are still on. The “closed” sign hangs crooked on the door. You’ve been telling yourself it’s just so you can finish cleaning.

But everything is already clean.

The tea you made went cold. The silence is suffocating.

Your heart keeps lying to you, saying he might come, even when your brain knows better.

You sit on your stool behind the counter and bury your face in your hands.

You shouldn’t have said anything.

Of course he doesn’t love you anymore. You’re just someone from his past. A memory with a needle. He’s a warlord now. A captain. A living legend.

And you?

You’re no one special. You gave him your love, your ink, your body... But that was years ago.

You sniff, blinking back tears.

“I’m so stupid.” you whisper.

Finally, with a broken breath, you stand.

You walk toward the light switch, hand reaching up, about to turn it off—

Knock. Knock.

You freeze.

Two slow knocks.

You turn, heart racing, and rush to the door.

Your hand trembles as you grab the handle, barely able to breathe.

You open it... Law.

He’s standing there. Alone.

Hat in place, coat unbuttoned just slightly. His eyes are shadowed, unreadable, but he’s here.

He looks at you and you stare back, lips parted, words stuck in your throat.

Neither of you says anything for a second.

Then you whisper, almost scared to believe it “You came.”

He nods once “...Yeah.”

You step aside and let him in. The door swings shut behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet shop.

He stands there, looking around like it hasn’t changed at all. Like it’s frozen in time.

Maybe it is.

You tuck your hair behind your ear, trying to calm your racing heart “So… what brings you here? Need something fixed?”

He shakes his head once “I want a new one.”

You blink “A new tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

You tilt your head, cautious “Where?”

He undoes the top few buttons of his shirt and pulls the fabric aside. Just a little.

There’s a small space on the upper right of his chest. A rare untouched spot surrounded by old ink.

He taps it once “Here.”

Your stomach flips. That chest. You remember how you inked the one beside it. How that ended.

Your cheeks warm, but you clear your throat and nod “Okay. Small tattoo. Got it.”

You turn away to gather your tools, gloves, ink, paper towels, anything to keep your hands from shaking.

It’s stupid, how nervous you are. You’ve tattooed him dozens of times before.

But it wasn’t like this. Not after years apart. Not after you thought you’d never see him again.

Not when your heart feels this fragile.

You pause mid-step and glance at him “Where’s your crew, by the way?”

He raises an eyebrow “You really asking that?”

You blink. Then scoff softly, rolling your eyes “Right. Dumb question.”

You gesture to the chair “You can sit.”

He does.

You sit across from him on your work stool, setting the needle up with focus, breathing slow.

It’s fine. You can do this. No reason to be—

“Room.”

Your body jolts at the word. You barely have time to process it before your whole world shifts, literally.

Suddenly, you’re on his lap. Sitting. Facing him. Just like before.

Your breath catches “Law!”

He doesn’t say anything. His arms are relaxed around your waist. Like this is normal.

But what’s not normal is the firm pressure you feel beneath you. Hard. Hot.

Pressed right against the center of your lower body.

Your breath hitches.

You shift instinctively, but that only makes it worse.

You feel him now. All of him.

...And he’s definitely not unaffected.

He looks up at you, still unreadable. But his eyes… they burn.

You’re quiet for a beat. Your heart pounding so hard it hurts.

You whisper, “...You planned this, didn’t you?”

His voice is low. Calm. Dangerous.

“Maybe.”

Your breath trembles as you sit frozen on his lap, the familiar weight of him under you making it harder to think. To breathe.

Your hands are still gloved. The needle sits ready on the tray.

But the moment is not about the tattoo anymore.

It’s the way he’s looking at you.

Like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. Like he never stopped seeing you.

You can feel his heart beating through his chest, right beneath yours. Steady. But faster than usual.

"...You’re hard..." you whisper, like it’s a secret.

His gaze doesn’t waver “You’re sitting on me.”

Your face heats instantly “You put me here!”

“You didn’t get off.”

You open your mouth to snap back, but nothing comes out, because he’s right. You haven’t moved.

Your thighs tighten slightly, and he notices.

His hands slide up your hips, slow and patient, like he’s remembering every curve from memory. Like no time has passed.

But it has... So much time.

And still, here you are.

You try to hold onto your pride “This is just for the tattoo, right?”

His voice is quieter now “You really asking that?”

You breathe in sharply.

Your eyes drop to his chest, to the small space he said he wanted inked. Your fingers hover near it.

And just like that...

Flashback. Another time. Another tattoo. You straddled his lap, shirt slightly unbuttoned, hands shaking as you prepped the needle. “I shouldn’t do this, it's not professional.” you said then, voice soft, unsure “We’ll mess everything up.” He looked up at you, calm as ever “We’re already messed up.” You remember how his hands gripped your thighs, how you pressed the needle to his chest anyway. You never finished the tattoo. You didn’t even get halfway before he pulled you down, kissing you like it was the last time. And then...

Back to now.

You blink hard, ripping yourself away from the memory.

Your hand clenches the tattoo machine, but you can’t lift it. Not like this.

“Law…”

Your voice is smaller now. Scared, almost.

He tilts his head slightly, watching you “You think I forgot?”

Your chest tightens “...I hoped you didn’t.”

He exhales slowly “I didn’t come here for a tattoo, Y/N.”

Your heart jumps in your throat “Then why?”

He doesn’t say anything at first. His fingers ghost over your back “What do you think? Because you said the shop was open. Even after closing.”

You’re quiet. Shaking. Overwhelmed.

You look at him, searching for anything in his face that’ll tell you this is real.

“You still love me?” you ask, barely a whisper.

He answers without hesitation “Yes.”

And then, like gravity finally wins, you lean in. Your lips meet his in a slow, aching kiss.

Soft at first. Scared. But it deepens fast.

His hands tighten around you, pulling you closer. You shift again on his lap, and he groans against your mouth.

Everything is heat now. Want. Memory. Regret. And something new, something breaking free after years of silence.

You break the kiss just to breathe, lips brushing his as you whisper “Forget the tattoo.”

His voice is rough “Already did.”

You don’t know who kisses harder first.

You or him.

But once your mouths meet again, there’s no stopping it.

Years of silence, of pretending to forget, all burn away in the space between your lips. Your hands are in his hair before you even realize it, his hat falling to the floor like nothing else matters.

Law’s hands are steady, skilled, familiar while they slide down your back and grip your thighs, pulling you tighter against him. His lips are rough, needy. He kisses like he’s punishing you for the time lost, or maybe for letting him go.

You grind down instinctively, and he groans into your mouth deep, guttural, raw.

“Fuck...” he mutters against your lips, his voice wrecked.

“You remember everything, don’t you?” you whisper, breathless, tugging at his shirt “All of it.”

He nods once “Every goddamn second.”

You roll your hips again and feel it even better now, how hard he is. Pressed exactly where you need him, only the thin barrier of your clothes separating you.

“You didn’t even come for the tattoo, did you?” you tease, lips brushing his jaw now.

“No,” he breathes, tilting his head to give you his neck “I came for you.”

Your fingers fumble with his buttons, heart racing, hands shaking.

He notices. He always does.

“You sure?” he asks lowly, grabbing your wrists and holding them still.

You nod “Yes.”

But he doesn’t move yet, he just looks at you “Say it.”

You meet his gaze “I want you.”

That’s all he needs.

In one swift move, he lifts you up and lays you back on the padded tattoo chair like you weigh nothing. He climbs over you, hands everywhere now... pulling, unzipping, stripping.

Your shirt goes first. Then your bra. Then his coat and shirt.

Skin to skin.

It’s overwhelming how good he looks. Tattoos, scars, the memory of every moment you ever loved him mapped across his chest.

You run your hands over his chest, over the ink you gave him “Still mine...” you whisper.

His eyes darken “Always.”

He pulls your pants down, slow at first, until your soaked panties are the only thing left. He groans when he sees the wet patch. His thumb brushes it, just barely.

“You’re already this wet?” he murmurs, kissing your stomach “From just sitting on my lap?”

“From you,” you breathe, squirming under him "And you got hard as soon as you set on the chair."

He hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down agonizingly slow.

And then his mouth replaces his hands.

He kisses between your thighs like he’s missed every part of you. His tongue strokes through your folds, hot and slow, making your back arch and your fingers clutch the chair.

“Fuck, Law!”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t speak. Just moans into you, like the taste of you is better than revenge, better than glory, better than everything.

When you finally come, it’s with your hand tangled in his hair and his name gasped like a prayer.

And even then, he doesn’t stop.

He only pulls back once he’s sure your legs are shaking.

You’re breathless, eyes hazy “You always did that too well.”

He smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand “You always tast the same.”

He undoes his belt, his pants, and pulls himself out, hard, thick, aching. You swallow hard just looking at him.

“Still want me?” he asks, eyes locked on yours.

“More than anything.”

He doesn’t give you time to second-guess.

He lines himself up, grabs your waist, and slides inside slowly but fully. Stretching you. Filling you.

You gasp. Your nails dig into his back.

“Fuck, you feel the same,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours “Perfect.”

You moan, wrapping your legs around him, rolling your hips “Move, Law. Please.”

And when he does... it’s everything.

He moves deep, slow, like he’s savoring it. His pace is controlled, his breathing heavy, his grip tight. He fucks you like he’s reclaiming something lost. Like you’re not just a body. Like you’re home.

Your moans echo through the shop. The chair creaks beneath you. His mouth finds your neck, your chest, your lips again, every part of you worshiped, touched like it’s sacred.

And then you both fall apart again, louder, harder, more desperate, but in each other’s arms, skin to skin, hearts racing.

You stay wrapped around him, chests heaving, breath tangled.

Neither of you speaks for a long time.

Still inside you, forehead resting against yours, he murmurs “Didn’t think I’d actually come after closing time, did you?”

You lie there on the tattoo chair, skin still hot, your breath finally starting to slow. His chest rises and falls against yours, calm, steady, like the chaos just passed through and left everything too quiet in its wake.

Neither of you moves yet.

"I was actually about to turn off the lights when you knocked at the door..."

His hand rests gently on your hip, thumb brushing lazy circles into your skin. Your cheek presses against his shoulder, and for a moment… it feels like nothing’s changed. Like you’re back in that messy little house, tangled in each other’s limbs, whispering about a future you thought you’d have.

And then he says it, low and smooth, voice still wrecked from everything you just did “You really never finished any of my tattoos in one setting...”

You laugh, soft and breathless “As if it's not always your fault.”

He doesn’t reply. But the smirk you feel against your skin is answer enough.

You close your eyes, letting yourself feel it for just a second longer, the warmth, the weight of him, the comfort that never really left.

But then…

Reality creeps back in.

And with it, the ache in your chest you were trying to ignore.

Your voice is smaller when you speak again. Barely more than a whisper.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have done it.”

You feel him tense slightly. Not pull away, but freeze.

“…Why?”

You swallow hard, suddenly hating the silence in the shop “Because you're gonna leave again. Probably tomorrow. Or tonight. And I’ll be here. Just like last time.”

He lifts his head, looking down at you now. You don’t meet his eyes.

“I told myself I moved on,” you continue, voice shaking “That it didn’t hurt anymore. But seeing you again... being with you like this…”

You pause, forcing down the tears that want to surface.

“It hurts worse now.”

Law says nothing for a moment. But you feel his hand slide up to your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye.

Then his voice comes, quieter than you’ve ever heard it “It wasn’t just sex for me.”

Your heart twists.

“You think I don’t feel the same?” he continues “You think this didn’t wreck me too?”

You finally look at him. And his eyes… They’re full of that same pain you’ve been carrying. That same longing. The same love.

But his voice still carries that signature Law calm, controlled, composed, even as something inside him breaks.

“I’m a pirate, Y/N.” He swallows “I don’t get to stay anywhere.”

You nod slowly, even though it hurts “I know.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“And still...” he whispers “Here I am.”

You don’t say anything as he starts getting dressed. You just… watch.

You sit silently on the edge of the tattoo chair, still naked, still warm from his touch, but already feeling the cold creeping in. His back is to you as he buttons his shirt, and you drink in every detail. The way his shoulders move. The curve of his spine. The black of his tattoos against skin you once knew like a map.

You try to memorize him.

Every second.

Every inch.

Because in your heart, something whispers: This might be the last time.

And that’s when it hits you.

How foolish you’ve been. How stupidly hopeful. How desperate you are just to keep a piece of him.

Your eyes sting.

No. Not now. Not in front of him.

You stand abruptly, grabbing your robe, and mumble something you don’t even hear yourself. Before he can turn, before he can ask, you rush past him and slam the bathroom door shut behind you.

You lock it.

Your hands are trembling.

And outside... silence.

He doesn’t knock.

He doesn’t follow.

He doesn’t stop you.

Then you hear the sound of the front door. Open... and close.

He’s gone.

And you break.

You slide down the wall, burying your face in your arms as the sobs finally come out, sharp and raw. It’s not just pain, it’s years of missing him, of pretending you moved on, of wishing things could be different.

