#I had to laugh the whole time I was drawing this

[luveline]

Could I ask for bombshell!reader x Spencer at the beach? Maybe before they officially got together and he's all heart eyes at her

ty for requesting!! fem, 1k

“Do you want to go to the beach with me?” 

When you asked, Spencer had immediately felt like saying no. He does not have a good track record with the beach. As in, he doesn’t deal well with heat, or sand, or large bodies of water. The sun is his pale enemy —he tans only after he’s burned to a crisp. The skin peels away and leaves him smooth and warm-toned, but the risks of a sunburn freak him out. 

“Skin colour doesn’t matter,” he’s saying, pleading, on his knees in the heat beside you, the sand uncomfortably hot under the Miami sun, “anyone can get melanoma.” 

“I already told you, Spencer,” you say lightly back, “I’ll wear sunscreen so long as you put it on me.” 

“You’re making it a joke, but it’s not a joke. It’s a big deal.” 

You’re laying on your back on a beach towel, another rolled up under your head, sunglasses perched on a pretty nose and your face delightfully clear of any makeup. (Spencer likes your makeup. He just likes this too, the treat of seeing you without when he doesn’t usually get to look in on something so private.) You have a novel tented across your chest which is a whole thing, something Spencer’s sure to think back on in quiet times and feel magnanimously guilty for afterwards, just, you’re his dream girl and it’s boiling and you have sweat running down the inside of your leg, and Spencer’s going to die here watching it fall to your ankle. 

You pass him your drink. “Here, honey, have some of this. You’re getting hot.” 

He takes it because you’re right, drinking three big mouthfuls of it as the sunshine kisses the line of his throat. Your hand lands carefully in the crook of his arm, and that’s not your usual way of touching, but he appreciates it nonetheless as your fingertips begin drawing small circles. 

“Ticklish?” you ask. 

He wipes his eyebrows. “A little.” 

You draw up the naked stretch of his arm until you reach the sleeve. You’re inquisitive as your fingers slide beneath, and your hand stills there behind his shoulder, inside of his shirt, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I put some on before I came out, but I’ll put more on in a bit.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Sure. I don’t want melanoma anymore than you do.” 

“I don’t want you to get melanoma. I don’t want anyone to get it, but especially you.” 

Your fingers close around the top of his arm, using him for an anchor as you pull yourself into a sitting position. Your book falls into your lap. He grabs it and sits it on your open bag, closed properly lest the pages get bent. 

“C’mere,” you say, pulling at his arm gently, “reward for your sweetness, sweetheart.” 

Spencer tips his head to the side so his hat misses your eyes, his own squeezing closed as you press a nice kiss to his cheek, and then, to his heart’s rearing excitement, a clumsier second one further up his cheek. 

“Don’t worry about melanoma,” you say, nearly a murmur. “Today’s supposed to be for us to relax.”

“I am relaxing.” 

“I can tell.” 

You stretch your legs out. You’re wearing a tankini with little bottoms, like boyshorts, and a camisole-esque top, leaving the softness of your stomach exposed for his eyes to roam over and over. That’s after he’s finished with your arms, your legs, the forbidden slip of your thighs crossing as you rest your cheek against his shoulder. Spencer may be timid, but he’s no fool, wrapping a steadying arm behind you. 

“Tides coming in,” you say. You’ve already told him that the both of you will be going for a swim after to cool down. He can imagine it already. His hair is soaked under his hat and there’s sand in his new shorts, and Spencer thinks this might end up being the very best day of his life, spent alone with you, for no reason other than your wanting his company. 

“How come you’re not boiling in your skin?” Spencer grumbles. 

“Mind over matter.” 

“It doesn’t work that way.” 

You laugh into his arm, rubbing your nose there. “Sure it does.” He chances a squeeze. You laugh more, and press a kiss half into his sleeve. “Spence.” 

“What?” 

“Thank you for coming. I know you hate the beach.” 

