#Coloring Book tees

[cent-scratchnsniff]

doodles and stuff. struggled with painting until i gave up

[freshthoughts2020]

[thatonesquintern13]

hey y’all!

i know things feel terrible right now, but the Texas Freedom to Read Project has some really cute merch for sale if you’d like some retail therapy that feels good! 🫶🏽📚📖✨

or if you’re just feeling generous, you can donate directly to the project here :)

[soggyriceee]

cowboy ellie is so hot fuck write a flashback of when she was young and had no worries fucking in a field or stable

careless girl 18+ | E.W

<ellie is 18, flashback that doesn’t include reader, public sex, sub!ellie, oral(E!receiving), fingering, ✂️, lmk if i missed any>

growing up on a farm in bumfuck meant Ellie learnt almost everything from her parents. she was homeschooled, her mother too scared to send her an hour away everyday. she’d remember how hard her mother tried to make home feel like school, purchasing colorful books and toys to help her learn. but like most homeschooled kids, Ellie wanted to experience real school.

her parents would finally budge when she’d gone into highschool. it was almost a whole new world for the girl. so many people, classes, clubs. girls.

Ellie’s parents were your typical Christians, church every Sunday, super religious Christmas and Easter. that was normal for Ellie, though sometimes she would wish they could tone down all the Jesus stuff.

her parents only referred to her future partners as men, mentioning kids and pregnancy. she’d always agree, and force herself - well try- to see that future as well. and as much as she would “speak it into existence”, she knew deep down it didn’t feel right. and she’s feel guilty about it, never mentioning it out loud not even to herself.

but highschool only made those feelings stronger. seeing the girls in their right jeans, cute cowboy boots and ponytails. the guys were pretty much disgusting to her and ignorantly she’d think they all looked the same. same mullet haircuts, burnt red skin.

sophomore and junior year is when Ellie started to accept who she was. senior year is when she grew careless and needy.

Ellie wasn’t an alien, of course there were other girls like her in high school. she’d make one friend, a senior as well. she was in her english class, sat in the front row. this girl gave Ellie the type of attention nobody’s given her before. the way this girl was obsessed with her was foreign to the girl, but it only was a confidence boost.

Ellie would begin to realize the sort of effect she had on some girls. Ellie liked to dress a bit more masculine, at least in comparison to the other chicks. Ellie never wore a skirt or shorts. she wore a tight black tank, with a flannel and tight black jeans to match. she’d switch up the tee and flannel every day of course, but she kept herself covered.

her parents would question her, asking why she dressed so differently. Ellie would reply she wants to remain modest. her mother would mention that she can dress modest in dresses and long skirts, but Ellie would remain silent and sort of wait for her father to break the silence like usual.

it took Ellie 3 months into her senior year to get a tattoo, a master at hiding it from her parents. she got it knowing the girl in english would only fawn over her more, and she loved the attention.

as confident as Ellie was portraying herself to be, she was a bit insecure. she’d only begin exploring her own body late at night, learning what porn was from the disgusting boys at lunch. but she was just as disgusting secretly.

she’d rub her clit so fast, and then so slow, trying to learn what worked and what didn’t. the video was hot, typical milf stuff, but she just didn’t feel like she was doing anything. so she’s huff and give up, continuing the fake act.

but when her classmate pulled her into a stall during lunch, lifting her shirt and showing Ellie her tits, she felt what she was supposed to have felt the night before. her clit pounded, jaw slack as she straight embarassed herself. if she wasn’t giving virgin energy before, she was now.

she didn’t know how but all the power went to her classmate now, who somehow got ellie to agree to bring her over. Ellie would agree, eyes still glued to her hardened nipples. “never seen boobs before?” the girl would joke, making Ellie go bright red.

that same night Ellie would be pinned below the girl, back pressed against the haystack. she didn’t mind the pointy dry feeling, not with what she was already feeling between her legs.

her classmate would have her in the most vulnerable position, legs pressed to her chest. ellie would do a poor job at shaving, having to learn based off a youtube video rather than her own mom. but her classmate didn’t seem to mind, she was gentle with her. she didn’t care that ellie was a virgin, not at all.

she’s actually teach ellie about her body in the process, kissing from ellie’s wet hole, up to her throbbing clit, naming each part she was kissing. “fuck..” ellie would huff, not understanding why she felt almost pain as her pussy throbbed. she was so needy that it hurt.

the girl would suck ellie’s clit so gently, kissing it again beforehand. her fingers would slowly slide into her, one by one, stretching her out as slow as Ellie’s body needed. “so wet … don’t even think you’ve touched this pussy yourself huh?”

ellie was so embarrassed, the whines that left her plump wet lips. her parents window was wide open, and could probably hear what was going on. she tried her best to stay quiet she really did, but when her first ever orgasm came over her she didn’t even really realize it.

“o-oh fuck!” she’d cry out, pushing her body up and off the other girls mouth, her hole pulsing and toes curling. her classmate would giggle and watch as she came down from her orgasm, pushing her panties off.

“w.. what are you doing?” ellie would pant, peeling her eyes open. “let’s go to the field.. wanna try something.” and of course ellie would follow like a lost puppy, following her classmate arouns as if it wasn’t her house.

when the girls legs hooked arouns her hips, one resting over her leg, one resting under the other, she’d look into her eyes. “youre gonna like this.. promise.” the girl would smile.

hee hips would move forward, her hand gently pushing ellie back onto her elbows. her hips would rise to meet ellie’s, and for a moment ellie thinks she’s gonna faint. the feeling of the girl pussy on her own, the warmth and wetness, it made her whine immediately.

the girls hips would being to move slow, wanting to really feel how wet Ellie was for her. “fuck ellie.. can feel you throbbing on my baby..” she’d whisper, eyes drawn to where they met.

ellie’s eyes would roll back, shamelessly moaning like a bitch in heat. to the point her classmate had to kiss her to shut her up. “you’re so.. pathetic.. such a needy girl huh?” she’d tease, holding ellie’s face as she slowly picked up the pace.

ellie didn’t know what to say she was so overwhelmed in pleasure. she could only let out the most beautiful sounds, eyes glistening and big. “call me mommy.. tell mommy you want her to keep going.” she’s whisper into ellie’s ear.

holy fuck what was she doing to her? ellie could faint then and there. but she did as she was asked, she wanted to please her. the roles had reversed and she wasn’t mad at all. “p-please mommy i.. i feel it again.”

the girl would shove ellie’s back into the tall grass, towering above her. her hips wouldn’t stop as she locked eyes onto ellie. “cum for me ell’s.. you deserve it baby jus-“ the girl couldn’t even finish before ellie became undone under her, back arching up as she cried out in pleasure again.

the girl would cover her mouth, giggling once more at how well Ellie reacted to her. she��d follow not long after, praising and thanking ellie for letting her use her pussy to get off.

her classmate made it a routine to stop by twice a week or so, giving Ellie the same amazing sex over and over. Ellie thought she’d found her soulmate, she thought she was lucky. she’d found a beautiful girl, smart and funny. who seemed to like her back. they even went to prom together, to which Ellie had to do vide her parents it was as friends.

but when graduation came around, and everyone was going their serperate ways, the girl would block ellie. she’d block Ellie despite telling her “i’m never gonna leave.. no matter how far away I go.” she told her that while she was knuckled deep in her pussy, slowly thrusting into her as she stared into Ellie’s eyes.

it broke ellie so much, to the point she didn’t open up to a single soul in college. she got revenge on her classmate throufh other people, doing the same to girls who truly did want something with Ellie. but she was too scared. she was so submissive and open and vulnerable with someone, who now is just a memory.

her wife and her met after college, when Ellie was still at a low. her wife was a breath of fresh air for Ellie, but she was still scared and standoffish. their relationship had a rough start and Ellie was to blame. she could commit fully, no matter how hard she tried. but her now wife stayed, she was patient and was too understanding.

Ellie would marry her eventually at 27, moving to a new part of the country and starting a new life. she was happy, happier than she was before at least. her relationship was in a better place and she just wanted to feel.. secure. so she’d remember the bad times, and be grateful for her new life, because she had found someone who truly wanted her.

highkeyyy loved this request sm sm. ellie does call girls mommy idc byeeee

[uwingdispatch]

Y’all have been so enthusiastic about the new tees and crews I’ve been making inspired by Andor season 2, so I thought I’d drop them all here in one post with some thoughts on my process. 💜 Shop is here. And if you’re seeing this between June 25 and July 9, 2025, I'm also having a sale right now, so all apparel is currently 10% off!

Starting out with my I have friends everywhere tee, which y'all have made a best seller. The Aurebesh has the above mentioned rebel codephrase alongside the Andor starbird, a U-Wing, and a starry sky.

I knew I had to make a Cassian tee with this line from the first time I heard it. The Aurebesh reads "You're coming home to yourself." It's such a pivotal moment right at the beginning of season 2.

And who are we as a fandom without kalkite memes? I made an English and an Aurebesh version of this tee, which reads "kalkite · synthetic kalkite · kalkite alternatives · kalkite substitutes." I used crystals because based on the project the kalkite is being harvested for, and Galen and Lyra Erso's body of work, they would be looking for crystals. (I'm not a geologist, but I've read all the Rogue One books.) Also there's a tiny Imperial cog there at the bottom.

There's pretty much no Kleya merch so I wanted to make a tee that reflected not just her but her relationship with Luthen and the Rebellion. The Aurebesh reads "know your way out," advice Luthen often repeated to her. I'm hoping to make some more Kleya things in the future, but I love how this tee came out.

After the second Ghorman arc, I wanted to make something to represent the people that could perhaps be a tourist tee. On the top the Aurebesh reads "call your kin to come and sing," from the Ghorman planetary anthem. On the bottom it says "Ghorman · Sern Sector."

I wanted to make a Melshi tee that connected the Narkina 5 arc to the final arc of Andor, so I used an image of him from the end of the 3rd arc as he makes his way to Yavin. I used colors that reminded me of Yavin and the quote "people have to know about this," which Melshi says to Cassian when they part ways on Niamos. He's a messenger, like Cassian, with all the risks that entails.

Edited to add in the Mon Mothma tee I just dropped. The Aurebesh reads “the death of truth is the ultimate victory of evil” which was a lot of text to get on there so I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to make this work. But I think it came out pretty great. I also really wanted to use an image from her getaway car moment, her ultimate commitment to the rebellion as she leaves the Senate.

Edited again to add this Bix tee. I really wanted to use both Ferrix and Mina-Rau colors in this. The Aurebesh reads "I choose the rebellion." It took me a while to decide on which image of Bix to use here, but ultimately I went with a moment from season 1 that feels hopeful.

And these last two tees are pretty self explanatory. And in English. I hope you love them.

Shop is here. Thank y'all for all the love. 💜

[rin-may-1103]

Turn Back the Frozen Sands of Time

(I couldn't come up with a better title, lol, so we're stuck with this.)

unadulteratedsoulsweets's Prompt | Master Post | Next

Danny didn't startle awake; he didn't gasp for unnecessary breath; he didn't cry out in pain.

No, Danny woke to the sound of nothing; the sound of wind calmly crawling through stone halls, of dust drifting through the silent air, of birds singing songs off in the distance.

This was a silence he hadn't heard in years. And for all the pain that the silence brought, he couldn't help but hold his breath, the little spark of hope settling in his heart, no, his core.

He's had years to hate, yell, and ignore his childhood. Years to accept what had been done to him. Years to forgive.

Years to grieve what had been and what could have been.

Years to wish for a chance to go back.

Years to accept he'd never would, and move on.

Opening his eyes, Danny looked at his childhood room in confused wonder. It was just as he remembered: nothing had moved from where he had left it. Loose papers scattered across an intricate desk, weapons displayed proudly on the stone walls, bright colorful paint, and tiles embedded into the stone with tedious hard work. His little jar of rocks and twigs he kept on his shelf. The horde of sweets was tucked behind books, like he had just recently added to his stash.

If he hadn't known any better, he could almost convince himself it had all been a dream. Like he hadn't walked out of this room eight years ago, walked to his first death, and right into The Fentons' arms. Like he could walk out that door and greet his brother like he had so many times before.

But he knew better; he's lived through dreams and false realities. He knows what twisted wishes and curses act like, feel like.

this wasn't a dream, this wasn't a damn wish, this was real. It was all horrifically, unbearably, dreadfully real.

And that scared him.

because he remembered being in the Ghost Zone, remembered hopping from rocky island to island in a game of tag with Dani. Remembered pranking the observants for being stuffy old geezers. Remembered hugging Clockwork and darting around the halls just to annoy the ghost. Remembered finally mastering animated Ice sculptures and sending an ice raccoon to fly to the far frozen just so Frostbite would know what he had accomplished.

But he didn't remember how he got here.

How he had gotten out of the zone, across the planet, and into a room deep inside a fortified fortress built by a cult his grandfather had led for several centuries.

One moment he had been testing just how far Fright Knight would go to follow him, and the next he's WAKING up here.

Moving to sit up, Danny froze.

His clothes were different.

He wasn't wearing his typical old tee and ripped blue jeans, nor was he wearing Tucker's hoodie and Sam's lacy skirt she'd finally convinced him to wear.

No, he was wearing a very familiar outfit. One that should be too small for him to fit in after all these years, one that had been mostly destroyed and discarded.

Sitting up, Danny stared in horror at his body. He was in his favorite deep blue and black Kurta, but that wasn't all.

No, no.

He was small.

Well, smaller. (Who knew dying multiple times would stunt his growth?) Like, as in he was eight or nine years old, small, as small as he had been when he had died, small.

If this was real (and it was, he knew it deep down in his core), then he couldn't waste any time panicking. Even after eight years, his daily routine was ingrained into his mind; wake up thirty minutes early, sneak out into the garden to watch the sunrise, sneak back in, get caught by his brother, go to breakfast, lessons, lunch, training, dinner, training, leave to go to bed but sneak out to star gaze, sneak back in and sleep.

The sun wasn't up yet, but it was close, which meant he needed to hurry if he didn't want anyone to get suspicious. Naturally, everyone knew he snuck out in the morning(he had made it wear they'd underestimate him, to make it easier to sneak out at night), so if he wasn't seen by his mother's spies and then caught by his brother, they'd know something was up. They probably wouldn't guess (what? Time travel? That's the only thing that's making sense, but then why is he small?) to be the problem, but they would know something was up and therefore, make it impossible for Danny to investigate it by himself.

Getting up, Danny grabbed a new pair of socks, snatched his special league tabi boots, and the blue strips of fabric he used almost every day. Pulling his socks on, then his boots, he carefully folded the extra fabric of his churidar and wrapped the blue strips tightly around. just like he had been taught.

Standing up, he snagged a few small knives (he always left his katana, he was supposed to be sneaking out to sight see, not fight) and stashed them on his body. It amazes him how easily he slipped back into his old habits; how easily he concealed his weapons, how he automatically silenced his footsteps as he left his room, how he pretended not to notice his mother's spies watching him.

He was acting on muscle memory from eight years ago, yet he didn't even falter as he turned down winding halls and up steep stairs.

Maybe he wasn't using eight years of dusty muscle memory.

Maybe he was using nine years of ingrained habit.

Maybe he was in his actual nine-year-old body.

It would explain how his memory of the day before was almost crystal clear now, how he remembered that there wasn't anything special planned for today, how his brother had been teasing him about his horrible stance in training. Crystal clear, just like his memory of playing with Dani, not even twelve hours ago.

It was like the present him was merged with the past him's body and mind. (Would that make his memories square? memory^2? Like they're both his memories, just one's fresher than the other, but now they feel... More? Tucker would know. It doesn't hurt, but man, was this weird.)

Finally making his way into the garden, Danny turned and scaled the stone walls, his fingers turning slightly red due to the frosty cold air and rocks.

Once at his usual spot, Danny turned and sat down, watching as the sky grew brighter and brighter. Hopefully the spies don't question his delay, maybe they'll chalk it up to him needing a little more sleep. he had pushed himself in training the day before.

Ok, focus on his situation.

What are the facts?

He had been in the ghost zone, nothing was out of the ordinary, and then he was suddenly waking up in his nine-year-old body, his childhood memories revived like he had just lived them(because he technically had, apparently), and he couldn't let anyone know something was wrong. (partly to keep the timeline intact, and partly because assassins get very... pointed when things aren't like how they're supposed to be.)

From his memories, he knows there is nothing extra planned for today. It's a typical boring day in the league. The most exciting thing that could happen is his mother stopping by to teach him instead of his normal mentors. But she did that three days ago, so chances are close to zilch.

Oh, and if his older memories are to be trusted, he is three or four days away from his first death.

Ok, Danny. Take a deep breath.

You've been sent back in time, somehow.

The most obvious cause: Clockwork.

But if he was the one responsible, then there should be a note, and you'd remember why and exactly how you got sent back. Clockwork time travel doesn't typically involve de-aging, and there wasn't a note.

So not Clockwork.

But if not Clockwork, then who and why?

He'd say another ghost broke in and maybe stole one of Clockwork's time manipulation stuff and used it on him, but that wouldn't make sense for multiple reasons. First, most ghosts who have enough audacity to pull a stunt like this, either refrain from doing so because Danny's the king or because they'd rather use their own stuff to screw with him.

Secondly, Clockwork wouldn't just let anyone steal from him, let alone use the stolen stuff against Danny.

So, not a ghost(or other realms being), or at least not one Danny knows of. But the likely hood of a random ass ghost/being doing this was still bogus because of reason number two.

So, that left living beings.

Who among the living would be powerful enough to affect-

"Danyal,"

Danny tensed; he knew that voice. He hated that voice. He's missed that voice. Glancing down with a frown, Danny stared at his brother.

no matter what he wanted to do (stangle him, hug him, cry, laugh, yell), he had to act normal, and normal nine-year-old Danyal al Ghul would be annoyed and confused that his morning sunrise was being interrupted, yet nervous because he'd been 'caught'. Normal nine-year-old Danyal al Ghul was 'weak' and 'innocent'. Or, well, compared to his brother, that is. (he knows now that nine-year-old him was nowhere near normal compared to everyone else.)

Damian was staring up at him, his body tense and eyes sharp with something Danny couldn't place. He looked upset, if Danny was being honest. But why would he be upset?

wait.

A memory from yesterday popped up; Damian had stolen his favorite knife, teasing him for failing to hit the target dead on like he could. Danny had stolen his shuko hand claws in retaliation.

"I swear I didn't do it," Danny blurted, glancing around to see his escape routes. He had two, the other side of the roof, or risk trying to get past Damian and back inside.

Damian blinked, looking thrown off for a second, his brows furrowed, "Do what?"

Danny glanced back, forcing his body to nervously shift, "Take your shuko claws." (Present him would have never given himself away like this, but past Danny had no brain-to-mouth filter and enough anxiety to fuel a rocket ship, which usually led to him being a horrible liar.)

Damian was silent for a moment, closing his eyes as if he were pained. "That's not," he started, before stopping and taking a deep breath to center himself.

This was weird. Danny didn't remember an interaction like this happening. what was going on? had something changed? had he screwed up the timeline by not getting outside fast enough?

"I'm not mad at you," Damian continued, finally opening his eyes and staring up at him with a blank face.

"You're not?" Danny asked, moving to make it look like he was ready to bolt at any moment. (It wasn't hard to act like it when he truly did feel like he should run.)

"No, I wanted to know if," Damian paused, pursing his lips just slightly. It was his thinking face, the face he only got when he really was panicking about what to do next. Why was he panicking?

"If?" Danny pushed, slowly leaning forward and weighing the pros and cons of jumping down and being face to face with him.

"If you," Damian started slowly, "would allow me to join you."

Danny blinked, then blinked again. (Damian was acting weird, what the hell? Wait? Has he been misinterpreting his brother this whole time? Was he always catching Danny as he snuck back in because he wanted to join him? wait, no, focus, Danny!)

"Sure!" Danny smiled, patting the roof next to him. Nine-year-old Danyal would be ecstatic if his brother wanted to join him. So ecstatic in fact, he might even start ranting about everything he knew about the sun. (Present Danny was also about to start ranting, just more out of nervousness than excitement.)

Shaking his hands to get rid of the excess energy (excited energy because, even if Danny never forgave his brother for what happened, he still loved him, and spending even just a moment with him was like a dream come true), Danny beamed as his brother hauled himself up onto the roof and sat down.

"Did you know the sun has layers?" Danny blurted, turning to glance up at the mountains around them. Technically, the sun was up, but it still hadn't broken over the mountain ridge. Ancients, he never realized how much he missed the peaceful mornings here in Nanda Parbat.

"Really?" Damian asked softly, turning to watch the sun rise as well. A new bird song broke out, their chirps and whistles echoing off the rocky walls and building a symphony for just the two of them to enjoy.

Danny wasn't sure what he had done to change things, but maybe, just maybe, he could be selfish and not worry for just a moment. He wanted to enjoy the precious little time he had with his twin, even if the knowledge of what would happen in three days hung over his head.

Damian turned to look at him again, his green eyes focused intently on Danny's face, and with a smile that Danny's very rarely seen, asked, "Can you tell me about them?"