And now… it’s too late.

Minutes pass. Or maybe more. Time blurs.

Eventually, when your breathing steadies and your heart stops clawing out of your chest, you pull yourself up. Wipe your face. You don’t look in the mirror, you can’t.

You exit the bathroom slowly.

The shop is too quiet. The lights still hum overhead. The tattoo machine sits untouched, ready for a session that never happened.

You walk over to turn the CLOSED sign on the door. There’s no point pretending today’s a workday. Not like you had any clients booked anyway.

Your eyes flick to the chair.

The same one where hours ago, he made you feel like everything again.

There’s something sitting on it.

You freeze.

It’s a folded piece of paper. Your name written across the front in that neat, sharp handwriting you’d recognize anywhere.

Your fingers shake as you open it.

You read:

"Y/N,

You never talked about being a pirate. Never thought about leaving. I get it. You’re not like me. But then, I heard you telling the crew that you had no clients. No fun. That this place bored you. Then you said you didn’t want me to go.

And I don’t want to leave you behind… again.

So what if I make room for you on my ship?

Will you come?

Will you choose to be a pirate now?

My ship’s always open for you. Even after closing time.

But if this is a goodbye, then let me tell you that I love you and than I'll cheer on you even from the other side of the world.

I just want you to be happy, forever.

—Law"

Your breath catches.

The paper trembles in your hands.

You don’t know if you want to cry again or scream or run out the door barefoot. But one thing is clear, your heart is racing with something new.

Hope.

You don’t hesitate. Grabbing your coat and a small bag, you race out the door, the note still folded in your hand. The night air is cool, but your heart is burning. You know exactly where to go... the docks, where Law’s ship is waiting, dark and quiet under the moonlight.

The night air is crisp as you hurry toward the docks, the note from Law folded tightly in your hand. Your heart pounds, not just from the run, but from the rush of hope and fear tangled in your chest.

The ship sits dark and quiet under the stars, its silhouette a familiar yet strange reminder of a life you never thought you’d be part of.

A single figure leans against the railing, head tilted slightly as if listening to the sea’s whispered secrets.

“Law...” you call softly.

He turns, eyes sharp and unreadable for a split second before softening.

“You came.”

You nod, voice catching on the breeze “You asked if I’d come. So... here I am.”

The distance between you closes, and for a long moment, it’s just you two, breathing the salty air, wrapped in something fragile and strong all at once.

His hand finds yours, fingers curling gently. The electricity between you hums quietly, charged but patient.

He leans in, voice low and teasing, “Still keeping me after closing time, huh?”

You smirk, heart fluttering “Seems like it's your turn now.”

No rush for anything more. No need. This moment is a promise whispered in the dark, full of all the things you left unsaid.

Morning breaks with the chaotic roar of the crew... shouts, laughter, boots pounding on deck, and the unmistakable scent of cooking fires.

You stand just inside the galley doorway, nerves fluttering like a storm in your stomach. The crew buzzes around, eyes flicking toward you, then back at Law, then doing double-takes.

“Wait, is that—?” one mutters.

“No way...” another says, rubbing his eyes.

The captain clears his throat, voice sharp “Well?”

You swallow and step forward, heart pounding.

“I’m with the crew now.” you say quietly, glancing at Law. He gives you a small nod.

Silence.

Then the flood.

“You’re part of the crew?!”

“You didn’t tell us!”

“When did this happen?”

You grin nervouslyand then, half-jokingly “Wait… I don’t have to wear the uniform, right?”

The entire crew bursts out laughing but before anyone can answer, Law’s voice cuts through “No.”

The room freezes.

“What?!”

“That’s not fair!”

“Everyone but Captain has to wear it!”

Everyone glares playfully at Law, who crosses his arms with that signature smirk.

“Rules apply to everyone,” he says smoothly “... everyone but her.”

You chuckle, watching the crew bicker back and forth while Law’s eyes lock on yours with a mix of amusement and something softer, deeper.

Despite the noise, the laughter, and the mess of new beginnings, you feel it clearly...

This chaotic, wild crew, this life, this man...

It’s home now.

[ruebossanova]

hi, can you do: 36, 19, 47; in which Billie buys a new strap (much bigger than the other one) and uses it on reader? Billie comforts and praises reader a lot while r adjusts to the new size thank you, love your works btw <3

take your time - billie eilish

gf!billie x gf!reader

36 — “that looks too big” 19 — “spread your legs” 47 — “just like that”

prompt list

----------------------------------------------------------------

you’re lying on the bed, legs tangled in the sheets, half-dressed and already warm just from the way she’s looking at you.

billie’s standing near the dresser, pulling something from a small black bag.

you watch her. curious. a little suspicious.

“what’s that?” you ask.

she glances over her shoulder, grinning. “something new.”

you sit up on your elbows.

when she turns around, you see it. thick. black. long. strapped into her harness, already snug on her hips.

your eyes widen.

“billie…”

“yeah, baby?”

“that looks too big.”

she laughs—soft and smug—and steps closer, her hands resting low on her waist.

“you can take it.”

“i don’t know…”

her voice lowers. “you trust me, right?”

you nod slowly. “yeah.”

she leans in, kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your lips—soft, reassuring.

“then let me take care of you.”

you swallow hard, your legs shifting instinctively. she notices.

her hand slides up your thigh, slow.

“you don’t have to do anything,” she whispers. “just breathe. relax. i’ll go slow. i’ll talk you through everything, my love.”

your heart thuds.

her fingers graze your panties, and you suck in a breath.

“you already so worked up for me, huh?” she smiles, kissing your neck. “gonna make it feel so good, princess.”

billie kisses down your throat, soft and patient, while her fingers slide under your panties and tug them down slowly.

“lift up for me, baby.”

you do. she pulls them off completely and tosses them aside, her eyes dragging down your legs, your thighs, the spot between them already glistening.

“look at you,” she murmurs, pressing her hand between your legs, cupping you gently. “already so wet for me. you want it even if you’re nervous, huh?”

you nod, breath catching.

she climbs onto the bed, straddling your thigh, one hand bracing beside your head, the other still between your legs, rubbing slow, easy circles over your clit.

“just like that,” she whispers when you moan. “good girl. keep those sounds comin’, ma.”

you whimper, hips rolling into her palm.

her lips brush your ear.

“spread your legs.”

your breath stalls.

she kisses you.

“you’re doin’ so good already, baby. just spread nice and wide for me.”

you do, slowly, thighs falling open.

she smiles against your jaw.

“fuck, angel,” she breathes. “you’re beautiful.”

her fingers slip lower—wet and slow—before gently easing two fingers inside.

you gasp. she kisses your cheek.

“that okay?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “feels good.”

“good.” her fingers curl gently. “gonna get you nice and ready for me, alright? want you relaxed, soft, open. want it to feel perfect.”

you nod, already trembling a little.

“my good girl,” she whispers again. “you’re gonna take all of me so sweetly, i know it.”

she curls her fingers a little deeper, watching your face the whole time.

“there you go, princess,” she murmurs, voice so low it vibrates against your throat. “just like that.”

your legs shake around her. she kisses your cheek, your shoulder, her free hand stroking slow circles into your thigh.

“you feelin’ okay, baby?”

you nod, eyes heavy. “yeah… just full.”

she smiles.

“you’re doin’ so well. makin’ me so proud.”

she pulls her fingers out slowly, gliding them over your clit once more before sitting up.

you watch her move, your heart pounding.

she grabs a small bottle of lube from the drawer and slicks her strap slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

your breath hitches when she strokes it—thick and gleaming.

you whisper again, “it’s so big…”

she smiles gently, leaning down to kiss you.

“i know, my love. but i’m not gonna hurt you. you’re in control, okay? we go slow. we stop if you need to. just let me take care of you.”

you nod. “okay.”

her hand cups your cheek.

“color?”

“green,” you whisper.

she kisses your forehead.

“spread those pretty legs again for me, angel.”

you do, slower this time, more open.

she settles between them, her body warm and solid, the strap nudging against your entrance.

her eyes find yours.

“you ready?”

you nod, breath shaky.

“deep breath,” she whispers.

and she starts to push in.

the tip slides in first.

you gasp, your hand flying to her forearm.

“shh, baby, i got you,” she soothes immediately. “you’re doin’ so good.”

you grip her wrist, grounding yourself.

“you okay?”

“yeah,” you whisper, biting your lip. “just—big.”

she kisses you, soft and patient. doesn’t move.

“you’re takin’ it, sweetheart. you’re already takin’ it.”

her voice is a blanket—warm, safe, anchoring.

“you want more?”

you nod, breath trembling. “yeah.”

she pushes in another inch.

you whimper, thighs trembling.

she brushes hair out of your face, her thumb stroking your cheek.

“look at me, baby.”

you do.

her eyes are soft, gentle, locked on yours like she’s not just fucking you—she’s holding you.

“breathe. let your body open for me.”

she pushes in deeper.

your mouth drops open. the stretch is intense, slow, thick.

but her voice is right there.

“good girl. that’s it. takin’ me so sweet, so perfect. fuck, you’re beautiful like this.”

you choke on a moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“just like that, mama. just like that.”

finally—she bottoms out. still. warm.

your legs are shaking. your nails dig into her arms.

she stays there, forehead to yours, her hands rubbing slow over your hips.

“you got all of me, princess. every inch. i’m so proud of you.”

you’re breathless. overwhelmed. but so full.

“billie…”

“i’m here, my love. i’m right here.”

billie’s hands stay on your hips, grounding you, her thumb stroking little circles into your skin like she’s telling your body you’re safe here.

“you ready for me to move, sweetheart?” she whispers, nose brushing yours.

you nod, barely.

“words, baby.”

“yes… please.”

she kisses you, then pulls her hips back just a little. the drag of the strap inside you makes your whole body twitch.

you moan—soft, high.

she pushes back in, slow and steady.

“good girl,” she murmurs. “that’s my girl.”

she does it again.

and again.

slow, deep strokes. not fast. not hard.

just enough.

your body starts to relax into it—into her.

“feelin’ better, baby?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “so full.”

“fuck, i know.” she moans softly, hips rolling slow. “you’re so tight around me. squeezin’ me like you don’t wanna let go.”

your hands slide up her back, pulling her closer.

“don’t stop,” you whisper.

“never,” she murmurs, kissing you again. “i got you. gonna take such good care of you, angel.”

your legs wrap around her waist.

she groans into your mouth.

“that’s it. open up for me, princess. let me fuck you nice and slow.”

her pace stays deep, deliberate. each thrust sinks into you like she’s carving her name into your spine.

and all the while, her voice never leaves you.

“just like that, baby.”

“you’re takin’ me so well.”

“such a good girl for me.”

the rhythm stays slow, but your body’s begging for more—hips rocking up into hers, hands gripping her shoulders, lips trembling against her throat.

“please,” you whisper.

“please what, baby?” her voice is thick, breathless. “tell me.”

you try to speak, but the words tangle in your throat. she grinds her hips into you harder, makes you feel all of her.

“use that pretty voice, mama.”

“need more,” you gasp.

she pulls back slightly, her strap dragging deep.

“more what?”

you whimper. “harder.”

she stills.

“say it like you mean it.”

you swallow. look her in the eyes.

“i want you to fuck me harder, billie. please.”

her mouth curves into a slow, dangerous smile.

“good girl.”

then she gives it to you.

one hard thrust. then another. deep, sure, right where you need it.

you cry out, head dropping back, legs tightening around her.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” she groans. “take it. fuckin’ take it.”

she’s still not pounding into you—but every thrust now has weight, pressure, rhythm. and her voice in your ear is filth and silk.

“you’re mine, aren’t you?”

“yes—yes—billie—”

“no one else gets to see you like this.”

“only you.”

“fuckin’ right, only me.”

she thrusts harder. deeper.

“you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

“yes—i’m close—fuck—”

“then do it. cum on my cock. show me how good i make you feel.”

your climax builds fast—tight, hot, overwhelming.

billie feels it in the way your thighs clamp around her, the way your moans get sharper, higher.

“there you go, baby,” she whispers. “you’re right there.”

she fucks you through it—deep and steady, her hand cradling the back of your neck, her forehead resting against yours.

“let go for me, mama. let me feel you cum.”

your body arches.

your breath catches.

and then it hits.

you cry out, hands clawing at her arms, your walls fluttering around her strap, pulse racing.

she doesn’t stop.

“that’s it,” she breathes. “fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.”

you ride it out in waves, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes—too full, too much, too perfect.

when you go limp beneath her, she slows. gently pulls out. kisses your cheek, your jaw, your lips.

“you okay, my love?”

you nod weakly. “so good. fuck.”

she wraps you in her arms, tucks your face into her neck.

“you were perfect,” she whispers. “so proud of you.”

you bury yourself in her warmth, breath still shaky.

she strokes your back, soothing.

“you took every inch like a fuckin’ queen.”

you laugh softly, still dazed.

“what?”