“I don’t hate the beach.” 

“You strongly dislike the beach.” 

“That’s accurate. It’s not that bad, though… you know, with you.” 

You cuddle into his side. Usually Spencer would be tentative to think of it that way, but there’s no other word for it. You’re hugging one another like you’re more than you are —though maybe you are more than you are, more than you’ve said aloud, because stuff like this keeps happening. You sniffle without tears against him and he lets out a sigh. It really is hot. 

You look pretty against his side. Looking down at you, Spencer could be sick with the wanting of it all, but he takes another deep breath, lets out another sigh, endeared by your knee caps and your thighs and the fine hairs all over you that catch the light. 

“Come down to the sea with me?” you ask. 

He reaches for his sunglasses in your bag and pushes them onto his face one-handed. He doesn’t like the idea of wet sand on his feet, but he thinks about holding your hand in the cold water and finds himself revitalised regardless. “Let’s go,” he says, earning himself another clumsy kiss against the side of his jaw. 

He’s gonna ask to be your boyfriend, he decides. The second you get back to the hotel, he’s gonna ask. 

[cheriedivine]

Youtuber Ellie x Reader Hc’s <3

♡‧₊˚₊✧ pairing: youtuber Ellie Williams x youtuber fem reader (No use of y/n)

♡‧₊˚₊✧ CW: slight cursing

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Tags: just pure fluff tbh

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Author’s note: I’ve been watching so much Izzy&Emma lately and i thought about this fun idea and i love this so much lmk if y’all want a part 2 bc i definitely have more ideas for this ^~^ (maybe also a little one shot?)

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ok so Ellie convinced you to start a channel with her for shits and giggles yk but a video of you guys doing a Dress to impress gameplay went viral and it was all over tiktok.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Like the video got 100k views in 48 hours…

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ After that, she was hooked. She begged you to keep making videos together, saying it was “for the fans,” but really… she just liked having an excuse to be on camera with you.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ofc you accepted (how could you not when she was so cute)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ One of your most popular videos is the Couple Drawing Challenge where you switch canvases every 5 minutes. You couldn’t stop laughing, meanwhile Ellie was so serious about it. Like, genuinely stressed every time she had to give up her progress.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ The paintings turned out surprisingly good (thanks to her of course), and she hung them up in your shared apartment like they’re museum pieces.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ While you love vlogging little cozy days, behind-the-scenes moments, aesthetic montages, Ellie’s more into chaotic gameplay and silly challenges.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ When you hit 1k subscribers (even though she was ready to celebrate at 100), Ellie made a cake from scratch. It was… questionable looking, but the effort was there. She even tried to pipe "1K BABY" on top with pink frosting. (You chose the colors)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ I just KNOW she’s the type to be like “babe we’re not doing a Q&A those are cringe” cut to 5 mins later: “so the first question is ‘who fell first’… it was me. obviously.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ELLIE WOULD FORCE JOEL TO APPEAR IN A VIDEO AND IT WOULD BE THE FUNNIEST SHIT EVER.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ I can imagine him wearing that “I love my lesbian daughter” shirt.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ The comments immediately dubbed him “DILF of the Year.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ellie was disgusted. “Stop hitting on my dad, weirdos.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You made Ellie a swear jar so your videos wouldn’t get demonetized. She tried to cheat by using creative alternatives like “fork” and “ship,” but gave up after a week.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You’ve collected enough for like, a whole sephora haul

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ She bought you the Sabrina Carpenter skin in fortnite just so you’d play with her.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You did. And totally destroyed her. She was… not okay afterward. Her ego’s was a bit bruised ngl

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ellie insists on matching outfits when you film together. Oversized hoodies, themed shirts, stupid little hats, she loves it.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Also, she has her hands on you at all times. Arm around your shoulder, hand on your thigh, holding your pinky. Marking her territory for the creepy dudes in the comments.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ She always deletes hate comments so you wont get sad :( (cutie)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ But what she doesn't know is that you made a secret account so you could fight the incels in your comment section LOL