Next

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part Nine: The Expo

Your eyes widen to saucers as you climb out of John’s work van. The event hall in front of you is huge - the largest in the city. A big, glass dome with a high-end hotel attached. It glows in the morning sun. Lines of people have already formed out front. You passed them on your way around to the vendor entrance. It’s the twentieth anniversary for the Tattoo Expo, apparently, which means they expect massive crowds.

“I hate that Kyle couldn’t come.” You frown as a security worker hands over your badge. It’s fancy - heavy weight with brightly colored, neo-traditional graphics. Something about having the word VENDOR hanging around your neck makes your heart skip.

John sighs, heaving one of the boxes of his books onto your dolly. “Yeah. He tried but he couldn’t get his head out of the toilet long enough to do much of anythin’.”

You wrinkle your nose. Apparently he had caught some nasty stomach bug, poor guy. You thought about calling and checking in on him, but you worried that was too clingy. After… everything, you don’t want to come off as anything other than normal about it. Which you are. Totally normal.

At least Johnny was home for the day to help him out.

“Has Simon ever come?” You ask, titling the dolly pack to push into the convention hall.

John’s arms flex as he fights with his rolling tool box to get the handle back out so he can pull it. He just had to wear a sleeveless muscle tee, didn’t he? It’s rude, frankly. You look over his more rarely exposed shoulder and upper arm pieces - some more faded than others. Some more colorful, some better crafted. Part of you wants to reach out - to trace them the same way you want to with Simon. You want to ask him in detail about each one. Maybe he’ll let you, someday.

“Can you actually picture Simon in a convention hall?” He chuckles eventually, finally getting the toolbox rolling properly.

You laugh. “Guess not.”

The 141 booth sits in the center of the floor, surrounded by a few other big-name shops and figures in the community. You glance around at them, only recognizing a few. You don’t get much time to look around. There are only a couple hours designated for set up and you have to help hang all the flash options, get the cash box sorted, and be ready for the flood when it comes. You’ve mentally prepared for chaos, reading through pretty much every reddit and twitter thread you could find about convention disasters. You know that won’t happen here, and even if something did, John wouldn’t abandon you to it. Still, you feel better being mentally prepared for anything - no matter how unrealistic.

“Why do you still do these?” You ask, pinning one of the large flash sheets to the display board. “I mean - you don’t exactly have to get your name out there.”

“I enjoy them- the community. I was here when this was still bein’ held underground in an old warehouse.” John looks around, eyes scanning the rows of artists. He doesn’t share his thoughts, just stands there quietly for a moment with his hands on his hips. After a few beats he grumbles quietly, “Gettin’ old…”

You focus on setting up the front table where you’ll be stationed. John brought a few prints of work as well as several copies of his book. He brought a few signed ones as well, only selling them for about twenty more bucks than the usual price. You asked why he doesn’t mark them up more, but he just shrugged you off with a mutter of ‘I’m not all that’ before moving on to another task. You decided it was best not to argue that he is, indeed, all that. His books are literally filled until the late fall.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so proud of setting up a decently aesthetically pleasing display all on your own when you’re surrounded by real artists, but you still grin wide with your hands on your hips. It’s simple, with cards for each of the boys lining one sit and a roll of tattoo tickets for the day beside the cash box. The table cloth with the shop’s name looks nearly identical to the sign. One might call it lazy marketing, you find it charming.

“Somethin’ happen with you and Kyle?” John asks suddenly, back turned as he messes with something in his rolling tool box full of supplies.

You freeze, eyes wide and mouth dry. Did Kyle say something? You thought you’d been normal about it. Kyle hadn’t acted any differently - which shouldn’t have hurt your feelings - and you were sure you’d met him with the same level of normalcy. The past weeks race through your mind. Every moment, every interaction, picking each apart into threads in milliseconds.

“Uh, no? Why?” It comes out squeaky. Unsure. Lord, you really are a terrible liar.

John hums. He’s quiet for barely a beat, a moment that seems to stretch for lifetimes. You can almost feel your cells aging while you wait. “You’ve been quieter than usual around him. Just wanted t’make sure.”

“Oh.” Had you? You thought you’d been the same as always. Both of you totally moved on from… the incident. Well, except for those few times you caught yourself staring - zoning out while thinking about the way his lips pressed to yours. Imagining Kyle pulling you into the back room again. Another kiss with less nervousness and more heat. Actually bending you over the desk properly-

“Y’with me, love?” John snaps you back to reality.

“Yeah!” You jump and stutter. “Yeah. No. We’re fine. I’m… fine.”

You wonder if the giant guy in the weird homemade mask at the booth across from yours would smash your head in if you paid him. Let him free you from the torment of embarrassment. It had been eating away at you, if you’re honest with yourself, and now lying right to John’s face just feels… awful. He’ll find out. You know he will. Maybe he already knows as that was a test. Fuck if it was, you totally just failed.

The clock turns to nine, and you have no choice but to let that be a problem for your future self.

Something you realize rather quickly as the attendees begin to flood the hall is that John is a god here. People don’t meet his eye. They speak meekly, even to you, with voices low and faces flushed. The line for your booth stretches down the walkway as soon as the doors open - appointment tickets practically flying out of your hands. You overhear a pair of friends muttering about sleeping outside overnight to get in early enough for John’s booth. It makes your head spin.

You wonder if they’d still act that way if they saw him snoring open-mouthed at the desk in the back room mid-afternoon.

“Thought I heard 141 got a new front desk girl.” A syrupy southern accident lilts above you just as you finish selling tickets. He’s handsome. Blonde and blue eyed with a little scar gracing his cheekbone. Not much younger than John, you don’t think. Probably around Simon’s age.

You slip on your usual customer service smile. “Hello! How can I-”

“Graves.” John grunts behind you, not even looking up from the work in front of him. “What d’you want?”

“Just wanted to come see how you were.” The man - Graves - grins wide. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “And to meet your new front of house. Philip.”

You take the hand he holds out, giving a perfunctory shake and your name. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that John doesn’t like this guy, whoever he is, and you’re inclined to trust his judgement. You opt for basic small talk. “Are you an artist?”

Graves nods. “I own Shadow & Co. It’s a few blocks over from your place.”

Oh. You’d heard of them. They came highly recommended when you were looking for artists in the area initially. In the end you opted for John based entirely on vibes. The Shadow building is far too modern - to minimalist - for your liking. Too corporate.

“Y’know, we’re looking for a new desk girl as well.” Graves smiles. You do your best not to sneer at his use of desk girl. “We’re growing pretty quick - even if you wanted to split your time-”

“She’s full time with us.” John snaps - blatant irritation lining the edges of his voice. He still doesn’t turn around.

The blonde man pauses, glancing between you. Something passes over his eyes - some implicit knowing that you don’t quite get - but it’s gone just as fast as it came. He digs into his pocket, flipping open a too-new wallet and pulling out a business card. “Well, if you ever want to work somewhere more exciting-” you nearly laugh at that. “-give us a call, hm?”

You glance up to his face, then back down at the card. John’s tattoo gun continues to buzz behind you, but you can tell he’s slowed down. He’s listening. Before even really thinking you extend your hand, pushing the card he holds away from you.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m very happy here.”

Philip scoffs, dropping the card on the table. “Keep us in mind, yeah?”

He disappears into the crowd easily - blending in just like his shop’s namesake. Your nose wrinkles. You snatch up the card and tear it in two. “Dickhead.”

You think you hear John chuckling behind you, but can’t be sure over the roar of the convention.

The day flies by - people bustle by your booth. You run out of signed books just over halfway through - prints not long after. Your voice feels hoarse from talking to so many people. The hall has grown quite hot and you’re sure that your hair looks insane at this point. Either way, you’re having a great time. You get to talk to a with full body trash polka that you like for some reason. You get to meet one of the people involved in the stage competition - her massive thigh piece holding some of the best color work you’ve ever seen. All in all, despite the discomfort, you think this ranks in your top ten favorite days. Maybe top five.

“Excuse me?” Murmurs a voice so soft you almost miss it entirely over the roar of the convention. When you look up, you’re met with a painfully young face. Definitely not old enough for the 17+ entrance requirement.

“Hi!” You put on your warmest smile. “How can I help you?”

“I, uh, I was just…” They stutter, shifting in place. “I- Are there any signed copies left?”

You look them over, a too-familiar pang in your chest. You know those eyes, that anxiety. The jumpy way they look around at the people passing by and tug at their sleeves. Your teeth sink into your lip and you look over at the three blanks that make up your entire left over stock. Glancing over your shoulder, you see John finishing with his current client - giving the man a firm handshake before turning to clean up his station. There’s a fifteen minute break until the next one - his last for the night - and as much as you don’t want to take up his precious little time to set up…

“Let me check!” You squeak, shaky as you grab one of the blanks with all the subtlety of a brick over the head and cross the few feet over to where John sits. You lean over to speak in his ear, low enough that the kid won’t hear you. “John?”

“Hm?” He hums, turning slightly on his stool.

“Can you sign this one?” You chew your lip. “I know you had a set amount but this kid looks so…”

He glances behind you at the teenager in question, bashfully staring at their feet.

“I’m sorry, I know you need to set up for the next-”

John cuts you off by taking the book from your hands and standing.

“Thanks, dove.” He gives you that lovely, warm smile and rolls his shoulders before making his way over to the front table.

The teenager’s eyes go so wide you think they might pop out of their head. You decide to hang back and not interrupt their moment. John sets the book on the table and grabs a sharpie from your back up stash of pens. The kid mumbles something you can’t understand. John’s voice lowers as well. You can’t hear them, but you watch John scrawl something in the book and hand it over. He pushes away the crumpled, messy wad of cash the teenager tries to give him, shaking his head and saying something else that you don’t catch. The kid looks like they’re about to cry, a wide, wet grin splitting their face as they say goodbye and practically prance away.

You melt, shoulders slouching and what you’re sure is a very stupid smile breaking out across your lips. You don’t know why you doubted him for even a moment.

“What’s that face?” John scoffs, cocking a brow at you.

“Nothing.” You shake your head and re-take your spot at the table.

The ending of the convention is rather uneventful. Some of the other booths begin clearing up early. You take the time to count the cash box - which is absolutely stuffed to the brim. John rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck about five times in the span of a few minutes. Maybe you could convince them to do a company yoga class. It’s easy to see how tense and tired they get. You file that idea away for later.

Luckily most of the booth set up belonged to the venue and, since you sold out of books and prints, you don’t have haul those back to the van. All you have to take is John’s rolling toolbox and tattooing table. All things that easily fit in your bag and dolly. Thank god. Neither of you speak much on the drive back to the shop - opting for comfortable silence. Your ears ring ever so slightly from the noise of the convention hall. When you were in it, you hadn’t realized just how loud it was. John’s eyes are locked on the road, the slight glow from the setting sun warming his skin.

The sun just disappears over the horizon as you put the last of the equipment in the backroom - stacked rather messily but that’s another problem for future you. You’ve been working for a grand total of fourteen hours and, somehow, it still has yet to hit you. Adrenaline and excited energy still pulse under your skin.

John sighs loudly, crossing each arm over his chest to stretch them out. “Could really go for a scotch right now. You want a nightcap?”

Your cheeks warm, still riding high from the excitement of the day you agree easily. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He gives you a gentle smile, softened further by the low street lights. “Let me show you a spot.”

The place John leads you to is small. Local. You sit at the bar and take a moment to look around. Three pool tables take up half the floor space. It looks like a small tournament is going on - a white board showing the matches and who will go against who next. Two ski-ball machines are tucked in a corner beside the bathroom, currently taken up by two younger men who you aren’t completely sure are drinking age. The lights and music are both low. One of the bartenders is posted up on the opposite end of the bar with two other people watching Shin Godzilla on the mounted television. It’s cozy and oh-so very John Price.

You get an easy sipper, something fruity and sweet as a treat for the long day you’ve had. It’s nice against the warmth of the summer evening. A heat that’s only aggravated by the one that settles in your spine whenever the guys are around. John especially.

“Think that kid was a little young for the event…” You blurt in a poor attempt to make conversation.

John nods along. “Definitely.”

“That was really nice of you. I didn’t want to… I don’t know.” You murmur, unsure why exactly the words won’t stop. You blame the drinks and exhaustion. Seems realistic enough. “They just seemed so sad.”

“Wasn’t nice. Just the right thing t’do.” John shrugs. His words come slow, almost as if he’s unsure if he should say them. Though, you find it hard to believe he has ever been unsure about anything in his life. “I know what its like… to need t’escape. Lied about my age just to enlist.”

Your eyes widen. “R-really?”

He hums. “They didn’t care much back then.”

For some reason you never thought about John’s childhood - his homelife. You know he has a mom somewhere. Kyle let it slip a couple of times - said she’s a really good cook. John doesn’t volunteer information about himself often, you gathered that much. He’s worse than Simon, somehow, which says a fucking lot.

“Did-” you mull over your words. “You didn’t grow up around here, yeah?”

It’s a clumsy attempt at getting him to talk, but it works well enough. He nods. “Hereford. My mum’s still out there.”

Score. “Do you visit her much?”

John shrugs, chuckling. “When I can. I could move back home and it wouldn’t be enough for her.”

You snicker.

“She’s the best woman I’ve ever known…” He murmurs, eyes far away. It’s only for a moment, but they look past you. Defocused in a way that seems to out of character for the hyper-aware man.

Your faces are close. Hunched in like school kids exchanging secrets and gossip during recess. Your eyes dart from his to his lips and back. It’s confusing. All of this. The intimacy you have with each of them in these moments is overwhelming. You like Kyle - you liked kissing Kyle - you really shouldn’t be wanting that from your boss, though. A co-worker is bad enough but John… John is off limits. You know that. Even so, you find yourself subconsciously leaning just a bit closer, eyes roving over the freckles you don’t see standing further away and the grey flecks in his eyes. You think, for barely a millisecond, that he leans in too.

Until he sits up straight, tossing back what little is left of his drink. “Let’s head out. Could go for a smoke.”

You nod, swallowing down your thoughts and following him out of the bar like a lost puppy. You’d follow him to the end of the earth, you think. Even if it hurts that you can’t get as close as you want, you’d go anywhere for him. Yeah, that’s definitely the drink and tiredness talking. Part of you also knows that it is undoubtedly true.

John rounds a corner to the side of the bar. It’s moderately lit, a single street lamp just down the way giving you just enough light to see. You lean against the wall beside John, the exhaustion beginning to cling to your eyes.

“Are you?” John asks suddenly.

“Hm?” You hum, unsure of what he’s asking about.

“Happy here?” He cuts the end off a cigar he pulled from the silver box that lives in his back pocket.

In the low light of the alley, his pupils overtake most of his irises. Dark and intense as he looks you over from head to toe. You see it, suddenly. The god that the others do. He’s not as physically large as Simon, or as loud as Johnny, but he fills every inch of any space he enters regardless. You suppose you became so used to being in that radius that you forgot just how much presence he carries. You’ve wrapped yourself in it like a blanket. A shield.

Your cheeks warm and you shuffle your feet. “I… yeah.”

“Good.” John sighs out a cloud of smoke. “It’d be a pain in the arse to replace you. The boys care about you too much.”

You stare up at him. You can feel something on the edge of his tone - some weight that you don’t understand. There always seems to be another layer to the things he says. Implications that you can’t understand, context that you’re missing. Part of you wants to ask, needs to ask, but the words get stuck in your throat. What would you say? You’re not even entirely sure what you need to ask. You know they care about you, and you care for them in turn, so why does it feel like there’s something missing?

“Does the boys include you?” You blurt, one again wishing that big guy from the convention was here to smash your head in like wile e. cayote and the anvil.

He looks you up and down, slightly taken aback while you debate on bolting. “Thought that was obvious.”

You scoff, still flustered. “You’re hard to read.”

“Am I, now?”

You nod. A comfortable silence falls over you, despite the awkwardness surely emanating from you. Your lip catches between your teeth, eyes on your feet. “John?”

“Dove?” He tilts his head, once again leaning ever so slightly closer to you.

“Thank you. For everything.” You murmur, voice low and unsure. “It’s… it’s really good here.”

“Think nothin’ of it, love.”

You look up at those pretty blue eyes. They always make your chest ache with some deep hole you haven’t been able to pin down. At first you could blame it on wanting to do well - to be a good employee. It’s more than that, though. It starts in your chest and seeps it’s way through the rest of you. A want. A craving. That’s the word. You crave those eyes on you. The weight of his hands, the fortitude of him.

You’re not sure who closes the gap - whether it’s you or him - but either way it closes. It’s too natural for the context of your relationship. You slot together too well. It’s not like with Kyle. John carries an intensity with him that Kyle never could. His beard scratches not unpleasantly. His lips are warm - you can taste hints of scotch and his cigar. He smells of spice and earth. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders - unsure of where to put them.

This is wrong. It’s messy. You already lied about Kyle, which he’ll surely find out. If he hasn’t already. What about Johnny? Or Simon? Will they think less of you? Are you less for this? For impulsively kissing your boss in some back alley? Will Kyle be angry if he finds out? Your thoughts surge, all chaotic waves crashing against each other in an attempt to make sense of this situation you find yourself in.

John’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer into him. Your arms drape around his neck as you push onto your tips toes to meet him.

That’s a problem for future you.

A/N: Sorry this part took so long, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to escalate it or not but I want to get a move on with these boys

[bumblebecc]

thinking about mel outside the pitt a lot

she has no interest in performing femininity. she hates the sensory experience of makeup on her skin, or tight glittery dresses, or, god forbid, curling her hair. she hates going to the salon (loud blowdryers, strangers touching her, eyes judging her when she stims and hums), so she trims her own hair herself (forgetting most times until her braid is too long and hits her waist).

she used to cut her hair very short in high school, a practical pixie cut, but becca always cried, upset by big changes, so she tries to keep it the same length now.

but she likes pretty things, collecting trinkets like a mockingbird. gold rings, clinking bracelets, a necklace with a deep green stone that kisses her breast bone. she barely wears them, but puts them on her window sill so she can see them gleam in the morning.

during the summer, she only wears loose flowy cotton dresses and linen baggy pants—anything else makes her skin hurt. she hates denim and corduroy, but loves cotton shorts and butter soft sweaters and long wool socks in a plethora of colors.

at home, she’s perpetually in shorts and a huge sweatshirt and fluffy slippers with rabbit ears

she lets becca play with her hair. frazzled space buns with colorful clips. twin bubbly braids with tiny butterfly hair pins. and she doesn’t mind nail polish—it’s soothing, the cool wet stroke of the brush, becca’s face wrinkled with concentration.

of course in the ED, she aims for comfort over fashion—boring orthopedic shoes and light t-shirts under her scrubs. she takes off the nail polish every morning with acetone wipes since it’s not allowed on shift.

(Frank sees her one day at a random restaurant with Becca and does a double-take because thats Mel King with twin buns in her hair and a huge band tee shirt and cotton shorts and dirty converse and it’s like now he knows this secret part of Mel, the Mel outside the ED.)

(She invites him to sit down and meet Becca. Every time they hang out after, on grocery store trips, in her tiny cluttered apartment, Frank looks forward to seeing what mishmash of clothes she’ll wear, discovering the books and jewelry on her shelves, the music posters on her walls.)

(And maybe, while walking with her through a park with his new dog, he touches her cottony skirt just barely with his fingertips and allows himself to want her—just for a second.)

[orphicsun]

.・College Ellie Headcannons゜・

Note: This is more loser Ellie-centric, I wanna maybe do a part two with just reader and her. Some sexual content and mentions of getting zooted below so 18+ warning!

•Art major, but she’s not the typical hot artsy lesbian you dream of her to be. More like rolls a fat blunt and sketches in her journal, it’ll either turn out to be a masterpiece or look like a crackhead had a go with her paper.

���Speaking of art major, when she’s horny and frustrated because she refuses to hook-up…she draws the lewdest art known to woman-kind. Those are her real masterpieces, but she can’t exactly turn them in for credit in her art class, can she? Fuck, the things that woman can make, though. Lowkey uses her exes naked bodies as inspiration though, maybe kind of weird but who’s gonna stop her?

•Doesn’t eat the food on campus half the time. She is embarrassingly addicted to Tai Pei containers and the occasional microwavable egg-roll. “That shit’s nasty, Ellie! Goddamn, just eat the Tacos 4 Life we have on campus.” Her friends will all tell her, but no. It’s like a guilty pleasure. Maybe it’s cause she grew up lower class and is used to TV dinners, has a special trauma bond to food that should be banned and probably is outside of America.

•Wardrobe consists of band tees, honorable mentions to Gorillaz and Falling in Reverse.

•Is actually an insanely talented writer. After reading her journals I feel like nobody talks about how emotional her entries are and she keeps a journal of her own in college for sure, not only for sketching and organizing art but also to write all her feelings out.

“Fuck me, this is my last year being gay.” -After her and Cat’s break-up, probably.

•Hates coffee. Definitely game-cannon, but this is important to the college setting. It’s the classic Monster or nothing, and she will absolutely judge you for drinking coffee. She calls it “the devil’s dirt.” So dramatic.

•Used to watch bad Hallmark movies because of Dina, now watches them alone because she misses Dina. There’s nothing like crying your eyes out to Christmas Under Wraps!

•Has a collection of rubber ducks on her shelf. Doesn’t use her very small space for normal things like her wallet or books, no. It’s rubber fucking ducks.