“gonna be sore tomorrow.”

she grins. “worth it.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

tags; @bxllxebxtch @st0nerlesb0 @dousleepanymore @mxmsuki @billiescation @angellvk @bilswifee @ilomilobabyy

[shouyuus]

just a some food for thought i wanted to share with u! but skincare with vi im just saying i think she'd look cute with one of those scrunchy headbands with cat ears on them

(bonus points if she lets u apply said skincare - she has this idk,, little smug smile on her face bc of the close proximity and goes, "whats the matter, doll?" HFJSJFH)

i shall take my leave ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

yes okay but this with college roommate!vi before you guys get together so there's all this unresolved tension --

sfw, vi-shaped

"what are you putting on my face now?"

"hold still! it's a brightening serum --"

"any brighter and i'll start to reflect the sun --"

"vi! the serum is gonna drip!"

vi laughs, biting her lips as you lean forward to slather a thick layer of gooey, transparent serum onto her face. she crinkles her nose as you smooth your palms over her forehead and her nose, grumbling when you get too close to her eyes.

"okay, are we almost done?"

you roll your eyes, though you can't help the smile blossoming across your lips. vi's gaze flickers down and back up again as she goes still.

"just a few more things," you say, reaching for the eye cream.

"and what's this one do?" she asks, eyeing the tiny daub of cream. you sigh, holding it up to show her, trying your hardest not to be distracted by the fact that your nearly sitting in her lap, your legs bracketed on either side of her thighs, her palms gently keeping you steady at the bend of your waist.

"it's an eye cream," you say, by way of an answer.

vi scoffs, "my eyes are just fine, thanks."

"well yeah, you have just about the most gorgeous eyes ever -- but this helps with dark circles and such --" you break off. the air slips out of the room as quickly as a scolded child, and in the stifling, vacuum quiet, vi licks her lips.

"think my eyes are gorgeous, do you?" her voice is lower, husky the way a chain-smoker's might be, except you know that she hasn't smoked in a hot sec because it's competition season. still, the effect it has on you is embarrassing and immediate.

you try to cover for it with a long-suffering sigh.

"d-doesn't everyone?"

vi cocks her head, her eyes bright and sharp and altogether much too focused on you.

"sure," she answers easily, and there's that signature drawl, the heartbreak-twang that has, in fact, broken many a heart in it's time, but to have it directed at you --

"but i don't care about everyone else right now."

you breath hitches; you try to swallow, fail, and nearly tip back as you fight for some kind of foothold to keep yourself steady.

vi's arm loops around your middle, catching you, easy as anything. she presses you back into her -- chest to chest, your legs on either side of her hips.

"i just care about you."

the noise you make is unprompted, a tiny little moan right at the back of your throat that rakes shivers down the entire length of vi's spine.

it makes her fingers curl into your waist, squeezing for a single second before she catches herself and loosens her grip.

you gasp, steadying yourself with your hands on her shoulders.

"i --"

"sorry --"

you and her both freeze, caught amidst the strangeness of the moment. and then, like a bowstring drawn too taut -- the tension snaps, and you both topple into laughter. you, falling into her, her holding onto you.

"you were saying about the eye cream," she prompts, grinning up at you, even as the pair of you readjust and she looks back up at you with a sweet, open smile.

you blush, biting your lips as you reach down to daub the cream onto her skin, "i was saying -- it helps with dark circles and inflammation -- so you'll look like you got a good night's sleep for once."

you pin her with a look; vi only grins.

you almost hiccup as she leans forward a few inches.

"what's the matter, doll?"

you huff, reaching for a facemask and tearing the plastic open with your teeth. vi watches with raised eyebrows.

"last step -- the facemask."

you laugh gleefully as you open up the mask and drape it over her face. she blinks, nonplussed by the sudden addition of an entire wet paper towel to her face.

you smooth your fingers over the flap for her nose and seal the edges around the sharp cut of her jaw.

"there. all done!"

vi rolls her eyes as you hop off of her lap, wiping off your hands.

"damn, all that flirting, and what do i get? a wet towel in the face."

you tut, "a very expensive wet towel," you correct, to which vi attempts to make a face at you, hindered by the fact that most of her face is covered by the mask.

you giggle, leaning back to admire your handiwork.

"so. do i get to do you after?"

you nearly trip on your way to put your skincare things away. you whip around to find vi leaning against her bed, one leg straight, the other propped up, her arm dangling carelessly from her knee. you wonder who on earth gave her the right to look so damn hot all the time.

"w-what?"

vi's smirk is evident, even from beneath the thick, wet facemask; her eyes glimmer as she looks you over with dark, ravenous eyes.

"after this is done," she motions to her face before her finger swivels towards you, "do i get to do you?"

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

More of the Yandere Warlord please :3

Ask and ye shall receive anon

His return- Yandere warlord x fem reader

You're the first person he visits on his return from raids. Sometimes still stained in another man's blood, he doesn't take the time to change before coming to greet you. You first assumed it would be his mother he meant to meet first, she is the de facto ruler in his absence you're thankful no one looks to you for leadership. No expectations to be fulfilled apart from bearing his heirs in good time.

But he chooses your side to return to first. If in public, amongst his mother's court or the gaggle of ladies appointed to your company and service, he is performative with his greeting. Kneeling before you and pressing your hand against his head, before presenting the gifts he's returned with. You try to not think about the original owner of the jewellery he drapes around your body, no good would come from thinking of the fate you would have shared had you not caught his eye.

However if he finds you in the privacy of the forest outside the corral or within your yurt he does away with the ritual. Embracing you tightly and throwing you in the air as you yelp for him to put you down on your own feet. He twirls you around instead, entranced at how you look dressed in the clothing befitting your new station. You are becoming less startled when you catch your own reflection in bodies of water or the looking glass he has brought you. The you from before this would never be wearing silk trimmed with fur and jewels, be painted and perfumed every morning.

You first assumed that with time you'd gradually lose his affection and infatuation once he'd be bored of you and find some other woman to take your place. You quickly learnt your assumptions about him were wrong

He places his face down the crook of your neck inhaling deeply.“I missed you, my little wife, I thought of you every night I had to sleep with only the bugs and snores of my men for company.”He groans into your skin as he latches onto your shoulder

“There will be a feast in the coming days as always with our return, I sent a scout ahead of our arrival so that there would be time to prepare for it,” In all the time since his ascension he has never brought his people to a raid or battle that he would not emerge victorious. He tells you this with such pride in his eyes, as though this knowledge will help win your affections “but for today I only wish to celebrate my success with you.”

Part of you, the part of you that's too much like your mother wants to say that of course he wins against unarmed farmers and merchants. But the other part of you knows that although he finds you adorable and amusing he would find no humour in that statement. Unfortunately you only came to those thoughts after the words escaped your mouth. He lets go of you, pulling back to look at you properly.

He is quiet for a moment, giving contemplation to your words. “It is our way of life. Without showing strength, others will assume we are weak and attack us in turn. You do not understand this yet, nor do I expect you to. But in time, I hope you will see yourself as one of us, my love, I already do, and so does everyone else on the steppe.” He kisses you gently if only to end that conversation. “Come, I wish to bathe together.” He pulls you along with him to the bath house, again prepared in advance by silent hands.

You still feel awkward when you strip before him, he is your husband and has seen and had your body in a multitude of ways. Yet still you make yourself as small as possible once you're out of your underthings, pulling your hair down to hide behind it. You step into the large bath quickly, not wanting to stand bare before him for any moment longer than most. He steps in after you, as you try to pivot your gaze from the monster of a thing between his legs. Every time you catch sight of it you wonder how he hasn't managed to tear you in half.

Without warning he pulls you against his chest, slotting precariously on his lap as the water sloshes. Giving out a sigh of satisfaction as he throws his head back, he only wears his hair down when he bathes or sleeps. It is far longer than yours, dark with a reddish flash in the light, thick as fur. He opens one eye to catch you staring.

“A true man is only to let his wife tend to his hair, to see it unbraided and to take ahold of it, only she can see him at his most vulnerable ” he smirks as he pulls you tighter against his chest. His arms grazing your breasts, you try not to squeal.

“What if he had multiple wives, or concubines?” you ask, hoping to change the subject before he focuses on what other reactions he can twist from your body.

“then he shall pick his chief wife to tend to his hair, and besides concubines do not count.” He laughs in your ears as though you've said the most amusing thing he has heard.

“Would you take other wives or concubines?” you don't even understand why the idea upsets you so. Perhaps it is the possibility of losing the life you live under his care. Despite your seriousness as you tentatively ask he begins to howl with laughter that you could ask such a thing with such genuineness as you are sat naked in his lap.

“How could I take any other woman in my bed when I have you? If I ever did she would only be mine in name only for purely political reasons. You do not need to worry for your status.” He rubs his thumb in circles atop your cheek. Pleased at the thought that you could be jealous of some woman who doesn't exist for his attention.

Once the water has cooled and your fingers become wrinkled he lifts you from the tub before he steps out, once he puts you down he stares unabashedly at your naked body “So beautiful, how can you be so perfectly beautiful no matter how I look at you? How could I ever spare a second glance at another woman when I have you?”

[patri56001]

Fic idea! Tim once heard his parents say something along the lines of "if you want to be rich, you spend other people's money not your own" and for whatever reason didn't pay it much attention until he wants something and Bruce tells him no bc he can't justify it on paper, fine. BUT NOW he is pissed at Bruce bc he won't buy it for him neither bc "Your vigilante persona doesn't need a car, Tim. You already have a motorcycle, keep your civilian car and that's final"

"You just don't want me to have a cooler car than the batmobile, Bruce" he mutters.

"what?"

"Nothing, B."

So later that week he is still pouting and gets kidnapped by Ra's again. (It's that time of the month) And Ra's ranting about all he can give Tim if he becomes his heir or something, and Tim gets an idea... Use Ra's money to get his car. Bruce won't know bc he keeps his vehicles in another place from the batcave and won't see the transaction on the bank. So he plays along with Ra's until he buys him the parts and he builds it hidden from the batfam. Now, of course he has to offer something to Ra's, so he draws up a contract. He won't become Ra's heir or spouse, but he will allow the occasional visit and dinner or chess game, and give him attention (nothing sexual ffs). And he doesn't think much of it until the car is done, and he is testing it with Cassie, Bart and Kon, and explains how he got it and they are stunned by a full minute before laughing so hard they cry.

"DUDE you are Ra's sugar baby" Kon says wheezing.

"WHAT N- .... OH MY GOD I TOTALLY AM" Tim said horrified

"Oh My God Tim, I want to be there when you tell Damian" says Cassie.

"You can win every argument now, just threaten to become his Grandma" Bart said with pure delight in his eyes.

Tim tried to seem annoyed but the notion appealed to him. "No one says anything to anyone... Or else Bruce will have a stroke.." he tried to sound serious but they just stared at each other and burst laughing at the situation.

Months go by and they develop a system to keep it a secret, they don't speak about it unless they are behind steel walls at their own secret base (thanks Ras) and bc the core four are separated from the JL and the titans and are their own hero organization, they don't have to justify their budget or anything they get to anyone. But that doesn't mean that the JL isn't questioning how they get many of their rare or expensive gadgets.

As part of their agreement, Tim has to answer anytime Ra's calls him to check on him and his training. So Tim is having breakfast with the whole family one rare morning, his phone is on the table, for some reason he is not near it when his phone goes up and it's a phone call from Ra's... Only his contact number is saved as "Sugar Daddy" instead of "Incoming headache" bc Kon and Bart played a prank on him. And since he never knows when Ra's is going to call him, he just shouts for someone else to answer the call bc he doesn't think that it's Ra's.

So of course Damian answers the call

"Good morning, you have the misfortune to be calling Timothy Drake's phone, now fortunately for me I don't know who you are, given the fact that you not only are unfortunate enough for needing to talk to Drake, but have a bigger misfortune of being saved as Drake's Sugar Daddy, would you care to leave a message?"

The silence is so loud at the dinning room that everyone heard the call end after a few seconds. And Tim gets back to the room and everyone is staring at him all weird. He asked what was going on and who called.

Damian just hands him his phone casually and says "Your sugar daddy called but didn't leave any messages" and goes back to eating while Tim blue screens and panics bc he forgot to change the contact name... And Bruce is seconds away from paper bagging it, Alfred is drilling a stare at him, everyone else is just shocked.

"I DON'T HAVE AN ACTUAL SUGAR DADDY I SWEAR, BART AND KON WERE JUST PLAYING A PRANK ON ME, BRUCE DICK FUCKING BREATH!" Tim yelled, but ain't looking at Cass bc she knows he's lying. But he is begging her to not say anything. Bruce and Dick are just breathing heavily bc "goddamn it Timmy please don't do that to us"

"Guys seriously, I'm rich enough to be a sugar daddy, it was a prank, I swear" he is giving the performance of a lifetime bc Alfred will beat his ass if he finds out the truth. And it's not until Casa straight up lies to them, saying that Tim is saying the truth, that the rest of the family calms down, and they forget about it, but as soon as it's possible Cass interrogates him, and just helps him (I swear they match each others freaks better than anyone else) and starts asking Tim for stuff as well. (I just think Ra's gave Tim a personal debit card for him to use freely)

[ssentimentals]

Hi love! I hope you're having a wonderful day!