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You filmed a “Doing my girlfriend’s makeup” video… Ellie ended up looking like a glam rock star and refused to take it off for hours because “I ate this shit up to be honest.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ The comment section was filled with “Is your gf single?, asking for a friend”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You deleted them <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ellie made you film a ghost hunting vlog in an abandoned building. She screamed first. You have the footage. You’re never letting her live it down.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You guys have a series called “Gayming o’clock” where you play dating sims, fortnite, roblox and chaotic co-op games.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ellie accidentally went viral for being too soft with you on camera — like fixing your mic, brushing your hair away, or whispering “you’re doing so good, babe” mid-filming. The fans LOST IT.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ For your anniversary, she made a cringey but adorable montage of your funniest on-camera moments. It ends with her saying “Here’s to forever. Unless you beat me at Fortnite again, then we’re breaking up.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ There’s a running joke on your channel that Joel is the true star. You guys got him a little trophy and filmed him “accepting his award.” He actually smiled (rare footage!!).

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You guys always EAT UP the fan edits on tiktok, you have a folder full of them.

[starmocha]

Whale You Love Me Forever? [Rafayel + Son ★ 884 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Rafayel has a whale of a time with his son on the beach. A/N: Hi, before you proceed, do you all have dental insurance? (•᷄- •᷅ ;) Tag list: @lavlynyan @alfredosaws @solifloris @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @natimiles @yourlocalcatscammer @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @qyuin @asiaticapple @rainbowsnowflake 【 request to be added 】

It was late in the afternoon, and evening was fast approaching. Rafayel walked with his three-year-old son down to the beach behind Mo Art Studio. The toddler skipped on ahead, already excited for the daily evening walk he took with his parents.

Rafayel stared down at his phone, frowning when he saw the message you had sent him not too long ago, saying you were still stuck in traffic. He responded saying to not worry and take your time coming home safely, though to be quite honest, inside, he was a little upset. He wasn’t upset at you, but he was disappointed and annoyed with the situation.

It couldn’t be helped. Instead, he sent a follow-up message, saying he had just ordered dinner.

“Daddy?”

He looked up when his son called to him. The little boy was crouched near the shore completely barefoot, his little toes and ankles already covered in little grains of wet sand. Rafayel also noticed the wet grains on his son’s index finger, seeing he had been drawing in the sand while Rafayel was lost in thoughts.

“What is it, my little fishie?” he asked, his tone purposefully cheerful as he approached the toddler, crouching down so he was at eye-level with the boy.

He noticed in the sand little drawings of hearts, fishes, and three stick figures.

“Daddy, whale you love me forever?”

Rafayel paused, almost laughing at the sudden question and the way the three-year-old had said it. He leaned down and kissed the top of his son’s head. “Unsharkingly, I whale,” he responded. “Whale you love Daddy forever, too?”

“I whale!” the boy cried out brightly with determination in his eyes.

“Then that’s a promise,” Rafayel said, emphasizing with a follow-up: “A Lemurian promise.”

“A Lemu promise?” the boy questioned back with confusion etched on his little face.

“It’s a very important promise,” Rafayel explained. “A very special promise.”

The boy grinned. “Okay, Daddy!”

The boy grabbed his father’s wrist and pulled him closer to the sand. “Daddy, Daddy, whale you draw me a jellyfish?”

Rafayel huffed in amusement. “Okay,” he said, “But only if you draw with me.”

“But I don’t know how…”

“Watch Daddy and copy him,” Rafayel said patiently, making the first few strokes with his finger. He drew out simple lines and shapes in the sand, easy enough that a toddler could follow and imitate. His smile seemed to brighten as he observed his son’s excited features, relishing in how the little boy grew more confident and started drawing more jellyfishes in the sand.