•Also has a slipper collection in her tiny closet, from Pikachu all the way to dinosaur feet.

•Has the “two-seater” t-shirt (iykyk) but refuses to wear it in public because she’s a pussy

•Favorite fruit is grapes. I just know my girl loves grapes when she can get her hands on them steer clear bc she will NOT share. Favorite candy is gummy worms!

•Actually wears rain boots when it’s wet outside or snowing

•Likes wired earbuds over airpods, listens to Pearl Jam when she misses living with Joel

•Is oddly good at making those little paper stars and has a huge grocery bag of then in all different patterns and colors

•When she starts dating you she shows you her dinosaur cookie-cutter collection because you're really good at baking. (Also bc she wants to see you in a frilly cute apron!)

•Is a slut for hugs. Kisses are cool, sex is great but agghhh Ellie just loves wrapping her arms around you and sometimes when you two are in her dorm she'll just hug you for what feels like hours on end, she calls it her 'weekly therapy.'

•Loves high sex because when she's sober she hates feeling like she's awkward or all up in her head. She also has a tendency to invite you over for sex after smoking.

•Has a septum piercing. Maybe this one is self-indulgent because I would go ballistic over seeing actual Ellie with one, but I say that college Ellie got hers pierced at 16 and didn't cry over the pain but wanted to literally jump off of a bridge the entire healing process it was so bad.

•Sometimes when you kiss her, her septum will slide over and look uneven and she feels fucking NIGERIA FALLS in her boxers when you fix it for her. Also for those of you who are sluts for glasses, you can fix her glasses too and it'll make her just as weak.

[4theitgirls]

hot girl gift & christmas list ideas

beauty

hair gloss/hair oil

lanolips

fino hair mask

cosrx serum

rhode lip tint

- RECOMMENDED SHADES:

raspberry jelly

ribbon

cinnamon roll

philosophy 3-in-1

- RECOMMENDED SCENTS:

fresh cream

raspberry sorbet

pink frosted animal cracker

blush

gisou lip oil

rhode glazing milk

foundation

gel nail polishes/nail sets

victoria’s secret lip gloss

- RECOMMENDED FLAVORS:

candy baby

sugar high

strawberry fizz

kiwi blush

juicy melon

perfume/body care set

makeup brushes

gua sha/jade roller

cute skincare from the crème shop

false lashes/lash extensions

led face mask

electric toothbrush

under eye masks

laser hair removal/wax kit

heatless curl kit

pimple patches

body lotion

- RECOMMENDED SCENTS:

warm and cozy by victoria’s secret

the righteous butter by soap and glory

heavenly dream angel by victoria’s secret

body scrub

- RECOMMENDED BRANDS:

tree hut

victoria’s secret

bath and body works

fashion & clothing

cute pj set

workout sets

fuzzy socks

mary janes

uggs/fuzzy slippers

knee-high/thigh-high socks

basic tees/tanks/sweatshirts

health

cute water bottle

walking pad

resistance bands

eye mask for sleep

foam roller

liquid iv

light therapy lamp

hot water bottle/heating pad

hand sanitizer

yoga mat

wrist/ankle weights

miscellaneous

cute coloring book

books

palm stone

noise cancelling headphones

sofia coppola archive

throw blanket

chocolate

kindle

airpod case

phone case

speaker

candles

claw clips

perfume/body mist

- RECOMMENDED SCENTS:

warm and cozy by victoria’s secret

champagne toast by bath and body works

cupcake by body fantasies

autumn drive by bath and body works

champagne apple and honey by bath and body works

[demie90s]

Barbie Got Her Billionaire

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ Nika Mühl X READER ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ MASTERLIST All PARTS

Part 2

⭑ pairing: Nika Mühl x you (fem!reader)

⭑ summary: You’re the chill, unbothered rich girl on the UConn team—generous by nature, but especially when it comes to Nika. She’s your favorite, and everyone knows it.

⭑ genre: fluff, soft romance, slice-of-life, college chaos

⭑ warnings: none

⭑ word count: ~2.3k

The dorm was loud. Again.

KK was throwing a pair of socks at Ice, who was dramatically lip-syncing to a Nicki Minaj song. Azzi and Aubrey were seated on the floor, holding up index cards with scores as if Ice’s performance was part of some ongoing, un televised talent show. Jana and Ayanna were tucked into the corner, focused as hell on a 2,000-piece Lego set, both muttering over which brick was which color. Paige? She was running the live, flipping the camera between everyone while sipping a smoothie and narrating the madness like it was a nature documentary.

Me?

I was at the far edge of the couch, legs sprawled out like I paid rent on the whole dorm and owned the air, hoodie up, laptop on my thighs, typing out the last few lines of my psych paper while someone’s foot bumped my shin. I didn’t even look up. I just adjusted the cursor and kept going.

That’s when Nika walked in.

No announcement. Just that usual Nika walk graceful, effortless, and knowing damn well she looked good in that oversized tee and gray shorts combo. She didn’t even say hi. Just wandered behind the couch, stopped next to me, and slid her fingers under my arm.

I tilted slightly, giving her access.

She reached in, grabbed my wallet, pulled out my platinum card like it was hers, and turned to leave.

I didn’t blink. Didn’t ask. Didn’t flinch. Just adjusted my posture again and tapped “Command + S” to save my essay. The others didn’t even react anymore either, except KK who muttered, “Damn. She really Barbie for real.”

Azzi snorted, “More like Nika’s Barbie. And that’s her Ken.”

“She’s not even Ken,” Paige grinned, looking dead at the live camera. “She’s a bank. She’s the bank.”

I ignored them.

It wasn’t that I didn’t hear. It just didn’t matter. Nika needed something—food, probably a pastry or a matcha run—and I had it. She didn’t even have to ask.

“You’re not gonna ask what she bought?” Ice called out.

“Nope.”

“What if she flying to Paris on your dime?” Aubrey asked.

“Then I guess I’ll see her when she gets back,” I replied without missing a beat, flipping the page in my notebook.

The room howled with laughter, and I didn’t even smirk.

See, the difference between me and them? I was never trying. I didn’t have to flirt with Nika. I didn’t have to post her or fight for her attention. She got it. Always had it. She’d come back from errands and drop a cookie on my desk like it was nothing, touch my wrist when passing by, sometimes slide into my bed at 2 a.m. just to fall asleep.

And I let her.

Always.

Not because I was desperate. But because… it was her. And if Nika wanted something, I gave it. No questions. No hesitation.

People tried to say I spoiled her. Paige said I was setting the bar too high. KK joked about me being in my “rich auntie era.” And maybe I was. Because when Nika wanted to go to Hawaii for 36 hours just to taste a mango lilikoi shaved ice from a place she saw on TikTok—I booked the flight, sent the itinerary, and made sure she had a seat by the window and was sat in first class.

She didn’t even look surprised.

She just kissed my cheek and said, “You’re unreal.”

I shrugged.

“Only for you.”

And I meant that.

[monstas1ut]

Pull My Hair

SUGURU GETO x black!reader

Summary

__ Suguru wants to touch black!reader’s hair.. unfortunately she always says he cannot touch her hair, nobody but the lord knows that if he got one chance, he will not mess the opportunity up… especially since he wants to pull it during sex…

Content

Reader is implied to have a cute tall Afro puff! Wholesome stuff, more plot than smut! Hair pulling, wall sex, Suguru loves your hair,

___ brown skin can be dark, light, medium color.. whatever. brown is brown.. and it's gorgeous

“I finally did my edges the way I wanted it to be..”

A fraction of a chuckle poured out of the dark, mystifying male, closing his book with one hand. It had been about the disastrous consequences of war and fate that was inevitable. It was definitely a bit too gloomy for what was in front of him at the very moment, which was rays of sun on the color brown, you. The pages of the book were filled with disturbing absurdities that he took interest in, but the raven haired male would rather stare at you.

You were far more interesting than anything he could ever lay his eyes on, and he truly meant anything. He slid the book onto the side table by the soft couch he was sitting on, and he was fairly comfortable. His back was pressed nicely against the couch, his knees far apart. Suguru was settled nicely there, spread in his usual sitting position but to you it made your heart flutter everytime… he was sexy.

“You were in there for almost an hour, I’d hope so..” Suguru playfully teased, watching your little expression on your face turn slightly into a half smirk. Some people really dig deep into trying to figure out how you and Suguru even managed to date, but they just didn’t realize how much of a silly goose he was behind closed doors. It may be faint, but it was still there… Sometimes Suguru’s jokes tickle your lower stomach so badly that the floor is the only thing that can hold you.

“Do you likeee it? The last time I had my hair like this was in middle school..” this was normal, your regular banter of sorts, but Suguru was genuinely deep in thought. Maybe his dark eyes looked over you around 6 or 7 times already, giving his lips a dangerous lick as he tried to adjust his sitting position.. lightly lifting his hips. There was something about you embracing your natural beauty that had him fawning over you… hard. Could anyone blame him? Your hair was rarely out in a way that he could actually see that pretty pattern of hair.

“It suits you very well..”

Time gave into the fantasy of stopping, that’s how it felt to you anyway. His words were so silky, his slight emphasis on the word ‘very’ almost had you running to the hills. His stare, his slight tilt of the head. There was an odd few seconds of sweet silence as your heart thumped quickly. “I’m going to assume touching it is off limits..” there was only a little pout that surfaced on his porcelain face. He then slowly stood up to reveal his fierce height, his body covered mainly by the deepest black of fabric, his tee and wide legged pants

It’s days like this where he’d get mad at the mumble of the word ‘emo’.

Your eyes slightly widened, crossing your arms under your perfectly sized mounds. “Hell yeah it’s off limits. I have to make this hairstyle last-..” Suguru slightly scoffed the second the last word left your plump lips. He wasn’t angry or anything… however he was poking at your bullshit.

“You always tell me not to touch your hair.. not just this time..” Suguru didn’t know why, but there was something about the word cant. Why couldn’t he? Why was it so off limits? He wouldn’t have messed it up… But as time passed of being so intimate with you, he couldn’t lie, he wanted to ruin you. Suguru is as cordial as it gets, but unfortunately when he can’t have something, he spirals. It was selfish in spirit, but everyone has their dark secrets.

“Cuz you’ll mess it up. Like you said, the edges took me almost an hour. Do you have the patience to do that?” The sass that came from your words was harmless, but the tilt of the head you did made him a little more on the agitated side.

“I do actually, but even you know that” shooting right back at you with playful banter, Suguru’s soft, lanky fingers reached out to touch your wrist. His pale skin was on the warm side today, it could be possible that he was flustered from your new look. Suguru was a simple man, his body got warm over the littlest things you’d do. But unlike most , he kept it very quiet and self contained.

“I’d do anything that’ll give me a chance to touch a special part of you. Anything that’s.. you.. I would love to touch it with my fingertips..” his hands slipped to your fingers, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles in a lovesick manner. His way with words was dangerously soft, it caused your spine to straighten up everytime. However , right now, your main focus was trying to understand his inability to move on. Your hair was simply your hair. There was no need to touch it, you didn’t need gross oils from his hands to mess it up, let alone ruin your edges. However, you just wondered about his obsession, was it truly about him loving your hair or was he just trying to annoy you. To be honest, it wasn’t the latter.

“You’re sick Suguru.”

“I believe I’m just fine, I’m only a man with specific needs, y/n” his words hid no lie, his scent pushing through your nostrils as he got even closer to you. Sometimes when you smell him, your mind goes blank. Suguru was a handsome man with a rough, sweet wood smell that would linger on. “But your needs are ridiculous. There’s no reason you should be begging to touch my damn hair. It ain’t gold.” Now it was just hilarious to you. Your little laugh might’ve been you giving in, maybe.

As a kid, you’ve known others that would treat you as if you were an animal in a petting zoo. Their nasty hands touching your curls, ruining the hairstyle just for the touches. It was about respect of all things, however the more you looked at it, the more you realized how unfair it was to Suguru. Your sensual natured lover respected every boundary you put up, and he never tried to jump it. He’s never really gotten a good feel of your hair in it’s natural state. He knew he couldn’t, but the opportunity he had now was gracious. Suguru knew he was quite sick for this, but he wanted to rule out what he could not do. Suguru wanted to feel the curl pattern, the texture, the soft strands of you.

While he had an underlying motive, it was merely about the love for your hair and getting closer to you. Suguru wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through the cloud like puff and hold tight. And whether he roughs it up or not, he would indeed spend as long as he has to so he could fix his mess ups. He just wanted one chance…

“I’d actually enjoy it if you taught me how to do your hair. If I agree to helping you do it, would you change your thoughts about keeping me away?” Suguru had such a light look on his face. His smile practically caressed you while his fingers gently intertwine with yours. He just needed one chance, one soft grab or a twirl. Selfish he was, but he cared little. Your beautiful facial features were attacking him right now, almost telling him how wrong and right he was.

His soft, romantic grip on your hand made your heart flutter. Let alone his sweet glances towards your curly, juicy ends. For some reason this moment between the two of you felt deeply intimate, sexually intimate. You didn’t know what it was, but Suguru’s eyes were looking very sultry.

“Maybe..” you blurted, giving into his looks. He tilted his head a bit, his flowy, jet black hair going with him. He had his hair out today, no hair tie restrictions, so his looks were now far from just a ten. “You know, the day you actually let me.. I won’t wash my hands for weeks..” Suguru playfully joked, his more humorous side sliding out as a smile was plastered onto his face. It really did bum him out, but he would never force you… even if he wanted to touch your hair badly. Even if he wanted to pull it during the most intense sex.. he just never did.

“You’re losing it…” you lightly laughed before the world kind of disappeared around you. It happened so quick, and Suguru was the only person, human, soul you could see. He leaned down , his tall frame overpowering but he pressed his forehead against yours. His silky hair tickled you just a tad. “That’s alright…” he whispered, and even if he did, his voice was still deep and rumbling. Your face was hot, especially when his lips ghosted against yours. That was the exact second you forgot why you even did your hair. You were supposed to go run errands with your friend.. that’s what was supposed to happen.

Unfortunately, Suguru had different plans. His lips pressed lovingly against yours, emitting a shiny spark. The world around you turned to static and his hands were the only thing you could feel other than his lips. Both your hands were against his, intertwining all your fingers. He had you locked and forbidden from leaving his grip. The sweet kiss was nothing but a distraction, but a good one nonetheless. You were so distracted by the soft lip bites and his naughty actions of sucking on your tongue that you didn’t notice he had gotten so close. His body was practically pushing against you while your back was seeping in the wall.

How did you even manage to get close enough to a wall?

Eventually you gasped, moving your head to the side to tell him you needed to breathe. But, Suguru took this as a nice little gesture of encouragement. Your neck was shown to the air, and his lips fluttered all around it.

“If you believe me to be crazy just because I want to touch your hair..you must never hear what else I’d want from you…” Suguru muttered this against your bronze skin, only having dreams of guiding you through sex with a fist full of curls. “Suguru…” you purred, feeling each touch of his lips. It made your pussy begin pulsing almost, your heart also beginning to pulse quicker.

“Suguruuu, I have to go.. lord- if I just let you touch it one time.. will you just drop it and let me go?” Your air was having a hard time staying in your lungs, his touches and his neediest actions ever were causing you to feel all mushy. He stopped his lips from caressing your skin only to pull away. His heart thumped hard and he almost lost his cool. He kind of widened his eyes but they softened into their usual state again. A warm feeling washed over him and the look in his eyes was almost pleading.

He said nothing. His hands unraveled from yours and he lifted one of them to trail up your arm. The soft feeling of it almost made you want to stay home, he seemed so desperate, he looked desperate. His eyes weren’t even on you anymore, the fondness in his eyes were directed towards your curls. He’s seen so many types of hair, loose curls.. tighter ones. He didn’t care if yours was either or, he knew the second his fingertips slipped onto a curl, he felt some harmony.

The texture was so soft yet so different from his own hair. This felt like how a perfect cloud plucked from the sky would feel like. His lanky fingers practically disappeared the way he slipped them into the depths of your puff.

“To think you’ve been keeping this feeling from me… how dare you..” Suguru said this lightly, almost flabbergasted at how much greater this actually was. He simply believed it would be soft. No, it was soft. it smelt so good , and he also noticed how your hair would appear shorter when in reality it was a bit longer than what your hair was showing now. He’d have to ask why..

“Suguru…” you muttered a bit, acting as if you didn’t enjoy it but who doesn’t enjoy someone running their fingers in your hair.. on your scalp, it was relaxing. Let alone his voice that began speaking praises. You told him sternly that it would only be one touch, but here you are letting him melt in the silence.

“Hm..?” he hummed, occupied but willing to listen to your words. But whatever it was, if it wasn’t to his liking he just knows he won’t listen now. Suguru was a man that truly wants what he wants, there’s no negotiation, and if there is, he’s lying. “You need to let me leave now..” you whispered, but all you received was Suguru’s fingers caressing the back of your hair, his darkly tinted eyes staring into yours.

“I refuse. That is only because I’d enjoy it if I got to play with your crown a little bit longer…” His words lingered like a sweet smell of cologne. His eyes peered into you as his forehead once again met yours. For some reason you just couldn’t decline. You couldn’t stop him nor your thoughts. The second you felt his fingers slip in your curls and a slight tug was made, you gasped. Your eyes widened and your body felt the urgent lust that infected you and your brain.

He just pulled at your hair.

Why did you like it? In that minuscule moment, you found yourself angry but lust took over. Pleasure took the cake. Every bit of naughty thought you had rushed to your clit, it tingled and pulsed. The pleasurable feeling in your lower stomach needed to be dealt with, and it was just unfortunate how this only occured because he pulled your hair. It was sensitive. Doing this showed dominance, he wanted you and your pretty hair in his grip. Could you blame the man?

“Sug-..”

“ Would you kiss me again…?” his soft breath was right on your lips, your eyes never left his, and his raven eyes never left yours. It’s moments like these where you could actually hear a pin drop.

Suguru behind doors was nothing but a man who would fein for the pretty lips on your face and the ones between your legs. He loved you dearly, and to get the opportunity to actually see your withering and your begging while he dug deep in you was like a dream. He needed you in many different ways. He had you right here, right in the palm of his hand. Your pathetic, gorgeous expression right there looking up at him.

Nothing more was said, only your hands moved to grip at his shirt, pulling him down slow to seal the kiss he begged for. It wasn’t rough, it was soft and mesmerizing. That was what he wanted, his hands having a fist full of your heavenly sent hair and his lips pressed against yours. He had it a few seconds ago but this was different.. he had you stuck and bound. Submissive, not weak but willing. The kiss was nasty, you took initiative to suck on his bottom lip, coercing a moan from him before his other hand slipped off into deeper netherlands. Your insides curled up, a soft moan slipping from your throat.

The feeling in your body was like how people explain how their body feels going down a steep hill in a car.

“Suguru please-..” you whispered, feeling his hand still gripping your pretty curls in the back of your head. His other hand was digging in your pants, the soft pads of his middle finger rolled around your pretty clit. He wanted to make you more needy for him just like how he was for you, but you were already leaking. Your thoughts and his sudden actions combined to cause the sudden need.

“You’re already drenched… What is it that you enjoyed, hm?” It was teasing for him to say that, still swiftly playing with the pink pearl in between your legs. You didn’t just become wet from anything, he knew it was something specific he did. “Was it… this?” He purred, gently yanking your hair back again. It gave you a yelp, but what intrigued Suguru was your pretty little moan that traveled afterwards. How come you would yell at him not to touch your hair but this is how you act when it comes down to him actually touching it?

Suguru’s blood rushed to his dick.

He had to contain his unruly excitement, but the hand that wasn’t deep in your hair was shaking. He pulled both his hands away, making you jolt in confusion and anxiousness…. even shame. Was Suguru grossed out? Was he repulsed by your actions? All but the correct things were flowing into your mind, so much that you tried rushing from his vicinity.. you had to get away from his nasty mind.

“Ah… you’ve lost your mind if you believe-..” Suguru stopped talking as he reached his light muscular arm out, simply grabbing your wrist before you got any further in the house. “-you can leave me now..”He gently, but firmly yanked you closer like a small doll.. he swiftly ran his hand back into your curls from behind. Yes, your hairstyle was beginning to be a little messed up. That was especially true as he pressed your face against the wall.. All you could feel was his grip tighten on your strands of hair as his lips pressed against your ears. He then patted your ass a little.

“Pull these down for me… I’ll pull your hair~. That’s what you’d like, yes?”

“That’s not true!”

Suguru had dealt with a friend that enjoyed going back and forth with him constantly. So your little pleas and clap backs weren’t enough for him to fully give in.

“If it’s not true, why did you look so pleased when I pulled your hair..?” Suguru whispered in your ear, causing it to tickle and your lower stomach tightened up. You were aching for some release, knowing that, your body had given up on you as well. Maybe you did like it, no, you did like it and maybe it’s just the way he did it. Either way, you needed it more. So, you ended up kicking your shoes off and pushing your pants down your gorgeous legs. You couldn’t think of being shamed, not when Suguru was behind you with a terribly hard cock. You could feel it.