I'm here to request from your prompt list if that's okay?

#3 with wonwoo fluff thank you !!! 💜💜

I love your writing style sooooo much I just wanted to let you know thank youuu

hi baby, i hope you're having a wonderful day too! of course it's okay to request, thank you for doing so and thank you for your kind words, they mean the world!💜

prompt: 'you never came to bed last night.'

when wonwoo finds you curled in an uncomfortable position on the sofa, he pauses and pinches himself lightly to make sure he's not hallucinating. he rubs his eyes for a good measure, but no, it's definitely you on that sofa, fast asleep in your last night's clothes. his heart instantly skyrockets up to his throat from nerves - why are you here? why did you decide to sleep on the sofa instead of coming to the bed to him? wonwoo can swear that you two were fine when you left to work yesterday morning - what happened in between? you told him to not wait for you because you had this work event and wonwoo didn't even notice how he fell asleep, too tired from this hell of a week. nervously, he walks quietly to the kitchen for a glass of water and when he comes back, you're already rubbing your eyes sleepily, looking so adorable that it tugs on his heartstrings.

'morning, love.' he carefully holds you the glass of water.

you blink twice at him before slowly sitting up anf reaching for the water with a small smile. you don't look mad, he supposes. but you must be or else why would you decide to sleep on the sofa?

'morning, woo.' you mumble, yawning. you lie back on the sofa, pulling your legs closer to your chest and giving him space to sit. 'what time is it?'

'around nine,' wonwoo answers, sitting hesitantly.

you sound just like you usually do in the mornings, nothing indicates that something is wrong. unsurely, he gently touches your ankle and breathes out sigh of relief when you stretch your legs out, moving them on top of his with a comfortable familiarity. you wouldn't have been like that if something bad happened, surely. then why-

'is... everything okay?' he asks quietly.

you hum questioningly and when wonwoo doesn't offer anything else, you open your eyes, turning your head to look at him. 'yes? why, did something happen?'

'you never came to bed last night,' wonwoo says, tracing circles on your knees. he doesn't meet your gaze, not now. 'i figured something happened if you decided not to sleep on our bed with me.'

at first you look confused but then you mutter 'oh' and pull your legs away from him. wonwoo freezes at the lack of physical contact, his mind instantly dives to the worst thing - that he fucked up, badly. he only feels like he can breathe again, when you move closer to his side, leaning on his shoulder with a yawn. 'i'm not fully awake yet,' you mumble, slurring your words a little right into his shoulder. 'but no, woo, nothing bad happened. i just came so late, i didn't want to disturb you.'

wonwoo frowns. he carefully wraps his arm around your waist. 'you never do,' he says, thinking whether he once acted like you bothered him, ever. 'i'm sorry for not waiting for you, i took those pills you told me about last time and they just knocked me out, i guess.'

'they and your general tiredness,' you say, looking up. your chin digs painfully into his shoulder, but he pays it no mind, finally meeting your gaze. you don't look mad, you look worried. 'it was a bad week babe, wasn't it? you didn't really sleep.'

yeah, it was shitty. too bad that you caught on it though. 'i'm fine,' wonwoo says, tightening his grip on your waist. 'and it'd be better if you woke up sliding next to me on the bed instead of me finding you sleeping on the sofa.'

wonwoo doesn't say that he doesn't like sleeping not next to you. he doesn't say how he is so used to having you in his arms every night, that at nights when he doesn't, his limbs ache with longing. instead he whispers: 'i will wait for you next time. and pick you up from events too. sorry, love.'

'nothing to be sorry for,' you assure him and it's sincere, he can tell by the look in your eyes. you carefully stand up and pull him with you, smiling. 'let's go to our bed and sleep some more, yeah? make up for not sleeping together yesterday?'

wonwoo's body sags in relief. god, yes. 'yeah,' he leans in and kisses your forehead. 'yeah, love, let's go.'

a/n: oooh, whenever i write fluff, i feel like i come back to my usual self <3 hope you liked it! - nini

my other seventeen works are here

request your own here

[sparrows4bats]

Nest AU

Damian Wayne somehow keeps finding babies and keeping them, like his father before him. It's mostly Talias fault.

The first of Damians' babies arrives one night as he is getting off of a shift at the hospital.

He opens his door, thinking it's the pizza he ordered only to find a sleeping baby in a basket on the doorstep.

In shock and exhausted, Damian brings the newborn inside. The tiny baby wakes up when Damian lifts them from their basket to check for any injuries or obvious health issues.

Damian prepares for them to cry, but the baby just stares up at him, smiling a toothless grin, and Damian can't help smiling back.

"Hello there, I don't suppose you know why you're here, do you?"

The baby gurgles and Damian nods seriously in response.

"I understand. You were asleep, but thank you for your insight."

Once Damian ensures the baby has no outward signs of abuse or neglect, Damian tries to settle them down in the basket again, only for the baby to cry every time Damian tries to let them go.

Damian gives up and carries the baby around his apartment, humming a tune he remembers his mother singing to him when he was a child.

He manages to free one of his hands and look at the basket properly. Under the blankets tucked in a waterproof pocket, Damian finds a letter with his name on it and a birth certificate with him named as the father and the mothers name redacted.

Except there is no possible way he is the biological father. He has not slept with anyone in years because between med school, internships, and part-time vigilantism, he really has not had the time or desire to. And the baby doesn't look like him, even a few days old she, the baby is a she named Amira Wayne apparently, has wide brown eyes and black curls her skin a shade or two darker than his own.

Damian opens the letter with a bit of difficulty.

There are two notes inside, one from Amiras birth mother and one from Talia Al Ghul.

Amiras mother was a League Assassin who felt pregnant and didn't want to have their child raised in its rank but did not wish to leave, so she went to Talia with her problem.

Damians' mother had offered her protection and a solution. Talia had started to mend her relationship with her son and decided that he would make an excellent father and a safe person who was able to protect the baby from any and all threats.

So Amira was given his name and left in Gotham for her new father to find.

Damian sighs at the explanation even if a part of him settles at being seen as safe, especially for someone as vulnerable as a newborn.

Talia writes about how proud of him she is, how he grew up to be better that Talia ever dared hope and that she hopes that he will give Amira the life and childhood neither of them got to experience. That she expect to meet her granddaughter again soon.

Amiras mother only asks him to love her daughter and how she knows of him through his reputation as a hero and a warrior. She ends her letter by saying she hopes Amira brings him joy.

Damian reads them both three times and looks at Amira again. The little girl is now cuddled into his chest, and Damian, who has never considered having children before now, feels himself melt.

"I guess you are staying with me then."

Amira yawns at him and drifts off to sleep, like that's answer enough.

The doorbell rings again with Damians pizza.

It's only after Damian goes to feed himself that he realises tha yes, he is a father now, his heart had set on it in an instant and he has nothing for his new baby to eat. Or diapers. Or a crib.

He can't even leave to go get stuff because he doesn't own a carrier or a carseat yet. Damian begins to panic because Amira needs so much, and he has only just started his residentancy. He wants this baby, but it all feels so impossible all of a sudden. That's doesn't mean he regrets his hasty decision just he really didn't have a game plan, and his mother hadn't provided one when she gave him a baby.

Damian looks at his sleeping daughter and begins to hyperventilate.

Then his window bursts open to reveal Jonathan Kent.

"Damian! Are you okay? Your heartbeat -... Is that a baby?"

Damian looks at his childhood best friend and sighs in relief.

"Jon! Thank God! I need you to buy me diapers, wipes, formula and baby clothes. Now!"

"Wait, but where did you get a baby? Is she yours?"

"She just got dropped off from the League, I'm on her birth cert. No, I'm not her biological parent, but goddammit, she's mine already. Now, can you please go get the stuff!"

Jon has more questions, but Damian is scribbling him a list of stuff to buy and shoving his credit card at him before the Super can ask any.

It's midnight in Gotham, so Jon flees to the opposite coast to find an open baby store. Luckily, a very nice lady explains baby sizes to him and recommends products when Jon gets overwhelmed by the sheer number of options. He never knew babies needed so much stuff, though he does get a cute Superman themed onesie he spots before leaving.

Damian is going to hate it so much.

He flies back to Gotham to find Damian singing to the now crying baby.

The sight stops him dead. The domesticity of it all does something to Jon. Damian, who when he met him, was so hurt and angry and turned out to be so caring, so loving.

His best friend sees him floating there and grabs the bags from his arms, grabbing supplies while he balances the baby.

Damian, thanks every lucky star that he knows basic baby care, like how to make formula correctly from his time as Lizzies Babysitter, though Lizzie was never this young.

Jon is ordered to build the crib while Damian feeds his daughter.

Amira goes right back to sleep once she's fed and changed, and the boys have a moment to breathe.

Damian finally eats his pizza while Jon quizzes him. The super looks kind of shocked that his mother just gave him a baby but less shocked that Damian intends to keep her.

Jon offers to stay the night after he sees how exhausted the young doctor is. His superhearing means that he will wake up with the baby because they both forgot to get a baby monitor.

Damian makes him learn how to make a bottle and change a diaper before he finally falls asleep. Jon would be more insulted if he didn't know that is just how the former Robin worries.

Jon is left watching his Robin sleep with his arm outstretched towards the crib. He takes plenty of photos to show everyone later.

Jon doesn't know how Damian is going to explain this to his family. Not that Batman has much room to judge.

Amira starts crying two hours later, and Damian wakes up to get her only for Jon to kiss his forehead while tucking him back in and whispering that he's got it.

Jon holds Amira in his hands and is terrified of how tiny she is, but the little girl just grabs his finger, and Jon falls a little in love.

Damian wakes up the next time she cries, and they both end up staring at her like weirdos when she falls back asleep after another bottle.

Come morning, both Supersons are tired but content. The domesticity of Damian making them breakfast as they talk and cuddle Amira makes Jon ache.

Because if he's honest with himself, he's been in love with Damian for years. He had never done anything with those feelings before now because he was terrified he would lose Damian. They grew apart years ago, and Jon feels like he has been just about hanging on to his friendship with Damian over the past couple of months between hospital shifts and Jon own heroing.

Damian seemed like he had everything together and had no place in his life for Jon to fit into anymore.

Last night was the first time Jon had felt truly needed in months.

And while he never saw himself with a family, especially after Ultraman, standing here with Damian makes him yearn for it.

Damian calls into work and messages his family about his little suprise. It takes thirty minutes for the bats to invade.

There are questions, accusations, and demands to hold Amira. Bruce is especially insistent that he meets his granddaughter.

Dick arrives last after racing from Bludhaven and steals the baby from the Batman, Damian laughs when she spits up on him. The others call it Karma, even Bruce.

Damian takes his daughter back and goes to change her, conveniently leaving Jon to the wolves.

"Why are you here?" Jason begins.

"Damian needed help, so I came to help."

"He called you? Before us?" Dick asks, hurt.

"No, I heard him panicking." Jon defends before he has to deal with a pouting Nightwing.

"So you just listen to him? Always?" Tim asks, and Jon really doesn't like the way he is looking at him.

Bruce crosses his arms, "Does Damian know?"

Jon swallows. "Yes, I've had his heartbeat memorised for years."

The room somehow gets even more awkward, that is until Damian bring Amira back.

"Jon! Why are the only onesies you bought Superman themed?!"

The bats are all horrified, but Jon thinks Amira looks adorable!

The next few hours are spent getting to know their newest addition, while Bruce tries to convince Damian to move back home only to get firmly rebuffed.

The bats leave after Amira is asleep and Damian falls asleep beside her again.

Jon was going to leave too but couldn't bring himself to do it. He sends photos of Amira in her superthemed colours to his parents instead.

Jon is still there in the morning when crates of gifts and baby supplies arrive from very overexcited aunts and uncles.

Jon is there the next night, too.

Damian forces him to sleep in bed with him after he complains about how short the couch is, and Jon just doesn't really leave after that.

He does a few rescues and shifts at the Watchtower, but he goes home to Damian and Amira afterwards. They don't talk about it, but Jons clothes migrate to the closet, and his toothbrush lives on the sink.

Damian goes back to work after three weeks and Jon stays with Amira most days, he even brings here to Kent Farm when both he and Damian could use a break.

On those days, Jon takes Damian out for dinner or patrol so he can let off steam.

They find a rhythm, and it's everything Jon never knew he wanted, and he finds himself on edge waiting for when it'll eventually end.

Then Amira gets a fever one night. Damian gets worried, and Jon rushs them all to the ER. The nurse asks what their relationship to Amira is, and Jon can't answer because he doesn't know where he fits in this little family he and Damian have created.

"He's her other father. We are working on getting the paperwork through at the moment." Damian says without hesitation, and Jon feels himself settle at words.