“Looks like you have a whole army of jellyfishes now,” Rafayel remarked.

“Yeah!” The boy answered, grinning. “I don’t want them to be lonely.”

Rafayel chuckled and nodded in understanding.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah? What is it, my little fishie?”

“Whale Mommy come home soon?”

Rafayel laughed again and reached out to pinch his son’s cheeks with both hands. “What is it with you and all of these ‘whale’ questions today, you silly little fishie?”

The boy giggled and tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Daddy, no pinching!”

“Alright, alright, fineeee,” he responded good-naturedly, letting go of the toddler’s cheeks. “Mommy’s still stuck in traffic. She’ll be home in a bit.”

“Aww…”

Suddenly, Rafayel heard a small rumbling noise and saw his son’s cheeks turned pink. He laughed and leaned down to kiss the toddler on top of his head, adding in amusement, “And dinner is also on the way, too, my little hungry fishie.”

The boy covered his rosy cheeks and giggled.

“Do you think your dinner will arrive home first or Mommy will come home first?”

The boy pondered his father’s sudden question. He hummed softly and then yelled out excitedly, “Mommy! Mommy whale come home first!”

“Yeah?” Rafayel smirked with delight at the toddler’s enthusiasm. “How about a bet, my little fishie?”

His son tilted his head to the side in confusion, waiting for his father to explain.

“If Mommy comes home first, then you have to give Daddy ten kisses, and if it’s not Mommy, then you have to give Daddy twenty kisses.”

The boy pondered again, seemingly still registering his father’s explanation. In seconds, he smiled and responded brightly, “Okay, Daddy!”

The little boy stood up and grabbed his father’s hand, pulling him to his feet. Rafayel stumbled forward in surprise, chuckling, “Alright, alright, I’m up.”

The boy ran ahead along the shore, startling the seagulls that were resting on the beach. Occasionally, the toddler would stop to pick up a seashell he would show his father. On the horizon, the sun began to set. The sky darkened to a deep purple, the last streaks of orange slowly disappearing as stars appeared from their hiding places.

Distantly, Rafayel heard a vehicle approaching the studio.

The boy also paused, his head turning in the direction of the noise. He blinked in confusion when his father reached down and picked him up, holding him steady with one arm.

“Do you think that’s Mommy or our dinner?”

“Mommy!” The boy answered without any hesitation.

“Alright, let’s go see,” Rafayel said, quickening his pace.

“Daddy, whale Mommy also love me forever, too?”

Rafayel paused and pressed a long kiss to his son’s cheek, smiling when the boy giggled, “I think we whale both love you forever, my silly little freeloader fishie.”

[ducktracy]

i don't think i ever fully shared my Potential Bob Clampett Encounter on here, did i... probably because i was too embarrassed to. it probably is just a series of coincidences, but it's still neat to think about. tldr Cool Profound Stuff happened when i visited his grave and in the days following

[concreteangel92]

I'm so happy that your requests are open hehe🥹💕

I'd kill for some soft work of yours, like the whole day spent together with Noah doing something together. Going to the zoo or beach day or painting each other (the tiktok trend you know) and then finish it with some soft smut, Noah talking you through it, holding hands, soft touches and stuff🥹

Basically the softest version of Noah you can think of haha, please and thank you💕

Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: soft smut, praise, PiV, just some overall cuteness basically haha

The painting trend is such a cute idea that I had to use that one for this request! I hope you enjoy ☺️

So this is soft, gentle!Noah….mean dom!Noah is next on my request list 👀

Permanent Taglist: @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @bloody-spades @lacy1986 @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @w0manof-flesh44 @dream-machine-love @thisbicc @amelia-acero @badomensls @fadingintothegrey @tosoundlessdarkistare @ichoosetenderomens @hurricanesfollowyou @concretejunglefm @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xmads-omensx @chey-h @xxkittenkissesxx @lyschko666 @rumoured-whispers @renegadebirch @floodflameschosen @ami--gami

Let me know if you wish to be added!