“No response… is it that you’ve given in?” His words kind of stung, Suguru would always revel in being right and finally getting what he wanted. Watching you kick away your pants and press your hands against the wall made him warm. He slowly moved his other hand to your back, the back of his index finger running down your lower back before hooking onto your panties and pulling them to the side. He saw the slightly sticky substance in your underwear, he felt it too.

“So gorgeous. I’d ruin the earth if you were taken from me.” He said without one stutter, he was so serious. Your panties were off to the side, revealing all you had to offer. His knuckles kind of rubbed against your clit, causing a sound to emit from your throat. “Crazy-..” you were cut off by the pull of your hair. Breathing in sharply, you shut your mouth and actually listened to what was happening around you. You could hear the drop of his pants hitting the ground. You also could’ve sworn you heard the ridiculous sound of his cock hitting his skin. It was just that heavy.

“Talk to me about it..” Suguru hummed, watching your body adapt to what was happening. You knew you were going to get fucked, so you were spreading your legs just a tad bit.. he liked that realization.

“About what..” you hesitantly replied.

“Your hair.. Everything about it intrigues me.” He admitted, and it was obvious.. his hand never left it. Your back was permanently arched as of right now, as long as he was still grabbing most strands of hair. You can admit however, it was cute that he wanted to know about it. Your eyes were hazy, feeling his heavy cock on your perfect ass. It made you stutter. You had to think of something, anything that would be interesting to him..

“My hair likes to shrink. It can look much fluffier and it can be long but I’d have to stretch it with a blow drier.. right now it’s pretty stretched… but if water hits it it’ll get shorter again-… fuck..” you choked up a little at the end, an uncontrollable moan releasing from you as you felt your boyfriend’s cock just slip inside of you. Suguru had a darker tip color, his veins weren’t hiding and his balls were large. Even he had to hiss a bit from the way your pussy contracted around him.

“Fuck…” you whimpered again, your mind going blank before those fingers in your hair gripped tighter. “Keep talking, baby. Tell me about it..” he huskily whispered, his own face slightly contorted in pleasure once he was actually inside. His cock was all wet and he could feel each inch of your pink walls.

The sound it made when he bottomed out in your pussy was absolutely slutty. It gushed and made the most smuttiest noises. How could you even speak about any more of it? Your mind was like rust, it seemed like he was draining you of your knowledge only to be there and dumb with dick inside you.

“How am I going to fix your hair after this if you do not tell me how to do it..?” He firmly asked, his hips slowly moving back before snapping forward. Your breasts were pressed sharply against the wall, still covered by your shirt. But, your hair was completely messed up, all out of the puff it was just in. “B-But-…” you shakily moaned as your legs weakened. He had you by your hair, the smell of it now stuck on his hand.

He probably won’t wash it.

“L-Lots of water.. g-gotta brush the ends first..” you choked out, your neck slightly burning as Suguru pulled at your hair tighter. His cock was beginning to dig into your pussy over and over. He obviously just wanted you to keep talking because he knew he could make you do it.. besides, you sounded cute and he knew he would be punished if he didn’t fix your hair afterwards.

“What else do I need to know? I know I didn’t lose you already…”

Suguru watched how broken you were becoming, that’s all he wanted right now anyway. There was something about gaining access to your precious jewel, your crown. After the first touch, he knew he couldn’t just let go.. you didn’t want him to let go either.

ⓒ Monstas1ut, do not copy

[sundrop-writes]

Hii can I request some basic relationship HC’s for Erik Campbell x Fem hair stylist reader(specifically a color specialist) that has a similar alternative style to his? It’s okay if you can’t or dont want to and sorry I don’t really know how to request😭

I love this concept so much omg. I am just so downbad for Erik, and like I said - I am prioritising requests related to him (an Erik pwp has been calling my name, but the right concept has not struck me yet. so if anybody has an idea for one, send it my way)

anyway, here we go

ALSO I got carried away and the beginning of this turned into a whole detailed 'how they met' fic, so like... idk if that's a good thing or not. lmao. I just love him and this is technically my first time writing for him and I had a good time

Headcanons for Erik Campbell dating an Alternative Hairstylist (Erik Campbell from Final Destination: Bloodlines x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: reader uses she/her pronouns and is generally described as a 'woman'; mentions of the reader having a non-natural coloured hair (but the reader's hair texture is never described, as to not insist upon her race); there is also mentions of the reader having tattoos and piercings and wearing 'alt' clothing; mentions of the reader being cheated on by a man who is not Erik; there is sexual themes in this, but no explicit smut - though I will do Erik smut/kink headcanons if prompted; mentions of Erik giving the reader more than one tattoo; mentions of Erik's family being judgemental toward the reader. I think that's it for this. This fic does not contain any spoilers for the film, so if you haven't seen it yet and you want to, this will not spoil it for you.

...

Erik would have never called the start of your relationship a Meet-Cute. In fact, it was quite literally the opposite. It was more like... a Meet-Bitch. A Meet-Hell. Okay - he was no good with words, and he had no clue what the hell the opposite of a Meet-Cute would be.

But he loved looking back on the day he had met you, because it was one of the best days of his life.

He had been working the shop by himself. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and who the hell comes in to get a tattoo or a piercing on a fucking Tuesday afternoon? Weekends are always the busiest for walk-ins, and his boss always booked appointments in advance for the evenings anyway. So on a Tuesday afternoon where the sun was shining brightly outside, seeping in through the glass storefront, reminding him of the gorgeous day that he was missing out on, Erik was drinking an iced coffee and listening to one of his playlists at a low hum while he worked on a sketch.

It wasn't anything fancy - just a skull with devil horns and a pentagram on the forehead with flames coming out of the eyes. A tattoo that he was considering giving to himself if he could pick a good place for it.

When you burst in through the front door, causing the bell overhead to ring, he was almost startled by your presence.

"Are you free?" You asked. He didn't noticed the trembling in your voice at first, the slight sniffle you gave that would have indicated you had been crying, and when he looked up at you, he honestly thought that the redness in your eyes was from you partaking in a mid-afternoon toke, and not due to crying.

But that redness was far from the first thing he noticed about you.

The first thing he had to notice about you was the fact that you were smoking hot. You had bright blue hair streaked with some jet black, done in a fancy style that said you definitely knew what you were doing. You were wearing skin-tight jeans that looked as though they had been painted onto your body, with a few rips in them revealing streaks of black and somewhat colourful ink underneath - definitely not the only tattoos you had on your body. Complete with a groomer belt that he easily pictured himself unbuckling...

You were wearing heavy combat boots and a tee shirt that said Puppet Master with a picture of some very weird white faced character on it that immediately made him curious. And your look was topped off by a lot of jewellery - bracelets, rings, and a lot of metal adorning your face and ears. Erik found himself immediately attracted to you, and he had no clue how long he stood there, staring without even saying a word.

"Hello?!" You screamed at him, giving another small sniffle. "I asked you a question!"

"Uh, yeah, I'm free." He replied. "What do you-?"

He was about to ask what you wanted done, and before he could, you muttered 'thank god' under your breath, and much to his shock, you reached to the hem of your shirt and proceeded to rip it over your head. His jaw nearly came unhinged as he watched you parade across the room in a black lace bra and immediately lay down on his table, quick to make yourself comfortable as if this was your twentieth session with him and the two of you weren't complete strangers.

"What do you want?" He asked, moving to approach the table, trying to maintain his professionalism despite the fact that his eyes kept migrating to your cleavage as you lounged on your back.

"I want to feel some damn pain." You huffed out. "Just - do whatever you want."

"You know, that's basically giving me license to draw dicks on you," He chuckled, attempting to make a joke.

Your only response was a tired huffed, and his stomach swirled when your lip quivered, and he quickly realised that you were holding back tears. He knew that it wasn't his responsibility to talk you out of it, especially because you already had so much ink and you clearly wouldn't regret it. It was his responsibility to give you something sick, and probably be a listening ear for whatever you needed to blow off.

He moved back to the desk and grabbed the notebook he had been drawing in, and brought it over to show you.

"What about this?" He posed, showing you the flaming skull.

You looked over, and in a moment, your sad eyes lit up.

"That is actually a wonderful summary of how I'm feeling right now." You told him. "Do me up, baby."

"You gonna tell me what fucked you up so badly?" Erik asked.

You let out a huff, and shook your head.

Naturally, you asked for the tattoo to be on your ribs - one of the most painful places to reflect the emotional pain that you were feeling. He wasn't surprised when you sat like a champ, barely showing any signs that you were in pain as he took the needle to your skin, inking in his design. He had to assume that the tears leaking from your eyes had to do with whatever was troubling you emotionally, and not the actual pain of the tattoo, because you seemingly ignored his presence altogether.

It was more than an hour into the session when Erik finally managed to get an answer out of you.

You only spoke up when a particular song came up on shuffle, Erik's playlist still coming out of the speakers at a moderate level. Your face twisted in disgust as LA Devotee by Panic! At The Disco started playing.

"Ugh, can you change this?" You asked, your eyes flickering over to the nearby speaker, as though trying to spite the sound waves coming at you. "This song just reminds me of my stupid - ugh. Would you mind?"

"You can change it." He told you. "Don't wanna touch my phone with the gloves on."

He gestured toward his phone, which was sitting on the edge of his instrument tray, and you didn't hesitate to reach out and grab it. After only a moment of looking at the screen, another song came on, and he was delighted by what you had chosen. So Long And Thanks For All The Booze by All Time Low started playing as you placed his phone down above your head, and you mumbled the lyrics under your breath.

"Break-up tattoo." He theorised aloud, noticing how more tears came to your eyes as you continued to quietly hum along to the song. "I never would have guessed you to be the type to get all heartbroken over a guy-"

"I'm not heartbroken." You barked, cutting him off. "I'm pissed off."

"Okay." He replied. "Usually those are the same thing."

You rolled your eyes.

"What happened?" He had to ask. When you remained silent, he added on: "Come on, it might make you feel better to tell someone about it."

You inhaled sharply through your nose, and then, for the first time since that morning when you had discovered the devastating news, you finally braved bringing the words to life.

"My boyfriend cheated on me." You said. Erik focused patiently on filling in the shading around the skull, not looking at you, giving you the room to speak more because you clearly needed it. "I was in Tulsa for the weekend doing a wedding - one of my regular clients was getting married, and she insisted that I be there-"

"Clients?" He prodded curiously.

"Yeah." You replied. "I do hair. Usually I'm just a colourist, but she wanted me to freshly colour it and style it for the day of her wedding. She wanted her signature look for her pictures."

That would explain why your hair was so nice.

Erik nodded, and focused back on the tattoo as you continued your story.

"Anyway - when I came back early this morning, I came into my apartment and found my boyfriend in bed with some fucking fried blond cocktail waitress... and she said that he told her we were broken up. Apparently he's had her there every late night I've worked for months. She must have been sniffing that Level 40 she uses, because all my stuff is still in that fucking apartment-"

"Sounds like he knows he's not good enough for you and he picked someone who's actually on his level." Erik commended mindlessly.

"I'm not paying you to be some armchair therapist. I'm paying you for the tattoo." You replied.

"Okay." Erik shrugged. "But, I do have to say..."

You gave him a glare as he continued, but as usual, he couldn't stop his mouth from crossing the boundaries that had been set.

"Any asshole that would fumble a hot girl like you is a total idiot. And if you're crying over him, he doesn't deserve it."

"Then what do you recommend, Doctor-?" It became apparent to you then that you didn't know the name of the hot tattoo artist that was currently inking you.

"Doctor Campbell." He winked, playing along with your bit. "But you can call me Erik."

You rolled your eyes at him. "I'm Y/N."

He wanted to make a comment about how he thought even your name was hot, but he didn't want to push it.

"And for the record, I would recommend - instead of wallowing in self pity, getting revenge." He told you, very determined.

"Revenge?" You questioned, raising a brow at him.

"Yeah." He replied, giving you a smirk. "If he's gonna fuck some 'fried blonde cocktail waitress', then you should fuck someone else as revenge. Maybe... a hot tattoo artist with a pierced dick?"

He didn't miss the way your eyes flickered down to the zipper of his jeans, clearly curious about his words.

"You're an asshole." You huffed quietly.

But still, after he had wrapped your new tattoo - which you loved, by the way - he ended up locking the front door and dropping the curtains so that he could show you that piercing. And you ended up riding his cock in the piercing chair.

Then, he escorted you back to your apartment so that he could help you throw all your boyfriends things into garbage bags - some of which you picked out to burn in his family's fire pit - and by the time your boyfriend returned, you had changed the locks, and all his things were in garbage bags in the hallway. And you were too busy showing Erik the fresh sheets you had put on the bed to even bother answering his screaming and banging on the door.

And that was just how the two of you met.

Your relationship from there was... everything. (And definitely a lot better than the relationship you had with your ex.)

After it healed, Erik quickly became obsessed with the flaming skull and how it looked on you. He took any opportunity possible to kiss it, rub his hands on it, even when you were wearing a shirt that covered it (which was a lot of the time), his hand would always migrate to sit right there on your ribs, possessive of the place where he had marked you right when the two of you had first met.

You knew one of the easiest ways to drive him insane was to wear a short crop top that revealed the tattoo to the world, showing off one of his greatest works. And whenever people asked about the amazing body art, you could easily point him and tell them 'my boyfriend did it'. It was a quick way to get creeps off your back if they were hitting on you, or just a way to brag about having him in your life. And whenever you said this, he was quick to throw an arm around your neck and take credit for the work with a smirk at whoever had been leering at your body.

It wasn't long into the relationship that the two of you got matching tattoos.

You both knew about the regret rate of couple tattoos and you knew it would be stupid to get each other's names or something like that - though often, if you annoyed him, Erik threatened to get his tattoo gun and etch his name into your skin so that you 'couldn't run away'. (He had no clue how much this turned you on, and how often you wanted to pull your pants down in the middle of the shop and let him paint his name across your asscheek, even if you might regret it later.)

But when you both knew that you wanted matching tattoos, you settled on something cheesy and simple - two halves of a broken heart, positioned above your thumbs so that it came together as one when you held hands. He did yours, and then strangely, even with no experience, he trusted you to do his - he guided you the whole way through it, and said that your 'delicate, steady hands' from hours of colouring hair would make you a natural.

(The edges turned out a bit wonky, the ink bleeding just a bit more than it should have, but he claimed that he loved it nonetheless.)

It wasn't long after that night that Erik finally let you talk him into colouring his hair. Previously, he was convinced that he might look dumb with brightly coloured hair, especially because he definitely wasn't going to let you die his beard, and he didn't want it to be mismatched.

But you picked a few tasteful streaks in the front, and after he spent some time enjoying your boobs dangling in front of his face because of how close you got during the process, he came out of the ordeal with some new bright red hair that looked absolutely badass on him. And he quickly became addicted to cycling through colours, trying them out to see how each would look on him.

Of course, this meant that the two of you ended up matching a few times. The first was when you were mixing up a batch of teal for yourself and claimed that you were simply using the leftovers on him. And though he said that he thought it was dorky - the picture of the two of you with your matching hair was one of his favourites, it remained as his phone lockscreen to this day.

Strangely, Erik's family didn't like you when they met you. At least not at first.

Even though they know and love Erik, they judged you when they met you based on your appearance. They had known Erik forever, and had more than enough of a chance to get to know him past his tattoos and piercings and his general grudgey attitude. They still knew him as the ten year old kid who wore a Ninja Turtles backpack to school.

But when they saw you - (sadly) they immediately thought you were mean. And due to your nerves about meeting his family, you were quiet, standing off to the side, crossing your arms - and they took this to believe that you were snobbish and bitchy, which truly didn't help with the first impression.

Bobby was the first one to come around to you. On the night that Erik had first brought you over to meet everyone, it wasn't going so well, and Erik suggested that you and his siblings hang out at the mall for a bit because his parents kept giving you odd glares and not-so-subtly whispering about you to each other.

He thought that you would better relate to his brother and sister. After an awkward walk through Sephora with sister where she talked about 'glowing skin' and compared shades of pink that you thought were the same and your jaw nearly dropped at the price of a single black eyeliner - while Bobby chewed him out over dating someone 'so cold and stuck-up', the three of you decided to go to the food court. The three siblings were the first to get their food and sit down, and Julia made a joke about how you had ditched them, right before you seemingly came out of no where and nearly tackled Bobby, smacking the corndog out of his hand.

It left an epic mess of mustard over the front of his shirt, and all Bobby, Julia, and Erik looked at you with intense confusion, questioning your sanity before you blurted out:

"Those are fried in peanut oil."

"No they're not!" Bobby quickly argued. "I've eaten stuff from there a dozen times! I think I would know-!"

You grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the kiosk, pointing to a small, barely visible sign that said 'Alert - Allergen Risk'. Apparently the brand had been bought out by a new parent company and switched all their products to being fried in peanut oil. When Erik relayed the story to their father, he went on a rant about how he should sue the company for not having a more visible alert of the allergen, and Bobby praised you as a hero.

He was the one to invite you to the next family dinner, and everyone started coming around to you after that.

Overall, Erik was a sweet, thoughtful boyfriend, even if he didn't always voice it and showed it through is actions instead. He loves you a lot, loves the way that the two of you are alike, and loves how you challenge him with your differences.

...

(Okay, I might have gotten carried away and lost the plot a bit, but I had so much fun with this. I need to write more about Erik so badly. If you enjoyed this, please check out the rest of my Horror Characters Masterlist - there is definitely gonna be more Erik Campbell on it soon. And feel free to request other horror characters that I might put on it too.)

[4linos]

when the past knocks.

seo changbin x f!reader, kim seungmin x f!reader

synopsis: you left to protect your son and yourself. but healing gets complicated when old ghosts return… and one of them still makes you laugh.

warnings: angst, infidelity, emotional distress, mild swearing, jealousy, unresolved feelings, hurt/comfort.

wc: 12,629

[when the past knocks 2]

The air in your childhood bedroom never really changed. It still smelled faintly like old wood, laundry detergent, and whatever fabric softener your mom used, floral, a little powdery, like a scent from another decade. You’d hoped it might feel comforting after everything, but all it did was remind you that you didn’t belong here anymore. Not really. You weren’t a child anymore. You weren’t a daughter. Not just that. You were a mother. A wife, sort of. Or maybe just someone who used to be married. The line was blurry. The divorce papers were still unsigned. You hadn’t touched them since the day you left Seungmin.

Roan had adjusted better than you thought he would, not that that said much. He didn’t throw tantrums, didn’t cry at night or beg to go back. But you saw the way he lingered by the front window, how he never said Seungmin’s name anymore but would still quietly tuck the stuffed lion his dad gave him beside his pillow every night. He didn’t talk about his old friends, or his old school, or the home you left behind. He just colored a lot. Long, quiet afternoons bent over crayons and sketchpads, like he was trying to give shape to things he didn’t have the words for yet.

Your parents didn’t ask too many questions. They welcomed you back like it was just temporary. Like it was a little break while you and Seungmin sorted things out. Like it wasn’t the wreckage of everything you’d been holding together for too long. You let them believe it. Because explaining would mean exposing yourself, and you didn’t have the strength for that yet.

“Just a trial separation,” your mom had said that first night. “Sometimes space is good. Men panic when things get hard. But if he really loves you—”

“He cheated,” you’d wanted to scream. “He cheated and then told me he still loved me. Like that meant anything. Like love excuses betrayal.”

But you’d just nodded. Quiet. Hollowed out. You let her hug you and serve you leftover bulgogi and rice like nothing was broken.

It was three days later that the note came home in Roan’s backpack. Written in soft cursive with a smiley face beside your name. “Looking forward to meeting you at Parent-Teacher Night!” It made your stomach sink. You didn’t want to go. You weren’t ready to face small talk with strangers, other parents with their lives in order, smiling faces and matching wedding rings. You didn’t want to sit through a slideshow about math curriculum while pretending your life hadn’t just imploded.

But Roan was excited. He showed you which table he sat at. He told you that his teacher, Ms. Lee, was “super nice” and let them choose from the “big crayon bucket” on Fridays if they finished their reading.

So you went.

Your mom helped you pick an outfit. Something presentable. Not too formal, not too casual. You ended up in dark jeans and a beige cardigan over a clean white tee. Simple. Safe. The kind of outfit that said, “I’m doing fine.” Even though you weren’t.

The classroom smelled like floor polish and old books. The kind of smell that never really left these places. Parents were already filing in, chatting in little groups. Some you vaguely recognized from your own time here. Faces that looked older now, slightly more worn.

Roan was already tugging at your hand, dragging you to the back of the room where the kids were gathered, coloring and playing with puzzles. You ruffled his hair, kissed his forehead, told him you’d be right over there if he needed you. He nodded, too busy choosing crayons to really listen.

You sat down. Alone. The rows of chairs were filled with clusters of couples, some laughing together, others nudging each other as the principal began to talk. You were trying to pay attention. Something about volunteers. Fundraisers. A school play. You couldn’t focus. Your hand moved unconsciously, rubbing the skin between your thumb and forefinger. A nervous tick you hadn’t realized had come back.

“You still do that thing with your hand when you’re not listening.”

The voice beside you was soft. Familiar.

You froze. Your fingers stopped moving.

Slowly, you turned.