Until he starts spiralling because holy shit he's a Dad! He has a kid with Damian!

Amira turns out fine with some meds, and they do get Jons name added as Amiras parent with Oracles help when they bring her back home.

His parents are overjoyed but not surprised by the announcement of being grandparents.

All in all, Jon has never felt happier and more settled, and then, as always, things get a bit more complicated.

Damian gets a call from Talia on a random Tuesday. She doesn't give many details but does say a contact needs an immediate evac and texts him coordinates.

Jon flies them both over after dropping off the baby with Bruce. What they find is a Lazarus Demon worshipping cult that's about to sacrifice a baby.

Naturally, the Supersons put the cultists down and rescue the infant. Only to find out that Talia apparently is giving them yet another child and saving them from a bad situation.

Their second daughter comes home mere months after their first.

Idalia Wayne Kent has blue eyes and wispy red hair on her head and giggles up at her father's.

Juggling two babies is harder than one, but Damian and Jon manage with the help of their family.

Even though Damian regularly has to steal his kids back from an over enthusiastic Bruce.

Their third baby Talia delivers to Damian in person.

"He was going to be raised as an assassin, like you were, and couldn't let that happen again."

Jon takes the bundle carefully while Damian has a moment with his mother. He sighs as he realises they have three kids now.

They name him Richard, and Dick cries when they tell him.

Damian and Jon get a bigger house with farmland around it for their growing family and Damians many pets. Though, they still end up sharing a bed because it makes it easier.

Jon becomes a stay at home dad with Damian taking over whenever Jon goes on a mission.

Though Jon does keep worrying about how fragile his kids are. Damian has to talk him down from wrapping, then in kryptonitian bubble wrap after every scraped knee.

The only issue in their blissful domestic life is that despite living together, co parenting, and cuddling every night, Damian and Jon are still not together romantically, and it's driving everyone around them crazy.

Clark starts dropping hints, Lois plans an intervention, and the Bats place bets. Bruce is still trying to convince Damian to move home so he can see his grand babies more often. He doesn't even mind if Jon comes with them at this point.

Dick finally has enough of the unresolved tension when he finds Jon staring at his brother for the eighth time.

So he does the most logical thing possible and kidnaps his neices and nephew for a weekend and locks the two pining idiots in a containment cell together at the Watchtower.

Both men are extremely angry at him when he releases them, but they look more well rested than they have in weeks.

Damian also has visible bruises on his neck while Jon looks unbearably happy, so at least his plan worked.

Jon and Damian get married after they find their fourth baby.

[arbitrarykiwi]

Hyiaa, I just say I'm absolutely OBSESSEDDDD with your Thanos and Nam-gyu fics, seriously you're amazing and I CAN'T stop smiling at the screen whenever I read them like??? You're way of writing if fucking immaculate wtf?? Girl you better keep up with the good work🫶🏽

But now I'm wondering how the boys react during reader's menstrual cycle... OR EVEN BETTER... HEAR ME OUT

When she's OVULATING

BAM I said it

I AM SO FUCKING SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!??? totally didn’t get started then get lost in my drafts….and I also didn’t totally revamp it once I found it again. This is literally such a good ask. Also thank you for the kind words??? I LOVE KNOWIN I MAKE YEW SMILE WHEN YOU READ MY THINKS ON THANGYUUU <333

I went with a headcannon style for writing this one (I hope you don’t mind)

Warnings: 18+ , nsfw / sfw themes

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Okay so…admittedly at first they were both so ass with anything to do with periods or ovulation or anything to do with period products- completely oblivious

They both know what a period is, they just don’t particularly realize how much of an effect it has on someone who experiences a period until you’ve come along

Thanos 100% though a ‘heavy flow’ was a new way of saying a rapper had good bars in their raps

When you first told them you had cramps they straight up asked if if you overdid it with a workout or something

When you had to ask them to get you pads or tampons for the first time…fucking hell it was a challenge

They just need to be trained </3

The group chat you had with the three of them was blowing up nonstop. As much as you loved them, this only made your headache worse.

‘Why is there so fucking many’

‘I’ve lost Nam-Gyu. Do I call 911?!’

‘No don’t call 911, you’re in a small store you’ll find him’

‘I told you the brand I needed.’

‘Okay yeah, you told me the brand but you didn’t tell me that brand would have so many fucking products. Like I mean come on…there’s like 70 different options here.’

‘Found Nam-Gyu! :D What does “with wings” mean?’

‘I want the ones with the wings. Just get any brand at this point idc.’

‘Wings for my angel’

‘Wait are you mad now?! :( I swear I’m trying here can’t say the same for shit-for-brains’

‘You’re too pussy to say it out loud that’s why you text it :P’

‘Not mad ‘Gyu…just tired and hurting. Get ones with wings and the overnight kind.’

‘What size pussy you wear?’

Once they got back from that trip you explained to them why there was so many options and how you had a specific favorite brand and even more specific product from that brand

They then took pictures of all four sides of the pad or tampon box to save or for the next time they tried to find your items

After seeing how it affected you, the way you’re more lethargic and in pain, they begin to take your menstrual cycle more seriously than you do.

Nam-Gyu then has your cycle in his calendar and shares it with Thanos as well as you

The second that calendar reminder goes off, you’re getting texts from both of them to confirm if it came on that day

They also can’t seem to grasp that although your period sucks and it’s worse on some days and not others- it’s something you’ve been dealing with for a long while and you know how to cope with everything- you’re not dying.

You falter in your steps when a sharp pain hits? They’re asking if they need to take you to the hospital. You get up to change your pad or tampon a little sooner than normal? They’re both convinced you’re bleeding out

After learning about what you need and what your period is like, they’re both attentive in their own ways.

“Here you go, girlie.” Nam-Gyu says tapping your shoulder and passing a hot bowl of homemade Ramen over your shoulder from behind the couch.

Your eyes widen and you turn around, smiling at him with a wide but tired smile. This has been a particularly tough day, horrible cramps, heavy flow, headaches, the whole lot. “Ohhhh!! You’re the fucking best.” You say, taking the warm bowl from his hands.

“Mhm, I know~” he says, leaning over the back of the couch and bending down to kiss the crown of your head, he’s ruffling your hair before grabbing a bottle of water out of his apron pocket and placing it against your legs on the couch, “You better fuckin’ drink this, you can’t only drink soda- you’ll get dehydrated.”

Your attention is turned away from Nam-Gyu when the front door opens. “I’m back!!” Thanos calls out, wide grin becoming impossibly wider when he sees you sitting on the couch. “Ahhh!! My baby! Perfect, I come bearing gifts.”

Thanos walks towards you, dropping a couple plastic bags down on the couch and sifting through them, beginning to hand you things one by one. “Okay so I got you more of those pain meds you like…” he’s placing the bottle in your lap.

“Got you some chocolates…they unfortunately didn’t have your favorite so I got literally every other one they had in store so we can now decide on a second one to have as a backup for next time…” he’s lifting one of the plastic bags, now identified as being solely chocolate.

“And got you more pads like you requested, the exact ones you requested.” He always says that now after the first pad incident.

You smile wide and lean to reach him, “Thank you!!” You say holding your bowl of ramen steady, “gimme kiss, handsome!” Thanos leans in happily, connecting his lips with yours in a slow kiss.

“Take your meds.” Nam-Gyu calls from the kitchen. Thanos is pulling away, realizing the Ramen in your hand then quickly making his way into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Nam-Gyu from behind and hooking his chin over the household cook’s shoulder.

“Ramen for dinner?”

“Mhm…she requested it.”

“I’ll take them in a bit!” You’re calling out over your shoulder to Nam-Gyu, too engrossed in the level of the video game you’re playing to pause to take the pain medication

“I will come over there and shove them down your throat, princess- don’t test me.”

“Ooooo, so hot when you scold her ‘Gyu.” Thanos coos, squeezing Nam-Gyu tighter.

Now when you’re ovulating?

Those two freaks just know

It’s something about how you hold yourself, how you walk, the little purr that takes over you voice- they just can tell

Almost like dogs, they can smell when you’re ovulating. It’s not that they can smell your arousal- they always say it’s your skin. It’s something uniquely you that almost makes their ears ring.

Pheromones. What they’re smelling is pheromones.

Being in a relationship with the both of them, being near each other almost all hours of almost every day, being intimate- they’re so in tune with you that they can pick up on the slight hints your body gives them.

Also…with living with the both of them…With those two fine ass men around ready to do whatever you ask?- you don’t have to do much to get whatever you need

Wanna watch them fuck each other just while you use your favorite little vibrator on yourself? Done!

Want to just spend hours sucking them both off because there’s just something about the weight of their cocks in your mouth that makes your mind go numb? Lol! Easy money!

It’s when you’re ovulating that they realized they might actually not be able to keep up with you in terms of sex- you’re making them fuck you over and over until both of them are twitching and damn near crying from overstimulation while you’re crying for another round

They end up developing a fucking system where they’re practically tagging each other in and out of the ‘ring’ like some wwe fighters or something (the ring being your pussy)

Also- they’re both so whipped they give you whatever you want when you want it

It’s 3am… and here you were, waking up randomly with a huge throbbing in your lower stomach and damp panties. You do try to get back to sleep, but you mind is flashing with images of the little session that put you to sleep to begin with.

Stuffed so full of both their cocks, begging them to cum inside you over and over until you were fucked stupid- yeah…you weren’t getting back to sleep anytime soon.

You wiggle a bit, loosening yourself out of the mess of limbs that was currently the cuddle pile. Nam-Gyu was to your right, facing you with his arms lightly draped over your stomach. Thanos was to your left, curled into you with one hand arched over your head on the pillows and tangled in Nam-Gyu’s hair.

You’re huffing, tossing and turning trying to ease yourself of the heat that is taking over your entire body. You need them.

Whining, you’re turning your head to press your forehead against Thanos’ and rub your nose against his, your hand tracing up his bare torso- he doesn’t wake up. He rouses, his face twitching into a blissed out smile and his cock begins to grow in his boxers- but he’s not away.

“C’monn.” You whine louder, but still nothing. You’re about to turn over and begin to try and wake Nam-Gyu but you can already feel his side of the bed shift.

Nam-Gyu’s arm removes itself from holding you as he flops down on his back, his eyes still closed- you almost think he’s asleep. You then see his hand fish out his hardening cock.

“C’mon, take what you need, girlie.” His voice is soft, laced with sleep, and creaky- it only makes you wetter. His hand is lazily pumping his cock, getting himself hard as you straddle his thighs.

You’re huffing and whining, removing his hand from his cock and replacing it with yours. The second you drag his fat cock head through your folds you’re nearly falling over on top of him. You’re still so fucking sensitive but you need it.

Sinking down onto him, you’re spearing your cunt open on his thick length, a wanton cry ripping from your throat.

Apparently all you needed to do was moan out all nice and pretty to wake up Thanos because now he’s up and beginning to make his way behind you.

“How rude…” he scoffs, his voice deep and rough. Thanos’ tattooed hands push your down forward on Nam-Gyu, hand staying on your lower back to push you into that deep arch he love sooo much, “Didn’t wanna invite me?”

Thanos is prodding his already hard cock at your stuffed pussy, “I-I tried! You didn’t wake up!” You whine, beginning to feel the wide stretch of having both their cocks deep inside you. You’re pressing your hips back eagerly, seeking more.

“Hmm didn’t try hard enough…must not want it that bad…” He’s drawing his hips back and pulling out, his cock dragging deliciously against Nam-Gyu’s who is now wide awake.

“No I do! I tried- I swear- you sleep so fucking hard. I wan’ both of you!” You’re pleading, trying to press your hips back but it’s not working with how they hold you.

“Don’t be so mean to her…” Nam-Gyu coos like he’s not the one holding your hips in place, “…she’s a needy thing and you’re just mad I woke up first.”

“Well now neither of you are going back to sleep anytime soon.” Thanos says, plunging his cock deep inside you, ripping a high pitched moan from both you and Nam-Gyu

All in all, the two boyfriends are better than one applies here because they both know exactly how to take care of you during those times!!

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Taglist: @namsgyu @nuttybeans @namgyucat @g1rlonthe3internet @reilapse @yuuumeee @thanosspills

((Lmk if you wanna be added to my main tag list <3))

[goldenmythosworld]

Synopsis: you remember your past with Sylus. Pt. 2 here

CW: none, fluff

A/N: this has been sitting in my brain for MONTHS but I was #scared to post it LMFAO. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy. If literally one person asks, I’ll write a part two where they fug🙂‍↕️ also! Looking for moots PLZ 🤞

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You had been in your room, drying off after a shower. Humming to yourself, as you think about Sylus. You realise you are in love with him. It is a giddy thought. Your blood warms and you cannot help but giggle. This feeling. It feels familiar.

And then it hits you. All of it.

It comes rushing back to you like a tsunami. You remember. You remember everything.

You are shaking as you dress — hair still wet, throwing on whatever you can before you sprint down to your car. Key in the ignition. Gear shifted. Foot on the pedal. You are off, speeding to the N109 Zone.