Masterlist

“So, what are we doing again?”

You rolled your eyes with a grin as Noah flopped into the chair across from you. “Painting each other.”

He raised an eyebrow, already smirking. “Like… one of your French girls?”

You reached over and gave his arm a playful slap, the both of you laughing. “Shut up, Noah! No. I saw this cute trend on TikTok and thought it would be fun.”

He leaned back with that cheeky smile, eyes lighting up with mischief. “You gonna post this on TikTok, babe?”

You giggled as you got comfortable in your chair. “That depends on how good they turn out.”

The next hour passed in a mix of giggles, paint smudges, and stolen glances. Every time you peeked up from your canvas, Noah was already looking at you, his gaze warm, soft and intense. It made your stomach flutter every time.

You wiped the back of your hand across your forehead to move some hair from your face, unknowingly streaking a bit of paint across your cheek. “Right… I think I’m done.”

You set your brush down and looked at your “masterpiece,” already cringing internally. You were no artist but you’d tried.

Noah, who had finished a few minutes before you, was watching you with a grin, clearly holding back laughter.

“Let me see, then,” he said, eyes sparkling.

“No, you first,” you said quickly, hiding your canvas from his gaze.

He shrugged and turned his around with a dramatic flourish.

You gasped. It was…actually good. Like, really good. Not perfect, but you could see yourself in it, the way your eyes squinted when you laughed, the curl of your smile. Your heart flipped a little.

“Okay wow…that’s actually really good” you admitted.

He looked pleased. “I used to draw a lot when I was younger. You make a good muse. Ok now yours”

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly turned your canvas around.

Noah stared at it for a second, then burst into laughter, not cruel, just utterly amused. “What the hell is that?”

“Shut up!” you laughed, covering your face. “It’s….abstract!”

“It looks like a Picasso painting went through a blender!”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, it was genuinely bad. “In my defense, you wouldn’t sit still!”

Still chuckling, Noah stood up and came around the table. “Hold on, you’ve got something…”

He reached up and brushed a smudge of brown paint from your cheek with his thumb. His touch lingered longer than it needed to, fingers grazing your skin softly.

Your laughter faded with a smile as you looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close he was.

He leaned in, his voice softer now. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Your breath caught just a little. “Even with paint all over me?”

“Especially then…I’ve loved painting with you today” he murmured.

You smiled, your voice low. “Yeah?”

“Mm. Especially when you’re so cute when you’re focused on creating your ‘masterpiece’”

You giggled and blushed as you looked at your painting again.

“Guess I wont be quitting my day job any time soon”

“Maybe not just yet babe” he whispered and then his lips met yours.

The kiss was warm, slow, and sweet, his hand gently cupping your jaw. You melted into it, fingers still streaked with paint curling into his shirt as he pulled you closer.

His mouth was soft, coaxing, and when his other hand slid around your waist, your body responded easily, pressing into him like you were always meant to fit there.

He pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “You wanna…?”

You nodded before he could finish. “Yeah.”

Noah pulled you back into another kiss and you felt his hands wandering over your body as he lead you backwards towards the sofa, both of you removing different articles of clothing until you were both pressed against each other’s bare skin.

“You’re so fucking perfect”

He took his time, worshipping every inch of your skin with lips and fingertips, like he was still painting you, only now with devotion instead of a brush.

A choked gasp left your throat as you felt him slip inside, stretching you beautifully as he started a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts.

You both moaned into each other, your lips never leaving the other for long. You both took your time, feeling no need to rush, you were both completely lost in the moment.

“Noah…”

His name fell from your lips like a prayer. You could feel every inch of him, buried deep, the pressure building with every gentle but firm stroke. Sweat slicked your skin, making each brush of your bodies feel even more intense. You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world, not wanting this moment, this connection, to ever end.