He looked different. Older, definitely. His hair was shorter, the lines around his eyes deeper. He looked tired, but in that way people who carry grief tend to look. Like something had settled into his bones and refused to leave. But he was still unmistakably him.

“Changbin?”

He smiled, lopsided. “Hey.”

Your heart did something strange. Twisted, maybe. Or maybe it just broke a little more.

He looked at you for a second longer than polite. His eyes dropped to your hands, still frozen in your lap. Then up to your face again.

“I thought that was you earlier,” he said. “Wasn’t sure if I should say anything.”

You swallowed, found your voice. “What… what are you doing here?”

He jerked his thumb toward the group of kids in the back. “Yuna. My daughter. Seven. Same class as your son, Roan, Right?”

You blinked and nodded. “Your daughter?”

“Yeah.”

You processed that slowly. Looked toward the coloring table. You hadn’t noticed her before, but now that you knew, her dark eyes, the way her nose scrunched up when she concentrated, it made sense. She was beautiful. She looked like him.

“She’s adorable,” you murmured.

“Thanks.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Her mom picked the name.”

You looked at him again. Hesitated. Asked before you could stop yourself: “Your partner…?”

His expression didn’t falter. Just grew heavier.

“She passed away. Last year.”

The words hit like a quiet blow. Not sharp. Just… devastating in a way that took the air out of your lungs.

“I’m so sorry,” you said quietly.

He nodded once, like he’d heard it too many times to react anymore.

There was silence. Not awkward, but full. Heavy. Weighted by history you both hadn’t touched in over a decade.

He looked over at you. “What about you? Are you married…?”

But before he could finish, the teacher called your name. “Mrs. Kim? Roan’s mom?”

You stood too quickly. “I—yeah. That’s me.”

Changbin looked like he wanted to say more. You didn’t give him the chance. You stepped away, fast, and walked toward the front of the room where the teacher was smiling too brightly, talking about reading levels and handwriting improvement, and all you could think about was the fact that Changbin had been sitting beside you. That his wife passed away. That he had a daughter. That your son and his went to school together. That the past had just reinserted itself into your present like it had never left.

You answered the teacher’s questions. Nodded at the right times. Smiled when prompted. But it wasn’t real. None of it felt real.

When the meeting ended, the parents filtered out. Some lingered, chatting. You tried to leave quietly, but Changbin caught you by the exit.

“Hey,” he said, stepping in front of you. “Sorry if that was weird.”

You shook your head. “No. It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting—”

“Me?”

You hesitated. “Any of this.”

He nodded. Looked down at his shoes for a second, then back up. “It’s weird being back here.”

“You moved back?”

“Few months ago. My parents are helping out with Yuna. I couldn’t do it alone anymore.”

You nodded. You understood that. In your own way, you were doing the same.

He hesitated. “So… are you okay?”

You wanted to lie. To say yes. But your voice cracked. Just barely.

“No,” you said, and that one word felt like a floodgate breaking.

He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t push. Just looked at you like he saw right through all the walls you were barely holding up.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said softly. “But if you ever want to… I’m around.”

You nodded. Bit your lip. Blinked fast.

Roan came up then, holding your hand. “Can we go home now?”

You ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, baby. Let’s go.”

Changbin smiled at Roan. “See you at school, buddy.”

Roan tilted his head. “Who’s that?”

You paused. “Just… an old friend.”

Roan nodded, accepting that. You started walking away. Changbin didn’t follow. But you could feel his gaze on your back all the way to the parking lot.

When you got home, your mom was waiting up.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

You shrugged. “Fine.”

She gave you a long look. “You sure?”

You nodded. Roan ran past you toward his makeshift bedroom that was once the guest room. Your mom smiled after him.

“Seungmin called earlier,” she said casually. “Said he was thinking of coming by this weekend.”

You froze. “Did he say why?”

She shrugged. “Said he misses you both. Wants to talk.”

You didn’t answer. You just went upstairs. You didn’t have the energy to tell her not to get her hopes up.

Later that night, when the house was quiet, you sat on your old bed, the divorce papers in your lap. Blank. Still unsigned.

You didn’t cry.

You just sat there, staring at them, while outside, the town you once left behind breathed quietly in the dark. Somewhere across it, Changbin was probably doing the same thing, navigating the ruins of what used to be, trying to find some kind of shape to rebuild from.

But you weren’t rebuilding. Not yet. You were just surviving.

And that had to be enough for now.

-

It had been a rough morning.

You barely slept the night before. Tossed and turned in the narrow bed, the blankets tangled around your legs, heart heavy in your chest like a rock that refused to dissolve. The silence of your parents’ house wasn’t comforting, it was deafening. And knowing that Seungmin might come by, might try to see you, that turned every breath into a burden. You didn’t want to see him. Not in this house, not in your childhood bedroom, not where everything already felt too small, too loud, too exposed.

You didn’t want to see him because you couldn’t trust yourself not to crack. Not in front of Roan. Not in front of your parents. Not when every part of you was still raw and bleeding.

And when you finally did fall asleep, maybe an hour or two at most, it was like sinking into darkness with your fists clenched.

You were pulled out of it by a light nudge at your arm. You stirred slowly, bleary-eyed, your first instinct assuming it was Roan, coming in to tell you he was ready for school.

But then you heard it, that voice.

Soft. Familiar. Too gentle.

“Hey,” he whispered, almost lovingly. “Baby, wake up.”

Your eyes snapped open like something inside you had been shocked awake. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t your imagination.

It was Seungmin.

You jerked upright, heart hammering as you blinked the sleep from your eyes and looked at him, standing there in the pale morning light, like he had every right to be in this room, like the last few weeks hadn’t happened. His voice, the way he said your name, the way his fingers had brushed your arm, had sounded too much like before. Before everything.

Before he’d shattered you.

You opened your mouth to curse him, maybe. To scream, to demand why the hell he thought it was okay to come into this room, to look at you like nothing had changed.

But your mother’s voice came from the doorway before you could say a word.

“Oh good, you’re up!” she said, chipper, unbothered. “Look who’s here!”

Like it was a surprise. Like it was a gift.

You could’ve told her to leave. You could’ve asked for privacy.

But then you heard it. Roan’s voice. A sudden, thrilled cry from down the hallway.

“Dad?!”

You heard the thump of feet running on hardwood before Roan threw himself into Seungmin’s arms.

You watched it happen. You watched your son’s arms wrap tightly around his father’s neck, his face buried into his shoulder like he hadn’t slept in weeks without that exact kind of comfort.

“I missed you!” Roan mumbled against his chest, holding on like he never wanted to let go.

Seungmin was grinning, holding him close, swaying just a little, as if everything was fine.

“I missed you too, buddy,” he murmured, voice soft.

You felt your throat tighten. This was why it was so hard. This, the joy in your son’s voice, the love in his eyes, the complete adoration for a man who didn’t deserve either of you anymore. You couldn’t take that away from Roan. You wouldn’t. But it made your chest ache in that sick, hollow way, the ache of watching your own pain become invisible to the people you loved the most.

“Why don’t you go get ready for school?” you managed to say to Roan, gently. Carefully. “We’re leaving soon.”

Roan pulled back, nodded, and turned but not before Seungmin crouched down and said, “I’ll take you with Mom, okay? I’ll drive.”

Your heart skipped, something twisting deep in your stomach.

And of course, your mother jumped in again from the hallway. “That’s a great idea! The three of you. Just like before. You need this time. I’ll go finish breakfast. You two talk.”

Then she was gone.

You stood there in silence as Roan padded off, humming to himself, oblivious to the storm behind him.

Then it was just you and Seungmin.

You stood up slowly to close the door, your movements stiff, every muscle tense. He took a step forward, arms already open like he could hold you and fix everything with the same touch he once used to make you laugh, to calm you down, to convince you you were safe.

You stepped back. Immediately. Sharply.

His arms dropped.

“Are you serious right now?” you asked, your voice flat, brittle.

He sighed, like you were being difficult. “What, are you still on this?”

You blinked. Your mouth dropped open just slightly.

“Still on this,” you echoed, voice low. “You cheated on me.”

“It was a mistake,” he said quickly, as if that word made it smaller. “You left. You packed up and left, you took Roan—”

“I took him away from you?” you snapped. “You’re the one who ruined everything!”

His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You’re being dramatic. You didn’t even let us work through it.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Work through what? You slept with someone else. You lied to me. Repeatedly. And now you’re standing here, in my parents’ house, acting like I’m the problem because I won’t let you hug me?”

His voice lowered, sharper now. “You ripped our son away from his home. His school. His routine. You think that didn’t hurt him?”

You faltered because he was right, in some twisted way. Roan was hurting. You saw it in the quiet moments. In the way he didn’t ask about friends. In how he always looked to you first, like he was afraid something might shift again.

But you didn’t do that. Seungmin did. You left because you had to. Because staying meant breaking completely.

He reached for your hand. Gently. Like he always used to. Like those early years, before everything got heavy.

But you didn’t realize what he was doing until he stopped, eyes flicking down.

“You’re not wearing your ring.”

You pulled your hand back, slowly. “Of course I’m not.”

The silence between you was cold now. Thicker.

He didn’t let go of it, though, the guilt, the insinuation. “You think you’re the only one in pain?” he said softly. “You think I didn’t stay up every night after you left, thinking about Roan, about you, about what I—what we—could’ve fixed?”

“You should’ve thought about that before you started sleeping with your coworker,” you snapped. “Before you made me think I was going crazy. Before you stood in our kitchen and told me you still loved me after everything.”

He stepped back, but only slightly. “Because I do. I always have.”

The door knocked lightly. Your mother’s voice followed: “Breakfast’s ready! Seungmin, you’re welcome to stay, of course. Even a few days, if you want!”

Your heart seized.

You turned toward the door, ready to open it, to tell her no. That it was a terrible idea. That she didn’t know the truth, any of it.

But before you could say anything, Seungmin looked at you with that familiar, quiet smile. The one that used to charm your parents, used to make you feel like the most cherished person in the room.

“I’d love to,” he said loud enough for her to hear. “Let me just talk to my office. I can work remote for a bit.”

You could see it already, your mom beaming. Roan cheering. The quiet assumption that this was the beginning of a fix, not the deepening of the fracture.

Your fists clenched at your sides.

He was doing it again, weaving his way back in, without apology. Without accountability.

You stared at him, your voice caught somewhere between rage and heartbreak.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you said, your voice shaking. “You don’t get to just… move in and pretend we’re fine.”

He tilted his head. “But we could be. Eventually.”

And just like that, the cracks inside you deepened.

Because part of you wanted to believe it. Wanted to reach out and rewind time.

But another part, the part that remembered the nights you cried in silence, the lies, the hollow apologies, knew better.

The door creaked slightly, your mom’s voice warm and hopeful again: “Come eat before it gets cold!”

Seungmin brushed past you, opened the door, like he belonged there.

And you stood alone in your childhood bedroom, heart in pieces, knowing that the worst kind of betrayal wasn’t the one that came from an enemy.

It was the one that came wearing your husband’s smile.

Breakfast was unbearable.

Not because of the food, your mom, as always, had made more than enough: golden pancakes with just the right crisp on the edges, scrambled eggs, a fresh fruit bowl, and toast she always left slightly burnt because she knew your dad liked it that way. Everything smelled like comfort. Like childhood. Like home.

But the weight in the room made it all feel distant. Like you were watching a scene you didn’t belong in anymore.

Roan, on the other hand, was glowing.

He talked nonstop, bouncing in his seat as he told Seungmin every little detail about his new school from how his new teacher smiled a lot and had a frog-shaped pencil case, to how another kid in class had Pokémon stickers, to how he was trying to memorize the name of every student even if he couldn’t remember which of the twins was Ava and which was Emma.

“Ms. Lee said we might get to do a science experiment next week,” Roan grinned, syrup on the corner of his mouth. “And she said I’m a really good reader!”

Seungmin was nodding along, eyes bright with pride, one hand gently ruffling Roan’s hair.

“That’s my smart boy,” he said, voice warm. “You’re amazing.”

Your heart tightened. Not at the compliment, but at how seamless it was for him to just be here. At your kitchen table, in this house, pretending like he belonged again. Like he hadn’t destroyed something precious and just decided he could waltz back in and act like the glue was already drying.

Your parents were eating it up.

“I thought you were going to visit this weekend,” your mom said suddenly, taking a sip of coffee and glancing at Seungmin with a smile that felt far too affectionate. “What brought you down early?”

You didn’t even try to hide the way you rolled your eyes just a small, weary gesture, hoping no one would notice. But of course, Seungmin did.

He set his fork down gently and leaned back, giving the most concerned sigh he could muster. It was so calculated it made your skin crawl.

“She hasn’t been answering my texts,” he said, voice low. “Not about Roan. Not about… anything, really. I couldn’t sleep. I was worried something had happened. So I just got in the car and drove.”

You scoffed softly into your mug, shaking your head. Worried.

Your mother gasped like it was a scene out of a drama.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “That’s so romantic.”

You looked at her, stunned. But she was already turning to your father, eyes sparkling.

“Isn’t that romantic? Driving all this way, just to check on her? That’s love, right there.”

You felt your stomach twist.

“It’s like I always say,” she continued, voice rising with that hopeful little lilt she used when she was narrating the story she wanted to believe. “Every couple goes through hard moments. That’s what makes a marriage strong, weathering the storms together. Don’t you think, honey?”

Your father nodded solemnly, like he was offering some sage wisdom. “I’m just glad you’re here, Seungmin.”

“Thank you,” Seungmin said quietly, giving your dad a respectful smile. “And thank you, really, for breakfast. It’s… it’s good to be here.”

You didn’t miss the glance he threw your way as he said it.

Like he was laying it on, just enough to keep the illusion going.

You clenched your jaw, pushing your barely touched plate a little to the side.

You’d had enough.

Roan was still mid-sentence, telling Seungmin about how there was a garden outside his classroom and the teacher let them pick mint leaves to smell, when you stood abruptly, your chair scraping back against the floor.

“You’re going to be late, Ro,” you said, already walking around the table. “Get your stuff. Shoes, backpack. Let’s go.”

Your voice was firm. Not sharp, but final. The kind of tone Roan knew meant not to argue.

“Okay!” he said, popping the last strawberry into his mouth before hopping off the chair.

Seungmin stood as well, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair, still holding that calm, casual air like he wasn’t carefully engineering a performance.

“I’ll be in the car,” he said, smiling at your parents. “Thanks again for everything. I’ll be back after drop-off,”

You froze.

You wanted to say no. To say he wouldn’t be. To explain that your mother’s hospitality wasn’t a free pass for him to pretend the last weeks of your life hadn’t just collapsed in on themselves.

But you felt your mom’s hand on your shoulder as she passed you to start clearing plates, and you couldn’t.

You didn’t have the energy.

So instead, you just walked. Quietly. Past your father still sipping coffee. Past Seungmin, who followed behind you like nothing was wrong.

Out of the room. Out of the comfort. Into the chill of a mid-morning that felt far too bright for how heavy you were inside.

-

By the time Roan had his shoes on and his little arms were shrugging into his backpack, Seungmin was already in the driver’s seat of the car, fiddling with the mirror like this was his routine. Like you were just an accessory to it all.

You opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, not looking at him.

Roan climbed into the back and buckled himself in, already humming some melody he’d picked up from a show. Oblivious. Happy.

You hated how hard that made everything.

Seungmin started the car. Silence sat between you like an unwanted guest.

You stared out the window, jaw tight, hand fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve the way you always did when you were overwhelmed.

“You still do that,” Seungmin said softly, glancing at you. “That little fidget thing with your sleeve.”

You didn’t respond.

He let out a soft breath and turned his eyes back to the road.

“I just want to talk,” he said, voice lower now, just for you. “After we drop him off. Just… please.”

You still didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, you weren’t sure you had anything left to say.

And yet, you knew as the school building came into view, as Roan waved goodbye and ran up the steps that you'd be forced to speak to him.

And you'd have to face the wreckage of everything he'd broken… with no one left to protect you from it.

-

The ride back from Roan’s school was quieter than the one there.

Not in the peaceful, comfortable way quiet sometimes is but heavy, thick, like the air had turned to smoke. You kept your eyes on the road ahead, even though Seungmin was the one driving. You didn’t speak. You didn’t look at him.

And he didn’t say anything at first either. Like he was waiting, testing how long he could sit in your silence before cracking it open.

The school faded behind you. The morning light had warmed into late morning, hazy and humid, the trees lining the side streets full of buzzing cicadas. You wanted to disappear into the sound. Dissolve.

When he finally spoke, his voice was too soft. Too rehearsed.

“You’re really going to let everything go, just like that?”

You didn’t respond. Your gaze stayed fixed out the window, watching a woman walk her dog past a florist you used to visit with your mom. Everything about this place was stitched into your childhood, and now it felt like a cage.

“You’re not even going to try?” Seungmin said again, more firmly this time. “After everything we’ve built together?”

That made you laugh dry and bitter.

“Built?” you muttered. “We didn’t build anything. You bulldozed it.”

He gripped the wheel tighter. You could see the white of his knuckles.

“Come on,” he said, glancing at you. “Don’t let all these years just go to waste because of this—this thing.”

You turned slowly. Looked at him. Really looked at him.

“This thing?” you repeated, voice dangerously low. “You mean you sleeping with someone else?”

His jaw clenched. “You always twist things—”

“I always—?”

“Roan’s hurting,” he cut in. “And you don’t even see it. You moved him two hours away from home. From me. From everything he knows. And for what? A fight?”

Your eyes widened. Your mouth opened, then shut, then opened again because you were too stunned to even choose the right reaction.

“It wasn’t a fight, Seungmin. You cheated. You lied. You broke every ounce of trust I gave you, and now you’re sitting here calling it a fight?”

He turned into your parents’ driveway too fast, jerking the car slightly. His voice raised for the first time, sharp and impatient.

“Get over it already! You’re acting like I murdered someone!”

You stared at him, breathing hard, heart beating like a drum in your throat.

“You should’ve never come back.”

Your voice wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Dead cold.

You got out of the car before he could say anything else.

You didn’t slam the door. You didn’t scream. You just walked back into the house like you’d walked into a burning building because at least then you could pretend the smoke choking you was from fire and not from everything else he’d left behind.

-

You didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day.

Not when you passed in the hallway. Not when Roan asked the three of you to play Uno together and you politely declined. Not when your mother insisted on putting Seungmin’s favorite tea in front of him at dinner and asked, with a too-bright smile, how he liked working at the firm now.

You didn’t speak when your father nodded along like a quiet referee, reading the air and choosing silence. You didn’t speak when Roan leaned on his father’s shoulder while watching cartoons, clearly desperate for things to feel normal again.

You only spoke to Roan. And even then, your voice was gentler than it usually was, like you were trying not to let any bitterness bleed through. You didn’t want him to absorb it. He was seven. He deserved peace. He didn’t ask for any of this.

The sun went down slow, casting a warm gold through your old bedroom window. You’d cleaned the space up a little, stacked a few of your old books on the nightstand, put a photo of Roan in a small frame. You were brushing your hair in front of the vanity, watching the soft reflection of yourself, looking more exhausted than you’d ever allowed yourself to admit.

You didn’t hear her at first.

Your mother’s knock was light, almost timid, as if sensing the tension even through the closed door. She was standing there in her robe, a small stack of folded blankets cradled against her chest, her eyes warm.

“Is Roan asleep?” she asked, already stepping halfway into the room.

Seungmin, who had been sitting silently on the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone answered first.

“Just checked on him. Out like a light.”

Your mother beamed. “He looked so happy today. I think seeing you really lifted his mood,” she said, directing the comment at Seungmin.

You rolled your eyes and looked back at your reflection, brushing slowly, carefully, ignoring them.

“I brought a few extra blankets,” your mom said, walking over to the foot of the bed. “It’s supposed to get cold tonight.”

You didn’t answer. Just kept brushing.

But then she added, breezily, “Thought you two might want them, since you’ll be sharing the bed tonight.”

The brush stilled in your hand.

Your reflection didn’t blink.

You turned your head slightly, unsure if you heard her correctly. “What?”

“Just like old times,” she went on, either not noticing your reaction or choosing to ignore it. “The bed’s plenty big. I know it’s been a hard few weeks, but maybe some closeness would help.”

You opened your mouth to speak to correct her, to set the record straight, but Seungmin spoke first.

“Thank you,” he said smoothly, before you could even draw breath. “That’s really kind of you.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. You turned, eyes burning into him.

Your mother just smiled. “Of course, honey. Goodnight, both of you.”

She left. Just like that. Blankets at the foot of the bed, hopeful energy lingering in the air like cheap perfume.

The door clicked softly behind her.

You turned to him. “Why the hell would you say yes to that?”

Seungmin shrugged, like it was nothing. “I didn’t want to make it weird.”

You laughed once, sharp and humorless. “It’s already weird, Seungmin.”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled one of the blankets over his lap and leaned back against the headboard, like he hadn’t just signed himself into your space for the night.

You stared at him, heart pounding, fingers still tangled in your brush handle.

The air between you was thicker now, like every truth you couldn’t say had taken physical form and was slowly filling the room.

You turned away, back to the mirror, and continued brushing slowly, methodically because it was the only thing you could do that didn’t feel like drowning.

And behind you, in the reflection, Seungmin sat in silence.