Sylus would lose his mind if he knew you had been driving this fast, but you cannot find it in yourself to care. All that matters now is seeing him.

Your Sylus. Who you had lost. And now found. Only you had not remembered him. All this time. All this wasted time.

You needed to see him.

It makes sense now. The unshakable connection you felt when you first met. The reason you found yourself constantly thinking about him. Why you felt so safe whenever he was near you. You two had always been destined for each other.

In every life.

Always.

You pull up to Sylus’ compound, barely remembering to turn off your car, before you rush inside. Luke and Kieran are playing cards in the sitting area when you burst through the doors. They look up, startled.

Before they can say anything, you ask, “Where is he?” Your voice is hoarse. You had been fighting back the tears since you stepped out of your apartment.

“Office,” the twins reply in unison. And you are off, without a thank you or anything else. You will apologise for your behaviour later. You had more important things to worry about now.

Your speed walk turns into a full sprint. You see his office door coming into your view. Gripping the handle, you slam the door open.

And there he is.

Your heart is in your throat as you take him in. He sits at his desk, eyes flicking to you. Black shirt hugging his biceps and chest. Silver hair hanging messily over his eyes. God, he is everything.

He raises an eyebrow, taking in your appearance. Damp hair. Baggy t shirt and sweats. The way you are staring at him, all while you are trying to catch your breath. You are a mess, but there is no judgement in his eyes. There never is.

“Well, that’s one way to make an entrance, Kitten,” he drawls, amusement in his eyes.

The dam breaks at the sound of his voice. You let out a sob, hand flying to your mouth. The tears start falling, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.

He is up in an instant. Rushing over to you — amusement gone, replaced by worry.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” His voice is soft and gentle. His hands cup your face, forcing you to look up to him. There is nothing but love and adoration in his eyes. And it only makes you sob more. “Please, speak to me.”

You try and say something, but you cannot form any words. You grip his shirt and pull him closer, burying your face in his chest. He wraps his arms around you, and strokes his hand up and down your spine. “Deep breaths, Sweetie. Just follow my lead, okay?”

He begins taking deep, even breaths, and you do what you can to follow. It takes a while, but he does not rush you. Always patient. Always loving.

Once you gain control of your breathing, you pull back and look up at him. There is a soft smile on his face, as he whispers, “There she is.”

So much love rushes over you it makes you dizzy, but before you allow yourself to start sobbing again, you say, “I remember.”

Sylus freezes. His eyes widen. “What?” Is all he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I remember everything. You. Me. Us. Before this.” You do not break eye contact as you speak. His hands move to cup your face again. He opens his mouth a few times, but nothing comes out.

After a moment, he asks, “How?”

“I realised I am in love with you, and it all came rushing back.” You smile softly at him, your cheeks flushing. You have not told him that you love him in a very long time. “My realisation must have been the trigger to unlock my memories.”

And then he kisses you. It is soft. Gentle. Reverent. Like he can finally breathe again. There is so much love and adoration and joy in the kiss. It knocks the wind out of you.

Breaking apart, Sylus rests his forehead on yours, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. “You have no idea how long I have waited for this.”

“How long have you known?” You ask, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

“Always,” comes his reply, no hesitation behind it.

“What?” You ask in shock. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I realised you didn’t remember right away. I wasn’t going to risk scaring you away with rambles about past lives. Not when I finally found you again. I couldn’t risk losing you. Not again. I’d have kept it a secret until we died. As long as I had you. In anyway that you’d have me. Whether it be as an enemy, even.”

“Your insistence on us resonating—”

“I thought it would bring back your memories.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “No. There’s nothing to be sorry for, Kitten.”

“I’ve let you suffer with—”

“No. I didn’t suffer. I had you. I had not felt peace in this life until the day I found you again. It was enough. But this? You knowing? It was worth the wait. I feel complete again. Like I’m whole.”

“Sy.”

“You’re not leaving. You can’t. I won’t allow it.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.”

You smile, and bring him in for another hug. He is right, you realise. You feel whole again too. There had always been something missing. But it is here now.

“Kitten,” he whispers against your hair.

“Hmm,” you murmur.

“I love you. With everything breath that I take and every beat of my heart, I love you. I always have, and I always will.”

You pull back, staring into his eyes.

“I know. And I love you just as much. If not more.”

“Impossible,” he replies.

You giggle into his chest, and you can feel his laughter through the vibrations in his chest.

There is a lot of lost time to make up for, but you have the rest of your lives to do so. You have not felt this much peace, ever. Because you know that this time it will be different. You will not be torn from each other. Not again. This time, it is forever. And if it is not, you know, with all the certainty in the universe, that you two would find each other in the next life. Just like you did in this one.

—————————————————————————————-

[kxsagi]

Hiii, first of all ur writing is AMAZING im giggling and swirling my hair every time I read ur work!!🤭

So I just wanted to request the bllk boy with a gf who's like the walking embodiment of the 20s baddie. Like she's just effortlessly serving cunt!💅

“𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐢𝐭”

a/n: thank you so much babes!!! i interpreted your request as 1920’s baddie! reader so i hope i did this right! 

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, isagi yoichi, ness alexis

itoshi rin

rin didn’t know he had a thing for women who insult him like he’s beneath them… until you walked into his life with a fur coat, feathered headband, and told him, “you look like you cry when your hair isn’t symmetrical.” 

every time he talks, you tilt your head like you’re listening to the weather forecast. 

he’ll mutter, “shut up,” under his breath and you’ll reply, “aww, is lil’ grumpy baby feeling shy?” 

he swears he hates it. but his ears are red. his soul is trembling. but he’s never been more in love. 

once you strutted onto the field in heels just to hand him water like, “hydrate, doll. you can’t be the best with dry lips and brother issues.” 

karasu was there. rin’s entire bloodline felt that humiliation. and yet, he drank the water. 

you’re the only one who can get away with calling him “pookie.” 

itoshi sae

you? a flapper goddess in a champagne satin dress. him? emotionally constipated, internally combusting. 

you walked past him once in a speakeasy-inspired outfit, and sae forgot his own name. 

he said “hi,” and you just sipped your drink and said, “darling, are you speaking or sighing? i can’t tell.” 

you keep asking him to “be a dear” and fetch things. sae, the football prodigy, literally gets up mid-conference call to bring you a feather boa. 

you flirt with his brother just to watch sae visibly malfunction. “rin and i were just talking about how sharp his jawline is... don’t pout, baby. jealousy is so last season.” 

you put your heel on his thigh once while fixing your anklet and that man forgot how to breathe. 

but he stays silent. because he loves the fear. 

kaiser michael

you two are a match made in diva heaven. he opens his mouth to flirt, and you hit back with, “did you think that sentence was going to make me fall in love or file a restraining order?” 

you two do red carpet struts in your living room like it’s fashion week. mirror selfies? iconic. couple outfits? powerful. paparazzi energy in the way you take pics of each other. 

he calls you “my queen,” you call him “my favorite delulu.” 

you once told him, “i’m not impressed by your goals. i’ve had men score bigger in my DM’s.” 

he immediately challenged them all to a 1v1. even the one who sent you a spotify playlist. 

you gaslight him for fun like: “baby, i never said that. maybe you dreamt it because you’re obsessed with me.” and he giggles like you handed him a diamond. 

shidou ryusei

you told him to “sit” once and he did it like a well-trained dog. 

the amount of times he’s called you “mistress” unironically is concerning. 

you once winked at him from across the club and he barked. 

you flirt like a femme fatale and he flirts like he just got let out of an asylum. but somehow… it works. 

he likes when you threaten him. “touch me again and i’ll throw this martini in your face.” “promise?” he whispers, already leaning in. 

he calls you “mommy” in public. you slap him with your satin glove and he moans. 

he once broke a guy’s nose for catcalling you, even though you were the one catcalling first. 

mikage reo

rich meets rich, but you still act like you fund his lifestyle. 

“reo, darling, i’m not wearing last season’s diamonds. be serious.” 

he loves it. buys you matching fur coats just so you can post “mafia couple aesthetics.” 

your couple photos go viral. you in silk and lipstick, him holding your purse like a good man. 

you act like he’s your driver. “reo, the car. chop chop.” and he unlocks it like, “yes, your highness.” 

you walked into his parents’ mansion once and said, “hmm. charming little place. very... modest.” 

his dad blinked. his mom sipped wine. reo stared at you like you just painted the mona lisa with a martini. 

nagi seishiro

he has no idea what’s going on, but he loves being dragged around like a clueless sugar baby. 

you dress him up. force him into suits. comb his hair. “ugh, we can’t both be the hot one. i have a reputation to uphold.” 

he shrugs and says “kinda annoying…” while letting you powder his nose. 

he once fell asleep mid-date and you whispered, “i’ll kill you in your sleep if you embarrass me again.” 

he nodded off with a smile. said it was the best nap he ever had. 

you once handed him a rose and said “for your loyalty” like you’re a 1920s mafia boss. he’s still pressing it in a book. 

he calls you “princess” and it’s not even sarcastic. you call him “my little white-haired handbag.” 

karasu tabito

he thinks he’s the witty one until you verbally slap him across the face every three seconds. 

he says “yo babe–” and you go, “unless that sentence ends with ‘i bought you a yacht,’ i’m not interested.” 

he can’t keep up with your insults. you roast him in a jazz bar accent. “oh sweetheart, if brains were money, you couldn’t afford my attention.” 

he’s obsessed with your nails. you tap them on his chest when you want something. he immediately folds. 

he once dared you to call him “daddy” and you said, “aww, sweetie. i only call men with power that.” 

he cried into his pillow that night. you tucked him in, kissed his forehead, and said “night night, champ.” 

isagi yoichi

he thought he was the main character until you came along looking like a 1920s femme fatale straight out of a noir film – feathered dress, glossy lips, and a stare that says, “i could destroy your dreams and look gorgeous doing it.” 

he tried to impress you with football stats and you just blinked and said, “sorry, darling, i don’t speak ‘mediocre.’ say that again in trophies.” 

he went home and stared at his blue lock ranking like it personally betrayed him. 

you compliment him with backhanded grace: “you’re cute when you’re not talking.” “i adore your work ethic. shame about your fashion sense though.” 

he’s 50% offended, 50% aroused, and 100% devoted. 

he’ll be practicing on the field and hear your heels click in from the bleachers like: “let’s go, superstar. show them why i let you hold my hand in public.” 

he runs faster. shoots harder. tries to win for you like you’re the world cup and he’s nothing without you. 

one time a girl flirted with him and you stepped in like, “aww, sweetie. he’s taken. but don’t worry, i’m sure you’ll find someone who doesn’t meet my standards.” 

he almost proposed right then and there. 

ness alexis

ness saw you once and immediately started sweating through his designer scarf. you said “hello” and he audibly giggled. 

you? red lipstick, mink stole, and a voice like jazz and emotional damage. him? a blushing violin boy trying to play it cool while internally short-circuiting. 

you asked him to dance at a gala and he said, “m-me? with you???” and you just took his hand like, “i don’t ask twice, sugar.” 

he calls you “love” in a breathy, desperate tone like you’re the last woman on earth who’d ever give him the time of day. 

he’s clingy, but polite about it. “can i carry your purse? can i hold your drink? can i kneel in front of you and beg to be your personal doormat?” 

you flirt with others just to watch him melt. he once got jealous and you leaned down to his ear, stroked his cheek and whispered, “ness, darling… don’t pout. jealousy wrinkles are a poor man’s accessory.” 

he swooned so hard he tripped over his own foot. you pat his head like a good pet. he wears it like a crown. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[sevsevteen]

Back then, you were a little gremlin in oversized sweatpants and way too much attitude for someone barely of age.

“Yah!” Seungcheol’s voice bellowed from the hallway, the third time that day. “This is your third missed practice this week - are you serious right now?!”

You rolled your eyes, lazily pulling your hoodie over your head. “I wasn’t missing practice,” you muttered under your breath. “I had something to do after school.”

“You were at the convenience store eating instant noodles!” Jihoon called out from the studio entrance, holding up a half-empty cup you'd left behind.

“Still counts,” you huffed, slinking back into the room, zero shame in your posture as you plopped onto the floor gracefully, as if your ear hadn't tore your ears off right before.

The older members groaned in unison.

“You’re going to give Seungcheol grey hair before debut,” Jeonghan muttered, massaging his temples.

“Me?” You gasped. “I’m helping him pre-age.”

When the manager returned from a meeting later that afternoon and asked how rehearsals were going, you gave him a thumbs up and said, “Teamwork makes the dream work!”

Behind you, Seungcheol visibly mouthed, Help me.

It was later that night that you snuck out your room past lights-out timing, crawling across the floor in full spy mode, and dumping a full bag of glitter into the shared shampoo bottle.

“Why is my head SPARKLING?” Seokmin screeched the next morning, towel around his neck, hair dripping with disco ball residue.

Joshua squinted at him. “You look like you fought a unicorn in the shower.”