Still acting like this wasn’t a nightmare of his own making.

You slept on the edge of the bed like you were afraid the mattress might betray you, lying stiff and still, your spine nearly aligned with the seam of the bed’s edge. The line between you and Seungmin was vast, even if physically it was only a few feet. You felt every inch of it.

The silence stretched.

There was no comfort in the dark, only the constant, low hum of your thoughts. You could hear the subtle sounds of the house, the creak of pipes, a faint breeze against the windowpane, the occasional scuff of a car passing by too late into the night. Roan’s soft breathing from the next room.

And then, from the other side of the bed, Seungmin’s voice.

“I’ll stay on my side,” he said softly, like it was some olive branch. “I’m not trying to make things worse.”

You didn’t answer. Your hand was curled near your chest, tangled in the fabric of the blanket.

So here you were.

Lying inches from a man you no longer recognized, in a room that used to belong to someone you no longer were.

He didn’t speak again.

Eventually, you turned your back to him. Not because it helped, but because it was the only direction you could face without breaking.

You woke before your alarm.

Roan was already moving in the next room, his usual morning rustling of trying to pick an outfit, deciding which Pokémon socks were lucky, which book he wanted to bring in his backpack. He called your name once and you responded quickly, happy for the excuse to leave the room.

You slipped out of bed carefully, barely glancing at the other side.

Seungmin was still asleep, or at least pretending to be.

You didn’t care.

Downstairs, the smell of toast and eggs filled the kitchen again, your mom moving around like she had a thousand good intentions tucked into her apron. She smiled at you like nothing was wrong.

You could feel your chest tighten.

“I was thinking,” she said, flipping something on the stove, “you two should take Roan to the park after school. You know, spend a little time as a family. He looked so happy yesterday.”

You shook your head almost immediately. “I can’t. I have an appointment.”

“An appointment?” she asked, turning her head. “For what?”

“Just… something I scheduled a while ago,” you lied. “It’s nothing big, just something I have to do.”

She nodded, still smiling. “Okay, well maybe tomorrow, then.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you poured Roan a cup of juice and distracted yourself with folding his lunch napkin.

“Also,” you added, casually, “I’ll take Roan to school today. Alone.”

She looked at you, blinking. “Oh?”

“Seungmin probably has work to catch up on,” you said, smoothly now. “Emails, meetings, all of it. He shouldn’t miss any more days than he already has.”

There was a pause. Barely half a beat, but it said everything. Your mother wanted to say something, something hopeful, something intrusive, but Seungmin had just walked into the room, ruffling Roan’s hair.

You kept your expression neutral.

“I told Mom I’d take Roan this morning,” you said to him directly, watching his reaction. “You probably have work.”

He opened his mouth, hesitating ready to argue. You could see it. But then he caught your look.

Tired. Unshakable. Empty.

He sighed and relented.

“Yeah. I’ve got a few emails to catch up on. Go ahead.”

Roan didn’t protest. He was too busy trying to zip his backpack and carry his lunchbox at the same time.

But on the drive to school, it surfaced.

“I like it when Dad drives me,” Roan said, swinging his legs in the seat. “He talks to me about music and lets me pick the songs.”

You gripped the steering wheel tighter but didn’t respond.

“I wish both of you took me to school,” he said after a moment. “Like yesterday.”

You reached for his hand at the red light. Squeezed it gently.

“I know, baby.”

It was all you could say.

At the school, you walked him up to the entrance, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder. You hugged him tighter than usual too tight, probably, but he didn’t complain. He just laughed and wrapped his arms around your neck.

“I’ll be good,” he said brightly.

“I know you will.”

He waved once, twice, and then he disappeared through the front doors.

You hadn’t even fully turned around when you walked straight into someone, solid and warm and familiar.

You let out a startled yelp, stumbling slightly.

A deep, amused laugh.

“Oh gosh,” you breathed, hand clutching your chest. “Are you serious?”

Changbin grinned down at you, eyes crinkling with laughter.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he said, still chuckling. “I think I might’ve scared you half to death.”

You lightly smacked his chest. “You did! Are you stalking me?”

“Only mildly,” he teased. “Nah, I just drop off Yuna a little later on Wednesdays. Lucky me.”

You rolled your eyes, still smiling despite yourself. The sharp edge in your chest softened for the first time that day.

He looked good. The same, and not the same. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing the faint veins of his forearms, and he had that same relaxed, easygoing charm that used to be your undoing when you were seventeen.

He looked like a breath you’d forgotten how to take.

“I’ve been meaning to see you again,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t get your number at the school meeting. I wasn’t sure if you were avoiding me or just busy.”

“Maybe a little of both,” you said honestly, folding your arms but not stepping away.

He smiled again, this time softer.

“Look,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “I don’t want to make anything weird. I just thought it’d be nice to catch up. You know — talk. Laugh. Drink something stronger than school cafeteria coffee. My treat, obviously.”

You hesitated, lips parting, unsure what to say.

Because you hadn’t laughed genuinely laughed in weeks. Because you hadn’t had anyone look at you like you in even longer. Because part of you hated how much that brief moment the banter, the touch, the easiness made something flutter low in your stomach.

“Coffee?” he added, sensing your hesitation. “Or food. I know a great place just off Main. I’m flexible. Just say the word.”

You looked at him, still smiling at you like there wasn’t a single crack in your armor he couldn’t see and wouldn’t touch unless you let him.

Something in you shifted.

“I’ll think about it,” you said quietly.

He nodded, backing up slowly with both hands raised. “That’s all I’m asking.”

And then he winked.

“See you around, heartbreaker.”

You didn’t walk any farther.

You’d barely made it halfway across the school parking lot when the thought hit you like a brick to the chest, the image of your front door waiting to open to more of the same. Your mother’s voice sweet and persistent, urging you to see the good in your marriage, like the betrayal was just a lapse in Seungmin’s character, not a rupture in yours. Seungmin’s voice, too, soft and heavy and manipulative pulling on history and guilt and the shared weight of Roan’s little heart like it was enough to glue together something already cracked beyond recognition.

You couldn’t do it. Not this morning.

Your hands were trembling not from fear, but from the tiredness of having to hold everything together all the time. Of being careful. Measured. Quiet.

So you turned around. Fast.

You spotted him just in time Changbin was a few steps ahead, walking down the sidewalk toward what seemed to be his car, his stride relaxed. He hadn't noticed you yet.

“Changbin!” you called out, a little breathless, your voice slicing through the low hum of early morning traffic.

He turned.

His brows lifted at the sight of you jogging slightly toward him, something like concern flashing in his face for a moment, until you caught up, and he saw your expression: flushed from decision, not panic.

“Everything okay?” he asked gently, but not intrusively.

You took a breath. Then another.

“Do you have time now?” you asked, voice lower this time. “To… get that coffee. Or food. Or whatever you offered. I just—” you paused, looking away. “I don’t really want to go home yet.”

He didn’t ask any questions.

No why, no what's going on, no are you okay.

Instead, he just smiled. A little crooked, a little soft. Familiar.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’ve got time.”

He pointed at his car, a black, slightly beat-up sedan in the corner of the lot, the kind of vehicle that had seen long nights and longer road trips, mismatched air fresheners and glove compartments filled with half-written lyrics.

“I’ll drive?”

You felt something ease inside your chest as you smiled back. “Okay.”

You slipped into the passenger seat, tugging the seatbelt across your lap with a click. He tossed his backpack into the back seat before climbing in beside you, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the AC vent. He turned to you as he started the engine.

“So,” he asked, “want to try that new place I mentioned? Or…”

You hesitated.

There was something about this moment, something tender and loose and unfamiliar in its comfort. You stared out the window for a beat, then turned to him.

“Do you remember that diner we used to go to?” you asked. “The one near the overpass? We used to ditch class and get pancakes.”

His face lit up. “With the cracked jukebox and the chalkboard menus? That place?”

You nodded, the corner of your mouth twitching into the smallest smile. “Yeah. That one.”

His eyes softened. “I haven’t been there in forever. Still smells like syrup and fryer grease and bad decisions, probably.”

You laughed, and it surprised you how natural it sounded. How easy.

“That’s where I want to go,” you said.

“You got it,” he replied, throwing the car into drive. “Nostalgia breakfast. Coming right up.”

He winked at you, and this time, you let the flutter in your stomach stay.

-

The bell above the door chimed gently as you both stepped into the diner, the soft smell of syrup and coffee wrapping around you like an old blanket. It was still there, that same sticky warmth, the gentle hum of classic rock spilling faintly from the speakers, and the low murmur of early patrons with their morning mugs and newspapers.

You both slid into a booth near the back, the one that curved along the window, the same one you used to claim every time you skipped class and wanted to pretend you were older than sixteen. Changbin sat across from you, his hands still calloused but somehow gentle-looking as he grabbed a menu he probably didn’t need.

You didn’t need one either.

“It smells the same,” you muttered, eyes scanning the room. “Like grease and… rebellion.”

Changbin laughed. “And questionable hygiene.”

You laughed with him, the sound coming easily now. Lighter.

A waitress came by familiar face, maybe a little older than you both, her name tag crooked and took your orders without fuss. Two coffees, two plates of pancakes, a side of bacon for him, fruit for you, like muscle memory.

After she left, Changbin leaned back against the booth, stretching his arm across the back like he used to when you were younger though now, he wasn’t trying to flirt. Just relax. Be.

“I still can’t believe that was actually you,” he said, shaking his head. “Like, at the school. If it wasn’t you, and I said something stupid like ‘you still do that fidgety hand thing,’ I would’ve had to change my name and leave town.”

You snorted into your coffee. “Would’ve been hilarious though.”

“I don’t think my ego could’ve taken it,” he teased, grinning.

You took a sip of coffee, watching him as he stared out the window for a second. The sun hit just right, the gold catching on the edge of his jaw, in the little crow’s feet near his eyes, the slight exhaustion in his frame. Life had happened to him, clearly. It had happened to you too. But in this booth, it felt like the world slowed down.

You ended up talking about high school. Not the painful parts, not yet, but the funny, absurd pieces. The time you both got caught making out behind the gym during prom. The time you threw a soda can at someone’s car because they catcalled you and Changbin wanted to defend your honor. The camping trip where you two shared a blanket and he screamed at a raccoon in the middle of the night.

“That raccoon was at least 30 pounds,” he insisted.

“It was five, tops.”

“It had rabies in its eyes.”

You laughed again. A real, full laugh.

He was halfway through his second pancake, slicing through the stack with syrup-covered enthusiasm, when he suddenly froze. His fork hovered in midair, dripping slightly.

“Oh my god,” he said through a mouthful. “I just remembered something.”

You raised an eyebrow. “This could go in so many directions.”

“No, no, listen,” he said, swallowing his bite dramatically. “Do you remember… Seungmin?”

Your heart stilled. Like it had tripped over itself and forgot how to keep beating for just a moment.

“Kim Seungmin.”

Of course you remembered. Of course you did.

But Changbin didn’t know. He had no idea.

You stiffened slightly. “Yeah…” you said cautiously. “I remember.”

He didn’t notice the way your fingers curled around your cup, the way you leaned just slightly back, preparing for the hit.

“Geez,” he muttered with a grin, shaking his head. “I hated that guy.”

Your head snapped up.

“I was so jealous back then,” he continued, chuckling. “Everyone knew Seungmin had the biggest crush on you. Dude would always hang around after classes, try to sit near you, act like you and I weren’t even dating. Like… you were just this free agent waiting for someone better.”

He laughed a little bitterly at the memory, like it didn’t actually sting anymore, just existed.

“I mean, I get it,” he added. “You were… you. You were always so bright. People wanted to be around you. I didn’t blame him. I just wanted to punch him.”

You finally breathed. A slow, careful breath. It was now or never.

“Changbin,” you said quietly.

He looked up.

You hesitated for only a beat. Then:

“Seungmin is my husband.”

The fork in his hand froze. Slowly, he set it down.

He blinked.

Once. Twice.

“You’re serious?” he asked, voice lower.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He sat back, visibly trying to process. “You… married him?”

You didn’t answer with words at first. Just gave him a look that said, Yes. It's as complicated as it sounds.

And maybe because this was Changbin, and he knew you too well, he didn’t laugh. Didn’t react with some big dramatic sigh or over-the-top comment.

He just let out a quiet, “Wow.”

You looked down at your plate, picked at a strawberry.

“After you left,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I was in a bad place. I think you knew that. And he… he stayed. He was always there. At first just a friend, then someone who made me laugh again. It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t even romantic at first. I just… I needed someone. And he was there.”

You glanced at him, trying to gauge his expression. It was unreadable, his lips slightly parted, brows furrowed in that faint way they always did when he was really listening.

“We ended up going to the same college,” you continued. “Out of town. Different majors, but… he stuck around. And somewhere between trying to get over you and trying to survive being on my own, I fell in love with him.”

You looked down again. Your voice cracked slightly. “We got married after college. Roan came a year later.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Then Changbin let out a soft breath and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“Can I say something?”

You nodded.

“I’m not mad,” he said gently. “I don’t have a right to be. I left. I hurt you. And Seungmin… I guess he didn’t.”

You looked at him. “He did. Just… not right away.”

Understanding flickered across his face.

You didn’t need to explain more. Not yet.

“He cheated,” you whispered.

Changbin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak.

You laughed bitterly. “Everyone thinks we’re just going through a phase. A rough patch. My parents love him. Roan loves him. And I’m the only one who knows the truth. And now you.”

He stared at you, like he was searching for something in your eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, after a pause.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” you said, voice small.

“But I want to,” he said.

You looked at him.

“I want to be here,” he said simply. “Even if it’s just as someone who listens.”

You smiled a slow, aching thing. “Thank you.”

And for the first time in a long, long time maybe since before everything shattered, you felt like someone really saw you.

Not as Seungmin’s wife. Not just Roan’s mother.

Just you.

And it felt like hope.

-

By the time the soft clinking of cutlery had dwindled, and the hush of the post-rush lull settled over the diner, you noticed the waitress throwing not-so-subtle glances your way. Her polite smile was stretched thin now, the kind of weary look that screamed, You two have been here way too long, please let me clean your table and go home at a decent hour.

Changbin caught it too, offering a sheepish laugh as he polished off the last sip of his now lukewarm coffee. “I think we’re being evicted.”

You sighed, smiling reluctantly. “Feels like old times. Except now we’re overstaying because of emotional baggage instead of teenage hormones.”

He grinned. “Emotional baggage is way more interesting.”

You reached into your bag for your wallet, reflexive and automatic. “Let me at least get half —”

He was already sliding his card across the table to the waitress, not even looking your way. “Don’t start. I invited you.”

“No, but—”

“I said I wanted to treat you.” He smirked, leaning back with exaggerated smugness. “You can get the next one.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You just want me to feel obligated to see you again.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Exactly.”

You stared at him. A beat passed. Then you chuckled, the sound quiet and honest.

Outside, the light had softened into that almost-golden afternoon hue, the kind that makes everything look washed in nostalgia. When you stepped out of the diner and into the sunlight, you blinked against it, stretching your arms above your head with a groan that came from deep in your chest. Changbin walked beside you, keys twirling between his fingers.

It wasn’t until you were halfway to the school, laughter still lingering in your chest from some half-told story about his failed attempt at teaching Yuna how to ride a bike that you realized the time.

“Oh shit,” you gasped, sitting upright in the passenger seat. “It’s pickup time. Like right now pickup time.”

Changbin’s eyes widened. “You said it was later!”

“I thought it was!” you said, quickly grabbing your phone and checking the clock. “I didn’t realize we’d been sitting there for five hours! You were too interesting.”

He grinned. “Flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be,” you snapped, panicked, swatting his arm. “Drive!”

He did. Fast enough to make it right as the trickle of students began flooding out the school gates, colorful backpacks bouncing, parents chatting in clusters by the sidewalk. You both barely made it out of the car when familiar voices caught your attention.

“Mom!”

You turned just in time to see Roan running toward you cheeks flushed, his bag half zipped and bouncing against his back. His hair stuck to his forehead from play, and his voice cracked with excitement.

Right behind him, Yuna’s squeal echoed as she launched herself at Changbin, who caught her with ease, laughing as he staggered slightly from the force of her affection.

Roan flung his arms around your waist, and you caught him, bending slightly to hug him properly.

“Hey, baby,” you said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “How was school?”

“I drew a frog with wings!” he announced proudly. “And Ms. Lee said it was very imaginative.”

“Of course she did,” you laughed. “That sounds very… avant-garde.”

He nodded solemnly, then tilted his head. “Where’s dad?”

The question hit you like a soft thud. Not painful. But heavy.

You hesitated for half a second before answering, “He’s at home. He had work.”

Roan frowned slightly but didn’t say more. He leaned into your side, rubbing his eyes with a little yawn.

“Hey,” Changbin’s voice came from behind you, softer now. “Thanks for today. It really… meant a lot.”

You turned around, finding him with Yuna still perched on his hip, her arms looped around his neck as she played with the ends of his hair. Her small eyes fluttered sleepily.

“I should be thanking you,” you said, adjusting Roan’s backpack on your shoulder. “I really needed to… not be home for a while.”

He watched you carefully, his face gentling. “You didn’t have to explain.”

You smiled weakly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Still.”

There was a pause. A tiny, breath-held moment.

“I didn’t get your number,” he said suddenly, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his phone. “And if I don’t ask now, I’ll probably regret it for another ten years.”

You laughed under your breath. “Smooth.”

He passed you the phone, and you typed in your number, pausing only once before hitting save under your name.

“Done,” you said.

He smiled this time, quieter. “Maybe next time… drinks? A real dinner? My treat, again. Unless you really want to fight me over the bill.”

You snorted. “Oh, I will.”

“I’m counting on it.”

And then Roan tugged at your hand, murmuring that he was tired and wanted to go home. You nodded, your heart heavy again but full in a different way now.

Changbin and Yuna waved as you started walking toward your car, and Roan ever the polite boy waved back, yelling a cheerful, “Bye, Yuna! Bye Yuna’s Dad!”

Yuna waved so hard her ponytail bobbed with the motion. “Bye Roan! Bye Roan’s Mom!”

You paused at that, warmth spreading in your chest despite yourself. You looked back just once.

Changbin was still watching you. Not staring. Just… present.

And for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel like you were walking alone.

-

You smiled the entire ride home. Not a loud, ecstatic grin, but that quiet, involuntary kind of smile, the one that lingers at the corners of your lips long after a warm memory. Changbin had made you laugh today, not just once, but more times than you could count. Honest laughter, too the kind that didn't feel forced or coated in guilt. For a little while, it was easy to forget how heavy everything else was. It was easier to feel like yourself again.

But the moment your front door creaked open, reality swept back in like a bitter wind.

The sound hit first: low murmuring, the subtle clink of bottles, a laugh that didn't belong to you. It was Seungmin’s, quiet, practiced. Familiar. Too familiar. Then your father's gruff voice, amused and relaxed in a way that made your skin prickle. As you stepped inside, the weight came crashing down again.

There, in the living room, Seungmin sat next to your father both of them holding beers, the kind your dad only pulled out when he was feeling particularly welcoming. Seungmin's sleeves rolled up in a way that once made you feel comforted. Now it made your stomach turn.

Your mother was curled up in her armchair with a book resting open on her lap. She looked up the second you stepped in, her eyes lighting up like she'd just spotted good news walking through the door.

“There you are!” she chirped, her voice far too cheerful for how tight your chest had suddenly become. “Where were you? Seungmin’s been so worried. He was about to go out and look for you.”

The mention of his name, that carefully woven narrative of him being “worried,” instantly soured your mood. You hadn’t texted. You hadn’t wanted to. You’d had one afternoon, just one, where you could breathe without his voice tugging at your every memory, and now you were being pulled right back under the water.

Roan ran past you before you could say a word. “Dad!” he squealed, flinging himself into Seungmin’s arms with no hesitation. “I drew a frog with wings today and Ms. Lee loved it!”

You stood frozen in the entryway, your smile long gone now, watching Seungmin smile as he ruffled Roan’s hair, responding with a soft, “Of course she did, bud. That’s awesome.”

Your mom turned to you again, brows lifting. “Honey? You alright? Why didn’t you come home after drop-off?”

You felt the muscles in your jaw tighten. The question felt too pointed, too soon. You hadn’t even set down your keys yet. Your pulse rose with the sudden sensation of being cornered.

“I just… needed some air,” you said flatly. “Ran some errands. Got a headache.”

“Oh no,” your mom said, eyes full of concern now. “You should rest. You look pale.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I will. I’m going to lie down.”

There was no room for more conversation. You turned on your heel, making a beeline for your room, practically choking on the tightness in your throat. The moment you were inside, you shut the door behind you not hard, but firm. It wasn’t a slam. It was a boundary.

You slipped off your shoes and collapsed onto your bed without turning on the light. You lay on your side, staring blankly at the wall, your back to the door. You hadn’t even bothered to change clothes. The ache in your chest had returned, dull and gnawing, the contrast between now and the afternoon with Changbin cutting deep.

You heard the knock a few minutes later. Not loud just a gentle knock, followed by the door creaking open.

Of course. It was him.

“Hey,” Seungmin’s voice was soft. Carefully rehearsed. He closed the door behind him, and you could feel his eyes trying to find you in the dim room.