Soonyoung turned to you, who sat cross-legged on the floor, chewing gum with feigned innocence.

“Why are you looking at me? You have no evidence.”

Joshua? Had his toothpaste swapped with wasabi paste a week later.

One night, they found you hiding in the supply closet, mid-text to Jun about “fake stomach cramps” because you refused to do conditioning.

“Hey,” Seungcheol said from the doorway, arms crossed.

“...I have an allergy,” you deadpanned.

“To what?”

“Authority.”

.

And yet - despite the chaos, the late-night lectures, the silent treatment from a furious Jun once because you sabotaged his water bottle with vinegar, they never pushed you away.

Until it did.

Perhaps your true villain arc peaked then. Because you swore it had started out like every other prank, every other dumb teen instinct to feel untouchable. The world felt like a sandbox you could dig into without consequence.

So when your old school friends dared you to skip training again and “do something fun for once,” you didn’t hesitate. You pulled a mask over your face, hoodie up, and snuck off into the city night like the chaos incarnate you believed yourself to be.

You held cans of spray paint. Loud music in one pocket, cheap energy drinks in the other. Somewhere in a quiet alleyway, far from the agency’s radar, the group of you left trails of color behind - tagging walls, drawing dumb phrases in neon, laughing into the silence like you were invincible.

You didn’t even think about who those walls belonged to.

Not until the police sirens flashed behind you.

Your heart dropped. Suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore.

The cuffs were cold on your wrists. The alley that once felt like a playground now closed in on you like a trap. You kept your head low when the officers called the company.

Kept it lower when you saw Seungcheol walk into the station lobby.

He didn’t speak to you at first. Just signed the papers. Took a deep breath. Thanked the officers. And then turned to you, eyes unreadable.

The ride back was silent.

Not angry.

Not disappointed.

Just…hollow.

That was worse.

.

You sat in the bedroom alone after you returned, guilt eating you from the inside out. Everyone else had heard by now, and Seungcheol still refused to hold a conversation with you. The dorm was quiet. Like even the air was careful around you.

When Jeonghan finally came in, he didn’t yell. He didn’t joke. He just sat beside you, looked at your red-rimmed eyes, and said softly:

“You could’ve been in real danger, you know. Seungcheol and Jihoon's talking to the company about your expulsion right now.”

“I didn’t think,” you whispered. “I just…didn’t think anyone cared what I did.”

His voice cracked, low and pained.

“We all care.”

You looked up, finally meeting his eyes.

.

You trained harder after that.

Not to prove yourself.

Not to repent.

But because you wanted to be someone they didn’t have to worry about.

Someone they could trust again.

There were tough days. Days you didn’t listen. Days you walked out of the room mid-discussion, frustrated with rules and pressure and all the weight of growing up under a spotlight.

But behind every scolding, every punishment, was a member gently slipping a snack into your hoodie pocket. A word of advice muttered when the cameras weren’t rolling. A hand patting you on the back when you sat alone on the practice room floor after being yelled at.

And slowly, with every sincere action, with every practice where you pushed yourself till your limbs ached – you grew up.

You never touched a can of paint again.

And slowly, that rebellious flame? Learned to burn brighter in the right direction.

.

And years later, Mingyu bought you a canvas and a paintbrush on your birthday with a cheeky smile - “For artistic purposes only, I promise” - you laughed so hard you cried.

--

[devswritingcornerorsmth]

TELLY X ACTOR READER PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEADEPLEASEPLEASE

I KNOW WHO YOU ARE ASK ME ON YOUR MAIN YOU COWARD

i still love u tho mwah

Telly uses they/he pronouns so i'll be using those too sorry for any confusion

Telly/Actor!Reader

= You're a pretty popular actor in the world, mostly staring in short mini-series or taking minor roles in bigger projects. Some reason, people love you and want you in more, but you're not ready for that.

= Telly was ecstatic when you Awakened them, having been a fan of you since you started your career. They talked your ear off about everything you had been in, telling you about what they liked and didn't about the plot, show, other actors, but he loved you no matter what your role was!

= They'll tell you about his favorite roles that you did and will gladly shit talk directors and other costars with you. Telly makes a mental note of every director, costar, producer, etc that made you uncomfortable or upset, and hopes to use it in the future when they become Realized.

= You've come home to Telly showing the other Dateables the movie and shows that you've been in, much to your amusement or embarrassment. Most of them, thankfully, like the movies; the others who don't like it are the ones you don't have good relationships with, so you couldn't care less. He'll stop and won't do it again if you ask him to.

= Telly has seen too many celebrities be treated like gods and let it get to their head, so he talks to you like anyone else, but with a lot more flirting and movie quotes to hopefully impress you.

= Once Telly is Realized, he reviews all of your shows and movies, giving them all 10/10 or full 5 stars just for you. They'll always send you their preview reviews, asking if it's too harsh when they talk badly about one of the costars that makes you uncomfortable, or asking if it's too much, which, in the case of Telly, it's definitely too much. But always in a good way.

------

i feel like this is lowkey shitty BUT i had to do it for the person who sent this bc i know who they are and was in a call with me when i checked my inbox and saw this COWARD!

thank you for reading :3

[sapphicstrawcore]

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ Final Girl ! (Sevika x you) highschool au

Synopsis: Friday night. It’s your first official date with the girl you had a massive crush on at school— Sevika: the gym-rat with a mean stare, a leather jacket, her mech arm and a cigarette tucked behind her ear like a threat. And somehow, against all odds, she’s your girlfriend now. You’re just two eighteen-year-olds at the local cinema after class, going to watch a gory 80s slasher flick.

Mentions of violence in the movie, girls making-out, tooth-rotting fluff teenage love

words: 2.7k

Masterlist ᰔ

“She’s seen a hundred horror movies. But watching you squirm? That’s her favorite.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ You never expected her to look twice at you. Sevika—eighteen, leather-clad, built like a sinner’s dream and cool as hell. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t flinch during horror movies, doesn’t ask before she lights a cigarette, and definitely doesn’t get nervous around girls.

But she asked you out. Just like that. Sevika, the cool, confident girl who clocked you as a babygay from a mile away and decided “Yeah. That one.”

You check the mirror again. For the third time. Maybe fourth. Whatever. You touch up the gloss on your lips even though it’s already perfect and push a loose strand of hair back like it might suddenly change the entire outcome of the night. It doesn’t. You still look like someone trying really hard not to look like they’re trying too hard.

The butterflies in your stomach have fully evolved into bats. Flapping, frantic. You smooth down your shirt, then second-guess your choice. Is it too much? Not enough? She said “casual,” but what the hell does “casual” mean when your new girlfriend looks like she walked out of a lesbian leather-jacketed fever dream?

And then—you hear it.

The rumble of a car engine outside, low and familiar. Sevika told you she’d borrow her dad’s old car. Said it like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she didn’t spend two weeks making sure it didn’t smell like motor oil and cigarettes (even though it still kind of does, since Sevika smells herself of cigarette). The sound cuts through the quiet like a countdown. She’s here.

You catch the low rumble of the engine again—closer this time—and peek out the window. Sure enough, Sevika’s car rolls up to the curb, headlights cutting through the dusk. She doesn’t honk. Of course not. She just leans back in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel like she’s got all the time in the world.

You stare for a second too long. Janna, but she looks really good.

Leather jacket, dark jeans, a grey tee that clings in the way teenage girls with crushes should not be subjected to. Her hair’s pulled back, loose and lazy, and she’s got this relaxed posture like she owns the street. Like she’s done this a hundred times before. Like she’s not your first girlfriend and this isn’t your first date with a girl ever.

You grab your bag, step outside, and try to act like your legs aren’t shaking a little.

She sees you and straightens up, slow and deliberate. Her eyes do a sweep—up, down, back up—and when they settle on your face, she gives you this half-smile. Not wide. Not flashy. Just confident. Like she knows you look good and she wants you to know she knows.

“Hey,” she says, nodding toward the passenger door as she walks around to open it for you. “You look nice.”

You blink. “Thanks. So do you.”

So do you?? Really? That’s the best you could come up with? Oh, fuck me. That’s embarrassing.

But Sevika just chuckles under her breath and closes the door once you’re in. She rounds the car again, takes her place behind the wheel, and starts driving like it’s the most casual thing in the world to pick up a girl for a date.

You sit there in silence for a few seconds. It’s short, but in your head, it’s so long. The radio hums something synthy and distant. Her fingers tap the steering wheel—

“So,” she says, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, “you gonna scream in my ear the whole movie, or just during the murders?”

You groan and shove her arm. “Shut up, I told you I scare easy.”

“Exactly why I picked it,” she grins, eyes on the road, looking way too pleased with herself.

You roll your eyes, but the smile slips out anyway. She’s got that effect—annoying and charming in the same breath. The kind of teasing that makes your stomach flip, not your eyes water.

“You’re evil,” you mutter, turning toward the window to hide the heat crawling up your cheeks. You hear the engine and she starts to drive with ease.

“Mm, I’ve been called worse,” she says casually, shifting gears with one hand. The other stays on the wheel, her knuckles flexing every time she makes a turn. “I mean. Evil’s kinda sexy don’t you think?”

You look at her. She glances back just long enough to catch your expression, and there it is again—that smirk, that quiet, knowing curve of her lips. God, she’s so annoying.

And somehow, it makes your nerves ease up. Just a little, but it works. Like she’s letting you in on something—not laughing at you, but inviting you to laugh with her. It’s comforting, in its own weird way.

After a short moment, her voice drops just a little, not teasing now—just warmer. “Hey. You nervous?”

You hesitate. Then nod. Barely. “A little.”

“That’s okay,” she says, and she’s serious now, steady. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, t’s just a first date.”

You don’t say anything at first. Just look out the window, smiling so much your cheeks hurt. Then: “You’re kinda good at this.”

Sevika snorts. “Yeah, don’t tell anyone. Ruins my image.” And all you can do is laugh softly, still looking at the window, a smile on your lips.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ The theater glows like a time capsule—neon reds and blues buzzing above the ticket booth, faded movie posters in glass frames, and the lingering scent of buttery popcorn and floor cleaner. People are milling around in denim jackets and graphic tees, talking too loud, laughing too hard. It’s alive in the way only a Friday night at the movies can be.

You and Sevika step into line, the buzz of the place settling in your chest like a second heartbeat. She’s standing close—not too close, but enough that her arm brushes yours now and then, and you can feel her heat even through her jacket. She’s looking around, casual, hands in her pockets like this is no big deal. You try to match her energy— You fail.

“So,” she says, leaning toward you just a little, “do I need to buy you earplugs for this, or are you gonna be brave?”

You elbow her. “I’m not that bad.”

She grins. “We’ll see.”

You’re about to snap back with something clever when she nods toward the candy counter. “I’m grabbing popcorn. You want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” you say, watching her go. She disappears into the short line at the snack bar, and you catch yourself staring. She’s got this easy way of moving—shoulders back, weight in her hips, like she owns the damn floor tiles. She chats briefly with the guy behind the counter, pays in cash, and returns with a bucket of popcorn tucked under one arm, two sodas in the other hand like it’s nothing.

And something about it—just that, her walking back to you like this is normal, like she’s yours and this is just what you do together—it makes your heart flip.

So you do something really stupid.

You step forward. Quickly. Before your brain can catch up to your body.

You rise onto your tiptoes, grab the edge of her jacket, and peck her lips.

Just a blink. Barely a second.

But it’s soft. Warm. Real.

Then your body catches up, and you pull back like you’ve just touched a flame. Your face burns hot, your stomach drops straight through your shoes, and you say the first thing that comes to mind.

Sevika blinks. And then— She smirks.

Not wide. Not cruel. Just that subtle, cocky little smile like she’s watching you squirm and liking it.

“Don’t be,” she says, shifting the popcorn into one hand so she can gently tug you back toward her by the sleeve of your shirt. Her voice is low, close. “You should do that more often.”

Your brain short-circuits. You stare up at her like an idiot, lips parted, no thoughts—just heat and the sound of your heart trying to hammer its way out of your chest. And Sevika? She just hands you your soda like nothing happened.

“C’mon,” she says, nodding toward the ticket guy. “Let’s go scream together.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ You follow her down the dark carpeted aisle, the smell of butter and fake cheese thick in the air. The screen glows dim and red with previews, flickering shadows dancing across rows of velvet seats. Sevika leads without asking, heading straight for the back—the back.

The last row.

Your heart does a little spin.

Everyone knows what the back row is for. It’s where couples sit when they don’t really care about the movie. Where the lighting is just dim enough to hide a kiss or a hand creeping over a thigh. You hesitate for half a second, but Sevika doesn’t. She settles into the seat like she owns it, legs spread a little, shoulders loose, and sets the popcorn between you like it’s just another Friday night. How can she be so confident ?

You sit down slowly, knees brushing. The cup holder’s already full with your drink, so your soda ends up wedged between your thighs. Great. Very sexy. Totally natural.

She shifts beside you, reaches over with one long arm to drop her soda into the shared holder, and then just… leaves her arm there.