You didn’t move.

“Heard you weren’t feeling well,” he added, as if that excused the way he came in uninvited. “I just wanted to check.”

Still, you said nothing. You didn’t need to. The silence was thick enough.

“Where were you?” he finally asked, the first question that wasn’t wrapped in false concern. Just a little more pointed. A little less kind.

You still didn’t answer. You stayed on your side, back to him. Your arm folded under your head, breath steady. But he knew you weren’t sleeping.

A sigh. A pause. The shift of the mattress behind you as he stepped closer, probably expecting some sort of response, a confrontation, anything.

“Look,” he began, his voice tightening. “I’m just trying to talk. You can’t keep shutting me out like this.”

Still nothing. You stared at the wall, heart slowly rising into your throat again. If you opened your mouth, you might say something too honest. Too cruel.

Seungmin sighed again, louder this time. “So this is it? This is how we’re going to do this now?”

You turned slowly, finally, to face him. Your voice was quiet, but it was hard-edged. “How we’re going to do this? You don’t get to walk in here and pretend like we’re on the same team.”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been trying. You’re the one who left.”

You sat up, your hands trembling in your lap. “You cheated.”

His eyes flashed with something guilt, maybe, or frustration. “We had a fight. We were already falling apart.”

You flinched. “And your solution to that was to sleep with your coworker?”

“That’s not fair—”

“No, Seungmin,” you cut him off, your voice rising, “What’s not fair is you coming here, acting like you’re some loving husband, winning my parents over, making them think this is just a bump in the road. You know what you're doing.”

“You didn’t correct them either,” he shot back. “You’re letting them believe it too.”

You hated how easily he turned the blame. How calm he tried to stay when you were crumbling. It made you feel insane like you were the one unraveling in a perfectly tidy room.

“You should’ve never come,” you muttered, standing now, pacing. “I told you not to. I told you this isn’t your home anymore.”

He looked at you with a wounded kind of disbelief. “You’re really willing to throw away years because of one mistake?”

“One mistake?” you scoffed, incredulous. “That’s how you talk about it? You made me feel like I was crazy, Seungmin. You came home late, you lied to my face for months. And then you had the audacity to tell me you still loved me after. What kind of love is that?”

“I do love you,” he said softly, almost defeated.

And for a moment, the smallest flicker you saw the man you had once believed in. The one who held your hand in college hallways, who fell asleep with his head on your stomach as you read aloud your thesis. The man who cried in the hospital when Roan was born.

But that man cheated. That man let you cry alone the night you packed your bags. That man chose himself when you needed him the most.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. “Not right now.”

He nodded, reluctantly stepping back, but he didn’t leave without the final blow.

“Roan misses you. The you we used to be. Just… think about him before you throw everything away.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He slipped out the door and closed it gently behind him.

You sat on the edge of the bed long after he left, the ache crawling back into your chest like it had never left.

The only lightness in your body now was the faint echo of laughter in a diner booth. A brief moment where you didn’t feel like a wife. Or an ex-wife. Or a disappointment.

Just a woman. Who used to love pancakes. Who used to skip class. Who used to dream.

And maybe, just maybe was learning how to again.

You liked taking Roan to school. It was the one part of the day that still felt soft, simple. His tiny hand in yours, the way he talked the entire way about his drawings, or what he thought the cafeteria would serve for lunch today. It helped you start the morning with something solid, something good before the noise of your fractured reality crept back in.

Today, you made sure he got into class okay, even lingered longer than usual near the door as he turned to wave at you. You waved back, a small smile tugging at your lips.

And then you felt a poke.

Right at your side.

You jumped so hard you let out a yelp, loud enough that a few parents turned to look and immediately whipped around to find the only person who’d have the audacity to poke you like that.

Changbin.

You immediately slapped his chest with a hand, playfully but firm. “You really have to stop doing that,” you huffed, glaring at him.

He was already laughing, loud and shameless. “I live for it. You should see your face—every time!”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

He fell into step beside you as you started walking away from the school gates.

“I didn’t realize you walked here,” he said after a few beats, glancing around the sidewalk like he was piecing it together.

“Yeah. Just needed the air.”

“Need a ride back?” he asked, casual, like it wasn’t already obvious that’s what he was going to offer.

You let out a quiet sigh through your nose. “You’re relentless.”

He grinned. “That’s a yes.”

And it was.

You followed him to his car, sliding into the passenger seat like you had yesterday only this time, it felt less like a spontaneous escape and more like… routine. Something easy. Something welcome.

The ride home was quiet at first, not awkward, just easy like neither of you felt the need to fill the space. But halfway there, he spoke.

“You know,” he began, eyes on the road, “you can talk to me. Anytime. About anything. You don’t have to, obviously. But just… I’m around.”

You turned your head slightly, watching his profile. The curve of his jaw. The soft worry at the corner of his mouth.

“I know,” you said, quietly. “Thank you.”

He nodded once but didn’t look at you. “I don’t know what happened with you and… him. I’m not prying. But I can see it in your eyes. You’re tired.”

There was no judgment in his voice. Just quiet, heartfelt observation.

Your throat tightened at that. Because he wasn’t wrong. You were tired. Tired in your bones. Tired in your mind. Tired of pretending.

You turned toward the window, blinking fast. “I am.”

He didn’t press for more. Just drove.

You were already nearing your neighborhood when he let out a soft laugh and said, “Do your parents still hate me?”

You looked at him sharply, surprised, and then laughed, really laughed for the first time since the diner.

“Oh,” you said between giggles. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget? Your dad used to literally grunt when I came over. I thought he was going to bury me in the backyard.”

“To be fair,” you said, covering your smile with your hand, “you did sneak into my room at 2 AM and set off the fire alarm trying to microwave nachos.”

He shrugged. “Worth it. Those nachos were killer.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “Don’t take it personal. They were overprotective. I was their only kid.”

“I’m not taking it personal,” he said, mock offended. “But do they still hate me?”

You gave that some real thought, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I don’t think so,” you said. “Honestly, I think they barely remember. You’re ancient history.”

“Ouch,” he gasped. “And here I thought I left a lasting impression.”

“You left a mess in my kitchen, not an impression,” you teased.

He was still chuckling when he glanced at you and asked, “Do they like Seungmin?”

Your smile faded slightly, but it stayed on your face out of habit.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to make it sound lighter than it felt. “They… treat him like he’s their own son.”

He looked genuinely scandalized. “Seriously?”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Don’t take that personal either.”

But it lingered, that realization. That your parents had accepted Seungmin with open arms in ways they never had with anyone else. In some ways, it made everything harder.

You were still thinking about it when he pulled into your driveway.

As he parked, he turned to you with a grin. “Don’t forget. You still owe me drinks.”

You groaned. “Right. You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope. I’m petty.”

You were still laughing when you unbuckled and stepped out of the car… only for your breath to catch in your throat the moment you saw who was standing on the porch.

Seungmin.

Arms crossed. Shoulders stiff. His expression thunderous.

He didn’t move when he saw you. Just stared. A storm in his eyes. His gaze shifted briefly to Changbin, and you swore something in his jaw clicked.

Changbin, still in the driver’s seat, gave a cheerful wave through the open window. “See you, mystery woman.”

You smiled faintly and waved back. “Thanks for the ride.”

He gave a wink, and then he was gone, the car pulling away, tires quiet on the pavement.

You barely had time to turn toward the porch when Seungmin snapped.

“Who the hell was that?”

You blinked.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, seething. Cold.

You climbed the steps slowly. “It was just someone I know.”

“Someone you know?” His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. “That someone just happened to be driving you home? You left early this morning without a word and come back laughing in some guy’s car?”

You kept your face neutral, trying not to react, trying to keep your pulse from flaring.

“I walked Roan to school. I didn’t want to come straight home. I ran into someone and accepted a ride back. That’s it.”

“Is that what this is now?” he asked bitterly. “You disappearing with strangers?”

“He’s not a stranger.”

That was a mistake. You said it too quickly, too defensively.

Seungmin’s expression shifted, suspicion to realization to something uglier.

You could practically see it on his face. The puzzle clicking into place.

But you weren’t about to confirm it. Not now. Not here. The last thing you needed was seungmin exploding on your first heartbreak, in front of your childhood home.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” you said, stepping past him.

“Oh, so now we’re doing that?” he called after you. “You disappear all morning, and I’m just supposed to smile and wave when some guy drops you off at my son’s house?”

You stopped cold.

Spun around.

“This isn’t your house anymore. And he’s not just your son. He’s ours.”

Seungmin’s mouth opened, but you didn’t let him speak. You turned, stormed into the house, and let the screen door swing shut behind you.

You didn’t bother to see if he followed.

Because you were too tired. Too full of guilt and rage and the faint remnants of laughter that still clung to your sleeves like perfume.

And in the quiet that followed, you let yourself remember the way Changbin looked at you.

Like he saw you.

Not the wife. Not the failed marriage. Not the tired mother.

Just… you.

-

You could tell Seungmin was angry.

He hadn’t said anything explicitly, not since earlier on the porch, but his silence wasn’t quiet, it was loud. Too loud. The tension in his jaw, the tight way he held himself when he walked past you in the hallway. The pointed slams of cabinets when he was in the kitchen and you were in the room next to him. You tried not to acknowledge it, but it was there. Like a storm cloud in every corner of the house.

That night, as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing your hair, trying to find some stillness before bed, your phone buzzed on the vanity.

Once.
Then again.

You glanced down. An unknown number.

[Unknown]: Okay so maybe I did rehearse that joke in the car. Rate my delivery, 1-10.

You blinked at the message. And then smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile because you recognized the tone. You didn’t even need the name to know.

You typed back.

"That was a solid 6.5. I’m being generous because you’re funny when you’re smug."

A moment passed.

[Changbin]: Oh, a 6.5? Harsh. I'm wounded. Drinks on you for that.

You laughed under your breath. Actually laughed. That warmth again. That ease you thought you’d lost.

"Fine. Drinks on me. One drink. Don’t push it."

You were still smiling when your mom called your name down the hall.

“Can you come here a sec, sweetie? I wanted to ask about Roan’s weekend plans!”

“Coming!” you shouted back.

You set the phone down on the bed, the screen still lit for a few seconds before dimming. You didn’t notice the shadow in the hallway. The way Seungmin had paused in the doorway, leaned against the frame with crossed arms, eyes locked on your smile.

And when you left the room, your phone buzzed again.

He didn’t mean to do it. Not really.

But his jaw was tight. His stomach was churning.

He walked over and picked up the phone like it offended him just by existing. The way it lit up again with another message.

Roan’s birthday had been your password for years, unchanged. He hadn’t even needed to think twice. Muscle memory.

It unlocked with a soft click.

[Changbin]: So how’s the house of chaos? Still surviving?

He scrolled.

Each message painted a clearer picture than the last, Changbin flirting, light and easy, poking fun, asking you about your favorite drinks, joking that he might actually dress up if it meant seeing you smile again.

Seungmin’s blood pressure spiked.

That was him. That was the guy from the car.

Changbin. Seo Changbin.

He froze.

His chest tightened, and his grip on your phone turned white-knuckled.

Changbin. That Changbin.

High school Changbin. First boyfriend Changbin. The guy Seungmin loathed, not because of some petty rivalry, but because he had what Seungmin wanted first. You.

The guy who laughed too loud, kissed you in the hallways, held your hand like you were already his long before Seungmin had even found the nerve to tell you he liked you. The one you skipped classes with. The one who broke your heart when he left and left just enough space for Seungmin to be there, to pick up the pieces.

And now he was back? Now? When everything between you and Seungmin was still splintering, still bleeding?

He was seething.

When you came back into the room, Seungmin was sitting at the edge of the bed, your phone in his hand. His eyes locked onto you the second you stepped in.

You stopped mid-step, your expression shifting instantly. “What are you doing with my phone?”

He didn’t respond at first. Just lifted it and tilted it slightly in his hand.

“Really?” he said, voice tight. Controlled.

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You really came all the way back here, dragging Roan with you, telling everyone you needed space, but really you just wanted to see him again?”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned the phone to show you the screen, Changbin’s messages still open, bright against the dark of the room.

You froze.

“You were with him,” he said. “Changbin. Of all people.”

Your lips parted slightly, more from shock than guilt.

“You read my messages?”

“You left them wide open.”

“That doesn’t mean—” You stopped yourself. “You had no right to go through my phone.”

“No right?” he barked a humorless laugh. “You disappeared this morning, left without a word, came back laughing in some guy’s car, and now you’re texting your ex-boyfriend like you’re sixteen again!”

“He’s not just my ex—”

“I know exactly who he is,” Seungmin snapped. “He’s the guy who dated you while I sat there like an idiot watching it happen. I remember him.”

You clenched your jaw. “And I remember what you did. Don’t throw a tantrum because someone actually makes me feel sane for five minutes.”

His nostrils flared. “So that’s what this is? You’re punishing me. Using this whole situation as an excuse to flirt with an old flame while pretending you’re the victim.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” he spat. “You left. You took Roan. You’ve barely looked me in the eye since. And now it all makes sense—you came back to fix things? No. You came back to relive your past with him.”

You stared at him, chest heaving, feeling heat rush to your face not from shame, but rage.

“I came back because I needed air. I came back because you broke something in me I don’t know how to fix. And I’m trying to survive trying to hold it together for Roan. And if one person out there gives me a second to breathe without feeling like I’m drowning, I’m not going to apologize for that.”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with a glare so sharp it could’ve cut straight through your chest.

“I can’t do this with you tonight,” you said quietly, turning away from him.

And this time, when you walked out of the room, he didn’t follow.

//

masterlist. dad!skz series masterlist.

❌proofread

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

a/n: finally!

[devildomcuties]

Obey Me: Perfect Hands [Younger Demon Brothers]

🕷 pairing: younger demon brothers x gn!reader

🕷 genre: established relationship, 18+

🕷 summary: something about your demon’s hands drives you wild.

🕷 wc: 3k

🕷 warnings: pet names (kitten, love, pretty, cupcake, babe, moon), pillow humping, lots of finger sucking/fucking, biting, choking, mention of bruising, rimming, mirror sex, some manhandling, use of a silk tie as a blindfold briefly, use of a bullet vibrator, cum eating, masturbation (m), a little degradation, food mention

🕷 date: September 16, 2024

Satan

Satan sat on his bed with a thick book in his lap. You sat beside him, an open coloring book in front of you. 

You had spelled his bedroom to keep out any unnecessary noise from his brothers, allowing your boyfriend to read in peace. Only important messages would get through, for example, if the house was on fire or Lord Diavolo called a meeting. Something of the sort. 

Slowly, Satan turns the page, pausing to grab his kitten bookmark to mark his place. 

“It’s so stuffy in here,” he complains as he takes his shirt off. He remains in a pair of green plaid pajama bottoms as he gets comfortable in his bed with his book resting on his chest. 

You try not to drool over his physique but you’ve failed so far. You had tried to curve your attention away from Satan by coloring but all you had done was write your initials in little hearts on any blank space on the sheet in front of you. 

It would only be a matter of time before Satan noticed. 

Sighing, you focus on finishing the shading for the image in your book. You kick your legs back and forth as you hum quietly. You’ve taken an oversized tee from Satan’s closet to wear, opting for a relaxing day in bed but you won’t lie, you’ve become distracted by your boyfriend time and time again. 

Today, it’s his dexterous fingers that get you going. How pretty his hands are, how delicious they look gripping the book while his intense gaze is focused on the tome in front of him. His veins become more noticeable as he holds the book with one strong hand, using the other to turn the page. 

Satan appears oblivious as he reads the text, not noticing when you shut your coloring book and put it in a drawer with some of your belongings.

You watch Satan for a while, heat pooling in your abdomen as you watch him intently. 

It’s not until you’re rocking your hips into a pillow, mewling softly that Satan looks up from his book. His brow is raised in question as he looks over at you, puzzled. 

“S-sorry,” you stutter as you continue to grind on one of his pillows, unable to stop as flashes of last night hit you. 

Satan’s fingers in your mouth as you drool on his sheets, his chest pressed to your back as he calls you his good kitten. 

Satan smirks as he shuts his book, setting it aside for later. It is you that requires his attention now. 

“Pretty kitten, just what do you think you’re doing?” He questions as he drums his fingers in front of you. 

A whine escapes you as you meet his gaze for a split second before they focus on his lithe fingers once more. 

Chuckling, Satan grabs your chin with one hand, making you look up at him. 

“I asked you a question, kitten. Answer it,” he demands as he releases you. 

You don’t cease your movements, only grind further into the pillow as Satan climbs off the bed to settle between your legs instead. He lifts your hips higher, adjusting the pillow under your hips to raise your angle. 

“I don’t like being ignored, love,” he whispers as he presses his erection against your ass. You curse, moaning his name as he rubs himself against you.

Satan leans over you, his bare chest pressed to your back as he takes your lobe between his teeth. His hand wraps around your throat for a moment, your ass rubbing on his clothed cock, in hopes of tempting him to bury himself inside you. 

“So needy,” Satan huffs a laugh as he releases your throat. He raises the cotton material of the shirt you’re wearing, easily discarding it on his bedroom floor. He’s not surprised to see you naked underneath as you seek some form of stimulation; either from him or his pillow. 

Satan is slow with his movements. His hands rub down the length of your back before settling on your hips. He grips them tightly, nearly bruising them as he spreads you open and spits in your hole. 

“Fuck, Satan,” you groan as your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel his tongue circling your entrance. You grip the sheets, your thighs trembling as Satan teases you with his tongue just to listen to the sweet cries that leave your pretty lips. 

“It’d be so easy to slide my cock inside you, kitten. Make you drool on my fingers while I fuck you full. Do you want that?” Satan smirks as you cry out his name, nearly fucking yourself on his face in search of pleasure. 

You snap your fingers and a mirror appears on the side of his bed, giving you a clear view of your boyfriend as his hands grip you to pull you closer. His gaze meets yours in the mirror, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he swirls his tongue around your hole to make you squirm. 

You knew you were in for a long, long night.

Asmo

Asmo had done your nails on his livestream. He had painted his nails himself this morning but he wanted you to match him. 

“Should we add hearts?” You ask once the livestream ends. You look at Asmo’s hands, trying not to drool over them as he takes your hand in his. 

Asmo’s hands were smooth, perfectly manicured, and perfect for groping you. 

“Hon, are you even paying attention to me?” Asmo asks as he laces your fingers with his. “You weren’t, right?”

You shake your head, smiling bashfully. You avoid his intense gaze. Asmo giggles, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips.

“What’s got you so distracted, pretty?” Asmo asks as he gently grips your chin with his fingers. You lock eyes with him, biting your bottom lip. Asmo slowly releases your lip from your teeth, running his thumb over it afterward.

“This is mine to bite,” he murmurs as he presses his thumb to your lip. You eye him curiously as he leans forward to claim your lips with his. You kiss him back slowly at first, allowing him to deepen the kiss when his hands grip your face and his tongue meets yours.

Asmo moans when he tastes you, his teeth biting your bottom lip before he sucks it. You moan his name, grabbing his chest, clawing his skin as you fall back onto the mattress with him on top of you.

“Fiesty,” he chuckles as he leans over you, kissing your lips, cheeks, and jaw, then trails kisses to your neck.

“Asmo,” you moan his name in an angelic tone that makes his cock throb. He shuts his eyes, trying to hold himself back from devouring you whole.

“What is it, pretty? What do you need from me?” Asmo asks as he takes his shirt off. He kneels between your legs before he wraps his hand around your ankle to pull you toward him. You giggle when you’re dragged to the end of the bed. 

His show of strength makes your blood run hot as he moves you to the edge of the bed. Asmo climbs off the bed with a teasing grin, grabbing a silk tie to wrap around your eyes while you wait. 

“Perfect,” Asmo announces before he climbs onto the bed. The mattress dips beside you and then behind you as Asmo sits with his legs on either side of yours. He gently helps you out of your shirt, tossing it to the bedroom floor.

Asmo is careful as he undoes the silk blindfold, tossing it to the side. You’re surprised to see a mirror placed in front of the bed. Asmo is nonplused as he pulls you into his chest. His hands run up one arm and then the other. His lips plant kisses from one shoulder to the other while you watch in the mirror.

His beautiful hands explore every bit of your body available to him before he helps you out of your bottoms. Asmo licks his lips as he watches your chest rise and fall with each breath. Anticipation builds inside you. Your eager eyes follow the movement of his hands until he reaches for something in his pants pocket.

A small buzz fills your ears as Asmo lifts the small black vibrator to your lips. “Open up for me, hon. Just like you did the last time.”

You moan, your tongue greeting the vibrator as it gets pressed to your lips. Asmo meets your gaze in the mirror, his lips by your ear. “So good for me, pretty. Always so good.”

“Asmo,” you moan his name as he fucks the vibrator into your mouth until you’re drooling on it and his fingers. He moves the vibrator downward, pressing it to your nipple. You curse, falling into him as your fingers lace with his free hand.

Asmo allows you to squirm against him as he teases you with the silicone toy. “That’s it, hon.”

Your eyes roll back as Asmo wraps his hand around your throat, squeezing the sides gently. “It takes so little to get you so riled up for me.”

You whine, giggling when he moves the vibrator between your legs. His gaze darkens as he watches you shake when he presses it against you. Your hand grips his thigh, biting back a moan as you watch as his hand moves the vibrator between your legs. 

His beautiful hands capture your attention, his veins prominent as he goes, whispering filthy things into your ear until you’re clenching your thighs and arching into him. 

“Don’t hold back, pretty. Let me see you cum,” Asmo smirks as he turns the vibration up higher and higher until you’re gasping for air, your body going rigid for a moment as a wave of pleasure washes over you, soaking Asmo’s hand with your release.

Asmo giggles. He lifts his fingers to his lips, his tongue swirling around them before he moans at how delicious they taste.

“My turn, hon,” Asmo sings as he lays you down on his bed, climbing on top of you to kiss you. The vibrator hums between your bodies.

Beel

Massive. 

That’s the first word that came to your mind when you thought of your boyfriend, Beel. His broad shoulders, tapered waist, and huge cock made your mouth water. You were insatiable when it came to him. You could eat him up; for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

If you asked Beel how he felt about you, he’d probably say the same.

At the moment, Beel was in your bedroom sitting at your desk with a gallon of milk and an array of your favorite cookie from the human realm. 

“So many flavors!” Beel exclaims as he admires the towers he’s built out of cookies. “There’s peanut butter, strawberry, cinnamon, birthday cake, fudge dipped, chocolate, mint, red velvet, lemon and pistachio!”

“Beel,” you sigh frustrated as you watch your boyfriend split apart a cookie, lick the cream, and dunk the leftovers in his glass of milk.

You focus on his fingers as he slides them into his mouth to suck the excess milk off. He doesn’t notice you staring as he reaches for another cookie while you melt into a puddle. 

Once Beel devours every cookie and downs every last drop of milk, he takes you to his bedroom where he brushes his teeth. You lie on his bed, rolling around in it to inhale his scent. 

Belphie is missing from the bedroom but you’re sure he’s napping somewhere in the house, perhaps under a desk or a hidden corner. You don’t worry about him much as you wrap yourself in Beel’s sheets. 

Beel joins you on his bed. He sits on the edge before he reaches for a dumbbell. Was he going to work out while you were on his bed waiting for him to make a move?!

“Nine… ten,” Beel grins as he switches hands.

Your eyes are glued to his hands trailing upward to his rippling biceps. This was absolute torture. How were you expected to sit on the sidelines while his large hands held the dumbbell and his muscles shined with sweat? You wanted to trace the prominent veins from his hands to his shoulders. You press your thighs together as you watch him. His orange nails look so pretty as he sets the weight down on the floor. He clenched his hands a few times before you threw yourself at him. 

“Whoa!” He exclaims in surprise as he catches you at the last moment. 

You take his hand in yours, smiling when his fingers lace with yours. He squeezes your hand and smiles. 

“What’s got you jumping into my arms like that, Cupcake?” Beel asks as he helps you settle into his lap. 

Your hands roam over his broad shoulders. You easily help him out of his jacket and shirt. Beel falls back onto the bed. 

Your lips press kisses to his neck and chest and end on his hips. Beel watches you curiously as you undo his belt, his pants, and zipper. His cock is hard when you tug his pants down with his boxers. 

Beel chuckles at your eagerness, easily pulling you to him to kiss you. You moan softly, his tongue meeting yours. Your hands grip a handful of his hair as he grabs your hips. You grind on him, moaning when his cock presses against you. 

Slowly, Beel sets you beside him. You strip down to your underwear as he strokes his cock. You bite your lip as you watch him, unsure of where to focus, his face, his hands, or his cock. 

Beel smirks when you lick your lips. You want to reach for him but you’re somewhat dazed by how his large hand strokes his cock. His hands are so pretty, the veins prominent, and you ache to suck on his fingers. 

“Fuck,” Beel curses as he goes faster. You crawl towards him, spitting on the head of his dick to aid him. He groans, reaching out for you with his other hand. You kiss him, muffling his moans of your name as he cums shortly after. 

You watch as his fingers get coated in thick ropes of cum. You giggle as you take one of his hands and lick each finger clean. Beel watches you with lustful eyes. He waits until you’ve had your fill before he gets you underneath him. Easily, he kisses his way down your body, sucking and biting on your skin until he settles between your thighs. 

“My turn, Cupcake.”

Belphie

“Two eggs,” Belphie murmurs to himself as he looks at the recipe book sitting beside his mixing bowl. You sit on the counter, watching him as he grabs the eggs from the fridge. 

Your eyes are focused on his hands. He rolls up the sleeves of his jacket and heads to the sink to wash his hands. He dries them thoroughly before he grabs two eggs out of the carton. 

Belphie can feel the heat of your gaze on him but he ignores it. He was exhausted. You had kept him up most of the night by riding him or grinding your ass against him. He loved it, but now he was tired and it was his turn to bake the cake for dessert tonight. Part of him wishes he’d ordered one ahead at the local bakery. How was he supposed to know you’d end up having a fuck-a-thon the night before?

“Quit staring,” Belphie huffs as he holds the egg in his hand, ready to crack it open against the edge of the counter.

“I’m not staring,” you answer innocently as you kick your feet back and forth. 

Belphie rolls his eyes as he cracks the first egg, ignoring the way you stare at him. His mind flashes to last night’s events. From his hands gripping your hair to his hand wrapped around your throat while he fucked you into his mattress. You’d cried out for him so sweetly. 

Sighing, he grabs the second egg. This one is messier when he cracks it, the egg white sticks to his fingers as he splits it open the rest of the way into the mixing bowl. 

“Ugh! I hate when that happens,” he grumbles in annoyance. 

You watch his fingers, biting your lip as he goes to wash his hands once again. What were the chances of you getting fucked open on his fingers here in the kitchen?

Belphie dries his hands again before returning to the mixing bowl. He adds the rest of the ingredients and a whisk to blend them all. He notes the way you sigh dreamily, smiling as his hand moves faster and faster. 

He ignores you as he pours the cake batter into a baking pan and sticks it in the oven.  He sets the timer and cleans up the mess he’s made. 

“Belphie,” you say his name sweetly. He goes to you, his hands resting on your thighs. 

“You said you’d help me,” he pouts. “But all you did was stare at my hands.”

“I can’t help it,” you chuckle as you take his hands to kiss each of them. Belphie rolls his eyes in annoyance. 

“I should have asked someone else to help,” Belphie sighs. 

You ignore his petulant attitude. You take one of his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the fingertip. 

“Moon,” he warns as you take another one of his fingers in your mouth. He curses as he watches you, grinning when he moves the fingers out just to push them back in. You moan, gripping his wrist as he fucks your mouth with his fingers. He doesn’t understand your obsession with his hands but he enjoyed turning you on so easily. 

You drool over his fingers, moaning when his knuckles brush your lips. 

“Just a little whore for me, aren’t you?” Belphie smirks as you choke and he eases up. You moan, drooling on yourself before he takes his fingers out of your mouth and into his. He sucks them clean as you watch him, biting your bottom lip as tears pool in your eyes. 

“Don’t worry, babe. I have something else for you to suck,” he grins as he helps you off the counter to take you to his room after sending Levi a text to take the cake out of the oven.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Baskets and Bunny Kisses

CG!Wanda Maximoff x Little!Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda's little bunny gets to have the best Easter because she has the best Mama!

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: All fluff~

Authors note: Someone asked for this and I didn't think I'd get it done but here we are with it done anyways Happy Easter~

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

“C’mon, baby, arms up,” Wanda cooed gently as she knelt in front of you, soft lavender pajamas in her hands. “Let’s get these bunnies on you.”

You giggled and bounced a little where you stood, tail wagging under your oversized tee as you lifted your arms dramatically. “Bunny jammiieeeess!”

Wanda smiled with warm affection, slipping the long-sleeved top over your head and smoothing it down your arms. The soft cotton was covered in pastel eggs and little cartoon rabbits, and you wiggled proudly once it was on. “I’m so ready for the Easter Bunny,” you declared, spinning in a slow circle.

“Hmm,” Wanda teased, lifting your chin playfully. “You sure don’t look ready for bed. Where’s my sleepy girl, huh? It’s almost time for lights out.”

“But Mamaaa,” you pouted, dropping into a dramatic sit on the nursery floor. “Tomorrow’s Easter! The Bunny’s gonna come and leave eggs and candy and—and—what if I miss him?!”

Wanda chuckled, gathering you into her lap easily, cradling you against her chest as you rambled. “You’ll miss him only if you don’t sleep, silly goose. The Easter Bunny won’t come ‘til you’re tucked in bed with dreams in your head.”

You wriggled, a little too wound up for bedtime, even as Wanda rubbed small circles into your back. The nursery glowed softly from your nightlight, casting bunny-shaped shadows on the walls. Your stuffies were already arranged in bed, and your paci was waiting on your pillow.

“Can you read me a story, Mama?” you whispered, curling closer. “A Easter one?”

“Of course, my love,” Wanda murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. She stood with you still in her arms, carrying you easily over to the big rocking chair in the corner. “Let’s see what we’ve got in the basket.”

You watched with wide eyes as she plucked a pastel-colored book from your little bookshelf, the cover showing a bunny in a bowtie holding a basket of eggs.

“Benny the Bunny’s Easter Parade.”

Wanda settled in the rocker, tucking you into her lap as she opened the book. Her voice was calm and rhythmic, lilting just the way you liked as she read each page. You started off wiggly, swinging your legs and trying to guess what would happen next in the story, but by the time Benny was painting his eggs and hiding them around the garden, you were yawning and leaning into Wanda’s chest, your paci now tucked gently between your lips.

“And then Benny peeked from behind a daisy and smiled—because Easter morning was just around the corner…” Wanda closed the book softly, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “Just like you, my sleepy bunny.”

You let out a content sigh, blinking slowly as she carried you to bed. “He’s gonna come, right?” you mumbled sleepily around your paci.

“He is,” Wanda whispered, laying you down and pulling the blanket over you. She made sure your stuffie was tucked in too, nestling it close to your chest. “But only if this little bunny stays in bed all night.”

“Mmmkay…” you yawned, nuzzling your stuffie as Wanda kissed your forehead.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams. I love you.”

You blinked once, then twice, before finally whispering back, “Love you, Mama…”

And just like that, your eyes fluttered closed.

Wanda stood in the doorway for a moment, smiling softly at the peaceful look on your face, already dreaming of jelly beans and egg hunts and a basket full of surprises.

Tomorrow would be special.

But tonight—tonight was quiet and perfect.

 🐇.•*¨`*•.¸ 🐇.•*¨`*•. 🐇¸.•*¨`*•. 🐇

You woke up with a tiny gasp, eyes snapping open as sunlight poured in through the curtains. It took a full two seconds for the excitement to hit you—and when it did, you practically launched out of bed, your bunny pajamas flapping around you as you scrambled down the hall on fast, socked feet.

“Mamaaaa!!” you squealed as you rounded the corner into the living room, eyes going huge when they landed on the couch.

Your Easter basket was sitting right in the middle of a pastel blanket, surrounded by tiny egg-shaped confetti and a few plush bunnies perched beside it like they were guarding the treasure. The basket itself was practically overflowing—with sparkly wrapped chocolates, jelly beans in little carrot-shaped bags, a bright pink egg filled with mystery goodies, bunny-shaped crayons, and a couple of coloring books with Easter and springtime themes. There was even a small wind-up chick toy that looked like it was ready to hop off the edge at any moment.

You dropped to your knees in front of it with a happy gasp. “Mamaaaa look what the Bunny brought me!!”

Wanda was already there—sitting on the armchair with a steaming mug in hand, dressed in a cozy robe, hair tucked loosely behind one ear, smiling like you were the gift she’d unwrapped.

“I see that, baby,” she chuckled, sipping her coffee and watching you with soft eyes. “Looks like the Easter Bunny really loves a certain little girl.”

You beamed up at her, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. “He brought me so much stuff!”

You began pulling things out of the basket one by one, holding them up for Wanda to see. “Look! A bunny that hops—Mama, look!” You placed the wind-up chick on the coffee table and turned the key until it started hopping awkwardly in a circle, making you giggle.

Wanda leaned forward slightly, resting her mug on her knee. “Oh, that’s a good one. Maybe we can race it later against one of your other toys.”

Next came the chocolate bunny—“He’s too cute to eat! But I will eat him!”—then the coloring books. You gasped dramatically as you flipped through them. “Look! Look! This one’s got baby lambs in it! Mamaaa it has a sparkle page!”

“I see, sweetheart,” Wanda smiled, her heart practically bursting at your joy. “You’re going to color the prettiest lambs ever, huh?”

“Mmhmm!!” you nodded hard, already pulling out your bunny crayons. “And the pink bunny is me, and the green bunny is you, and—oooh look, a sticker sheet!!”

You were a whirlwind of squeals and happy kicks, settling on your belly on the living room rug, crayons in hand and candy forgotten for the moment as you planned out which page to color first.

Wanda reached down and gently ran her hand through your hair as you laid there, already humming softly to yourself while coloring. “Happy Easter, my little bunny,” she murmured.

You looked up at her with a soft grin, cheeks smudged faintly with pink crayon already. “Happy Easter, Mama.”

She leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

Yeah. This was exactly what she’d dreamed of.

Once your coloring masterpiece was complete (the green bunny you’d insisted was Mama had sparkly purple ears and a lopsided flower crown), you perked up with renewed energy, bouncing up to your knees.

“Mama,” you said seriously, “I think the Bunny mighta left eggs.”

Wanda smiled over her shoulder from the kitchen, where she was starting on Easter dinner prep—cutting vegetables with expert ease, already wearing her pastel pink apron. “Oh yeah?” she teased, peeking out at you. “Hmm… I did hear some little bunny feet hopping around the house last night.”

You gasped, hands flying to your cheeks. “So he did come?!”

Wanda walked over, wiping her hands on her apron and crouching to your level. “I think if you look real close, you might find some eggs hidden around. Lots of eggs.”

Your eyes got huge. “Where?! Where do I start?!”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, tapping your nose, “I think the Easter Bunny hid some inside and some outside, so it might take a while. You’ve got a big basket to fill, baby.”

You were already zooming to get your basket.

The big house meant there were so many hiding spots. Wanda had gone all out—eggs tucked behind couch cushions, nestled in potted plants, under the table, inside your play kitchen’s oven. Some had stickers inside, others had jelly beans, one even had a shiny gold coin that made you gasp like you’d found treasure.

You were running from room to room in your bunny pajamas, tail bouncing, shouting out each new discovery like it was the best thing in the world.

“Mamaaaa! There was one in my sock drawer!!”

“Really?” Wanda called back from the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. “That sneaky bunny! What a rascal.”

Then you spotted one wedged behind the curtain near the window and squealed, “He tried to trick me!!”

Every so often, Wanda peeked around the corner to check on you, watching you tiptoe like a detective with your basket already half-full, hair messy from all the crawling around. It warmed her heart so much she had to put her hand over her chest and take a breath.

After the inside hunt, you pushed open the back door with a determined little grunt and gasped.

More eggs. Everywhere.

Tucked in flower pots, under patio chairs, beside the little birdbath Wanda helped you paint last summer. You scrambled down the steps into the backyard, grass cool under your bare feet, the morning sun making the plastic eggs shine like little gems.

Wanda watched from the kitchen window, a fond smile on her lips as she basted the roast in the oven and started laying out the place settings for later. She didn’t mind doing everything herself today—this morning was for you, and your joy was worth all the work in the world.

When you came back inside, cheeks flushed and arms full, you dumped the eggs into a pile on the floor with a dramatic plop.

“I gots so many, Mama,” you breathed. “I’m gonna open all of them!”

Wanda came over, ruffling your hair. “You can open a few right now, lovebug. The rest can wait ‘til after lunch—especially the ones I heard might be filled with chocolate.”

You looked up at her with the most serious expression and said, “I’m gonna share the bestest ones with you, Mama.”

Her heart nearly burst right then.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, kneeling to wrap you in a hug. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day.”

You giggled and clung to her neck, whispering into her shoulder, “You’re my bestest egg.”

Wanda laughed, warm and bright, kissing the side of your face. “And you’re my perfect little bunny.”

After your egg hunt and a snack break of baby carrots and bunny-shaped crackers (with a few jellybeans snuck in when Mama wasn’t looking), Wanda scooped you up from the floor with a playful, “Okay, baby bunny, time to get you dressed for our Easter guests.”

You giggled and squirmed, but let her carry you upstairs, your head resting on her shoulder as she rubbed your back. She’d already laid out your special Easter outfit—one she picked just for you.

It was a soft, twirly dress in a blue and yellow plaid pattern, with white lace trim around the collar and hem. There were little embroidered chicks along the pockets and two dainty buttons shaped like flowers. Wanda helped you out of your bunny pajamas, humming to herself as she gently buttoned you into the dress and tied the yellow sash in a perfect bow at the back.

“There,” she said proudly, brushing your hair and clipping a pale yellow bow just above your ear. “You look like the sweetest spring chickadee I’ve ever seen.”

You twirled, giggling. “You look like a flower too, Mama.”

Wanda beamed at the compliment. “Well, I had to match my pretty little bunny.”

She helped you slip into your white knee socks and soft Mary Janes before pressing a kiss to your cheek. Then, hand in hand, you both made your way downstairs just as the knock on the door came…

You were curled up on the couch with Wanda, nestled under her arm, slowly opening your last few plastic eggs as the smell of dinner filled the whole house. Wanda had cleaned up the living room just enough to keep it cozy—pillows fluffed, toys tucked nearby but not out of sight, because everyone coming over knew it was a little-friendly house.

The knock at the door had you springing up like a spark, but Wanda caught your hand gently before you could barrel toward it.

“Wait for Mama, sweetheart,” she said with a soft laugh, wiping her hands on a dish towel and moving to the door.

You bounced excitedly beside her, clutching your basket just in case the others brought you more Easter goodies.

When Wanda opened the door, you lit up.

“Auntie Maria!” you squealed, and then giggled when another familiar face peeked shyly from behind Maria’s arm.

“Tasha!”

Natasha Romanoff blushed just a little, her freckled cheeks turning pink as she smiled at you. She looked adorable—Maria had dressed her in soft lavender shortalls with little embroidered daisies along the pocket edges, paired with a crisp white undershirt and frilly socks in lace-trimmed sneakers. Her hair was pulled into two low pigtails with matching daisy clips. She was holding Maria’s hand tightly, her other hand gripping a small plush bunny that looked suspiciously new.

Maria looked like a proud mama hen, tall and confident in her spring blazer, her free hand carrying a tray of deviled eggs.

“Happy Easter,” she said, eyes soft as they landed on you and Wanda.

“Tasha helped me pick her outfit,” she added with a small smile, ruffling Natasha’s hair, making the little redhead beam shyly.

You tugged at Wanda’s hand. “Can I show Tasha my eggs? I found so many!”

“Of course, bunny,” Wanda smiled, stepping aside. “Come in, both of you. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Maria gave Wanda a knowing look as Natasha slipped off her sneakers and bounced lightly after you, little giggles escaping as you tugged her toward your colorful egg pile.

Just as Wanda closed the door again, another knock came. This time it was a little louder, a little more chaotic.

Yelena stood there with a big grin, holding a pie in one hand and carefully adjusting the ruffled hem of a wiggly little brunette’s dress with the other.

“Hoppy Easter!” Yelena grinned.

Kate Bishop was practically glowing. She wore a swishy purple dress with puffed sleeves and a ribbon around her waist, soft curls bouncing as she leaned heavily into Yelena’s side, thumb half in her mouth, the other hand gripping her plush bunny like a lifeline.

Yelena gave Wanda a wink. “This one’s been babbling about jelly beans all morning.”

“I saw some in the kitchen!” Kate whispered around her thumb, wide-eyed.

“You did not,” Yelena smirked. “You just smelled them, little nose like a hound dog.”

Kate giggled and looked up at Wanda. “Can I help set the table like a big girl, Mama Wanda?”

Wanda reached out and brushed a curl from Kate’s face, smiling warmly. “Of course you can, sweetheart. That would help me a lot.”

As everyone filed in, the house became filled with the soft background of happy giggles, low caregiver chatter, and the clinking of dishes being set.

You sat beside Natasha on the rug again, both of you comparing which egg had the best prize, while Kate proudly marched back and forth with napkins until Yelena scooped her up and kissed her cheek noisily, declaring her the “best table elf ever.”

Maria helped Wanda in the kitchen, the two chatting with soft laughter and the rhythm of practiced care.

At one point, Natasha curled against you and whispered, “Your Mama’s so nice…”

You nodded happily, offering her a shiny pink jellybean. “She makes the best hunts.”

“Can we sit together at dinner?” Natasha asked, her voice quiet, eyes hopeful.

“Yeah!” you beamed. “We can sit next to each other and have all the good stuff. Even the carrots shaped like bunnies!”

Wanda leaned in from the doorway, voice playful but full of warmth. “Only if you two promise to eat some veggies, not just jellybeans.”

Both you and Natasha groaned dramatically in unison.

Wanda just smiled and turned back to the kitchen, calling softly, “Dinner in ten minutes, my bunnies!”

And the whole house glowed with love.