Resting behind you.

Not touching yet. Just hovering, like a promise.

You try not to combust. You’re going crazy deep inside but nothings shows in real life. Or at least that’s what you think.

The lights dim more. The studio logos start flashing. And that’s when it happens—smooth and casual, like she’s done it a hundred times -which, to be honest, doesn’t make you indifferent-, Sevika lifts her arm and slides it around your shoulders.

Not possessive. Not awkward.

Just warm. Secure.

You stiffen for a second, eyes wide, then melt into it before your brain can protest. Her fingers rest lightly on your arm, thumb brushing once. Absentminded. Or maybe not.

You glance at her.

She’s watching the screen, eyes half-lidded, mouth curled in the faintest smile.

Like she knows.

Of course she knows.

You lean just a little closer. You don’t say anything, but inside, you’re a mess. A screaming mess.

Then, after a short moment— too short— “You’re regretting it,” Sevika murmurs, low against your ear. It’s not a question.

You don’t even turn your head, and answer way too fast. “No.”

She’s already smirking.

Not the dramatic kind—just that small, dangerous curve of her lips like she knew exactly what you were going to say and said it for you. Her arm stays firm around your shoulders, and her thumb brushes the outside of your arm like she’s trying to reassure you. Or tease you. Or both.

“Mm-hm,” she hums, eyes back on the screen. “Sure.”

You cross your arms over your chest, trying to ignore the way your body’s buzzing from how close she is. “I’m not.”

She snorts softly. “‘Think you will be.” And then the movie starts.

It wastes no time—no slow build, no gentle intro. Just a woman running through the woods, screams echoing through the surround sound, a knife gleaming in the dark.

You jump. Sevika doesn’t. You’re feeling ridiculous.

She calmly tosses a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth like she’s watching a cooking show and not a murder on screen. You hear a muffled laugh in her throat when you flinch again at a sudden violin sting.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

“Whatever you say, pretty girl,” she says, offering you the popcorn with zero remorse.

You take it, mostly to give your hands something to do besides grabbing onto her shirt every five seconds. The screen flashes again—another scream, another blood spray—and this time, your body reacts before your brain can.

You shift closer.

Your arm brushes hers. Your thigh bumps against her leg. And her hand—like it was already waiting—slides down from your shoulder to the curve of your waist. Gentle. Steady.

You don’t look at her. Can’t. You’ll melt. You just sit there, trying to focus on the screen while her fingers tap slow, lazy patterns against your side like she’s drawing invisible hearts you’ll never recover from.

A brutal kill scene starts up—loud, chaotic, bone-crunching—and your whole body jerks.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand grabs hers. She just shifts her hand, twines her fingers through yours, and squeezes once. Firm. Warm. Assuring. But she loves it. She’s taking much more pleasure than she should, watching you squirm and being scared for any detail appearing on the big screen. It’s very entertaining.

During the movie, you try to anticipate the next jump-scare. You see it coming sometimes—the camera lingers too long on an empty hallway, the music dips into silence, and you know something is about to lunge out.

You brace. You fail.

A screech rips through the speakers and something grotesque flings itself across the screen. You physically jerk in your seat, nearly knocking over your soda between your knees. Sevika’s grip on your hand tightens instinctively, and you make a small, pathetic sound you will deny for the rest of your life.

Her quiet, fond but almost cruel chuckle vibrates against your side, warm and smug and unfairly hot. But thankfully, the movie dips into a lull—characters regrouping, plotting in a dimly lit cabin, no blood for at least the next five minutes. Your heart slows to something close to human.

You let out a long breath and shift again, resting your head on her shoulder. She doesn’t move. Just lets you be there.

Her shoulder is solid, warm through the leather jacket, and smells faintly like cigarette smoke and mint gum and something distinctly her. Your eyes flutter closed for a second. Just a second.

Then, slowly, Sevika turns her head. Her cheek brushes your temple, and before your nerves can catch fire again, you feel her lips—soft and slow—press against yours.

It’s the kind of kiss that feels like it was meant to happen in the back row of a theater, while a slasher plays and your soda goes warm between your knees. It’s just enough pressure to steal your breath, just enough care to ground you again.

Then you kiss, again. And again. And again. The kisses growing maybe a bit more heated, more adventurous and deep— until you’re almost making-out just like the two -possibly- horny teenagers you are.

When she pulls back, she doesn’t say anything. Just nudges your nose gently with hers. Your breath is a bit harsher for the both of you, and you smile.

Because somehow, that stupid little make-out session makes the monsters on screen seem a lot less scary.

You turn back to the movie. Your head stays on her shoulder. Her fingers play with yours absently, and you realize you don’t regret it. Not at all.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ At the end of the movie, the credits roll over a bloody title card and one last scream that makes half the audience laugh nervously. The lights come up too bright, too suddenly, washing the room in gold and making everyone blink like they’ve just come out of a dream.

You sit up slowly, reluctantly peeling yourself off Sevika’s shoulder, cheeks warm and lips still tingling.

“Still alive,” you mutter, stretching your legs.

“Barely,” she smirks, grabbing the now half-empty bucket of popcorn. “You flinched so hard you almost headbutted me.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong…” you say, but it’s breathless, too soft to sting.

You both shuffle out with the crowd, shoulders brushing, the air outside cooler now, heavy with summer-night warmth and the buzz of other teens loudly rating the kills. The parking lot glows under flickering streetlamps. Sevika walks a step ahead, swinging the car keys around her finger, always a little cooler than you can handle.

She glances over her shoulder at you as you approach her dad’s beat-up old car. Leans back against the door, arms crossed, eyes on you like she knows she’s got you.

“So,” she says, voice low, casual, almost lazy. “Wanna come over?”

Your heart skips. You look at her, eyes wide.

She shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like she’s not suddenly turning your whole body to static. “We can make fun of the kills. Watch something stupid. You don’t have to go home yet, do you?”

You hesitate. Just a second. Then: “No. I mean—yeah. I wanna come.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t say anything.”

Sevika laughs. Really laughs this time. Low and warm and full.

Once in the parking lot, she opens the passenger door for you, like a gentleman and a menace rolled into one, and says, “C’mon, scaredy cat. I’ll keep the lights on for you.”

You slide in, heart pounding, stomach flipping, trying not to grin like a total idiot. Your cheeks are warm and your hands just a little bit sweaty.

And yeah—maybe horror movies aren’t so bad after all.

She’s going to make you forget about all the jump-scares anyway.

I’m realizing I have the power of writing good smut… but still won’t, heh. There’s so many good smut writers here. Just wanted to write a fic abt my love for slashers and make it cute, really cliché teenage movie date until I realized it could be a really good smut fic tbh— but anyway!

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @lonerslug @riotstemple29 @blessupblessup @sevikasswifee

[redheadspark]

Azriel from ACOTAR #16? Gotta sit down in shadowdaddy's lap!!

A/N - Awww I think this is darn right cute for Azriel! Thanks for the request and I hope you like it!

Just a Moment

Summary - Azriel has a special requests for your wedding day

Warnings - A lot of fluff with a sliver of angst.

You were merely walking with a list in your hand, minding your own business and looking over what was there on the itinerary when you were side swipped.  An arm went around you, something or someone whisking you off your feet and you gasping from the sudden shift of gravity.  But then again, once you landed in a particular lap, there was no need to fear.

The lap you were perched on belonged to Azriel.  Of all people.

“Az!  Seriously?” You asked in a huff as another hand reached out to attempt to take the list from your hand.  You yanked it back immediately, Azriel chuckled as you hid it away from him like a child hiding something they stole.  His hazel eyes rolled, but he tucked you in his arms and kissed your cheek.

“I missed you all day and you won’t even let me see a simple piece of paper?” He teased, though you giggled and shook your head at him.

“This happens to be a list for our wedding and things that still need to be done.  So yes, you’re not allowed to see it,” You replied in retaliation, Azriel cocking his head at you and he then pointed his finger at the paper.

“I can help with it then—“ He was about to argue, but you framed his jaw within your fingers to get his attention.  You smiled, nose to nose, and kissed him softly to change the subject.  He sighed against your lips, kissing you back with his arm around your waist squeezing you a bit tighter. 

Once he pulled away, you searched his eyes and smiled, “Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart.  I got it under control, I promise,”

“Are you sure?” He asked with a hint of worry.  You pecked his nose once more.

“I am.  More is helping me along with Nesta.  Trust me, the three of us make up a small army when it comes to wedding planning,” You explained.

“Well I am more assured now,” he joked, though he knew deep down that you were telling the truth.  Ever since he proposed to you, you were constantly thinking of your wedding day.  Not that you needed something massive and extravagant, just the opposite in fact.  You liked things down to a detail, from the types of flowers and what would be in season to the silverware that will be used at the reception.  You wanted it to be perfect, perfectly perfect.  

More and Nesta volunteered to help since they were you were a huge planner and liked things a certain way.  It was a massive help, your long daily list went down to a small piece of paper since they both would take on some of the tasks.  They could tell the tension and worry you had was getting easier to maintain and better to see.  Rhysand and Feyra wanted to help out as much as possible, though you knew deep down that meant they would go over the top.  You knew they meant well, but you wanted it to be a wedding for both you and Azriel.  Thankfully, they understood and helped out in a few small spots.

Azriel wanted to help, take off some of the burden from you.  But he knew that you thrived in planning and hosting.  Ever since you two met, he knew you had a heart and a keen eye to details and planning events.  Even when he asked you out and took you on your first date, you couldn’t help to adjust his shirt that was slightly undone and his hair that was disheveled.  Others would have thought it would be a negative thing, but Azriel was enraptured with it.

He was head over heels for you from that date on.

“So, speaking of our wedding..” He started to explained, seeing you instantly look at him as if you were waiting for him to say some kind of horrible news.  He laughed rubbing your arm soothingly, “Nothing bad I promise.  I wanted to discuss a bit of a….schedule change.”

You had to raise a brow at him from the subject now on the table.  You shifted slightly in his lap, but his hold was enough for you to stay in one spot, “Should I be excited for worried?”

“Excited, honey,” he promised as he paused for a brief moment before be continued, “I got this idea from Feyre, actually.  I think there should be a time, between our ceremony and the reception, that we can have a cocktail hour,”

You paused, thinking about it for a long moment and trying to figure out that schedule that was lardy set in stone in your head.  But was confusing you, Azriel seeing it on your knitted brow as you found your voice, “I thought we already had a cocktail hour before our dinner—“

“I meant, just for us,” he interrupted gently, you going quiet and you were seeing the softness in his eyes and feeling him lace your fingers with his, “You and I, no one else around. Even for a few minutes, just us and a drink.”

Something shifted inside of you from the mention, it made your shoulders sink a bit which made Azriel sit up in concern from the way you were reacting to him, “Baby?”

“I didn’t mean to forget a moment of us to be alone,” You explained, stammering a bit since it did feel like the schedule was so crazy.  Even with just a handful of people in attendance, every hour was planned down.  But now that you were thinking about it, there was no real moment for you and Azriel to have a simple few moments together.  It never occurred to you since it felt like you two wouldn’t really need it, but now that you were hearing it from Azriel, you were feeling somewhat guilty. 

“Hey, sweetheart look at me,” Azriel hummed, reaching over to tuck his finger under your chin.  You looked at him, seeing nothing but love in his eyes and in his smile as he stared intensely at you, “That day is going to be a whirlwind, and I have a feeling we're both going to be going through the paces until it's all done. But, I already know our wedding day is going to be perfect, beyond perfect.  You wanna know why?”

You said nothing, but he traced your jaw with his thumb as he kept going, “It’s because you are making It perfect.  You have put your blood, sweat, and tears in this wedding planning, and you love it. Everything that I love about it is going to be in our wedding, and it’s going to be the best day of our lives.  I know it will be for mine.”

You grinned from ear to ear, Azriel looking rather relived that you were no longer panicking.  He kissed the top of your head.

“I’ll make sure we got time together,” You hummed, Azriel was about to argue back but you held up a finger to him “The guests can wait for us for hours for all I care.  You know, all I would ever want is a nice glass of wine with you, out on the terrace, looking out at the view of Velaris.  That alone will be the best part of all this planning and the hours of overthinking,”

“So, not officially marrying me in front of our friends and family?” Azriel teased, though you grinned and shrugged, “Well then, I know where you priorities lie,”

“Oh come on, we’re going to have our wine together, deal?”  You asked.  Azriel nodded, looking as handsome as ever as you pointed, “Now then, if you excuse me, I will like to tackle a few more things on the list before we turn in for the night,”

But before you could even get yourself up from his lap, his arm tucked you in a bit tighter as he kissed you passionately.  Your list slipped to the floor, but you didn’t care as you raked your fingers in his hair and kissed him back.

5 month later was your wedding, and it was perfect. It went off without a single hiccup or hitch.  But your favorite memory of the whole night was having that small moment with Azriel, the pair of you sharing a glass of wine and kissing under the stars as newlyweds.  

The End