His hips never stopped, every thrust was sending a warm ache through you as you felt your stomach twisting beautifully. You moaned into his lips, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Noah…” you whispered, breath catching as he rolled his hips just right, hitting that spot that made your eyes fall shut and your head to fall back against the sofa.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple as one hand slipped between your bodies to touch you, coaxing another desperate whimper from your throat. “So good for me…you’re so fucking beautiful…”

You couldn’t hold back your cry as you fell apart underneath him, your body trembling in his arms as your nails dig into the skin on his back.

Noah’s hips stuttered once, twice, then he was spilling into you with a low, drawn out moan, clinging to you like he was falling apart too. His breath came in hot pants against your skin, his hands cradling your waist like he never wanted to let go.

You both relaxed into each other’s arms, your breathing laboured as you both came down from your highs.

Noah leant up and he brushed away some of your hair which was now damp against your face as he smiled down.

“I love you so much”

“And I love you Noah, I couldn’t imagine ever being apart”

[tinywand]

winning a fancall as their partner ᵔᴗᵔ

pairing - ot7 x gn!reader

genre - fluff

warnings - minor language (very minor) !

Jungwon

doesn't realize at first

does his rehearsed greeting, then is like, "??????"

"Y/n??"

lets out a sigh of relief and has a big smile

"You won't believe the fan call I just had... Some people.."

Jungwon vents his frustrations with people making him aegyo and meow

"Hey Wonnie?"

"Yes, Y/n?"

"Can you meow for me?"

Jungwon sits in silence for the rest of the call, arms crossed, and giving you a blank look.

When he sees you after, he continues to give the silent treatment until you offer to scratch his back

"Y/n, please don't ever do that again.."

Heeseung

ALSO doesn't realize right away

you both just kinda sit there like "😐"

then Heeseung goes "😮"

"Y/n! I didn't know you won a fan call! Why didn't you tell me?"

pretends to sulk, but is refreshed seeing you between all the other calls

"Don't be mad, I just wanted to surprise you!" You watch Heeseung start to laugh a little

"Well it worked! I love seeing all of ENGENE, but this is refreshing.. And this chair is really uncomfortable.."

"Well it's not like I'm a random ENGENE, stretch your legs while you can, Hee."

Immediately gets up and starts to stretch.

"See, this is why I love you so much Y/n."

You laugh as you see only his legs in view

He sits back down with a grin

"I'll see you later Y/n, thanks for letting me take a little break."

Jay

realizes its you and plans to tease you

"Oh my god." Jay says with a slight smile

"Surprise!" You let out little jazz hands

Pretends to not care, but secretly has butterflies

"Yeah yeah, whatever... How do I skip you?" Jay pretends to signal staff over

"Hey! Don't you dare! I won this fair and square!"

Jay laughs and blows into the mic

"Hey I thi- pshhhhhhhh this call is- psshhhhhhhh breaking up"

"You're so annoying, Jay. Im an ENGENE too you know, where's my dedicated three minutes?"

Jay laughs and settles in his chair, "Fine, I guess you're right, what do you want to talk about?"

"Actually I'm glad you asked, do you remember where I put my-"

"Hate to cut you off sweetheart, but times up." Jay laughs and sends an air kiss.

"That.. Brat!" You scowl, but end up only being able to laugh about it.

You jokingly complain about it when Jay sees you later that night

"Y/n, how about I go get you some snacks? Will that make you feel better?"

You nod, because how can that not help?

Jake

Immediately perks up. "Y/n?!"

You play dumb.. "Uh.. No that's not my name."

Jake looks confused for a second before doubling down. "Y/n, I know it's you. I literally see your posters in the back."

"Crap.." You mutter under your breath, letting out a nervous smile.

"Y/n, I didn't know you won a fan call? Were you trying to prank me? Next time I'll pretend to fall for it!"

Your heart swells, Jakes just too cute.

"Aaaghh, you make it really hard to stay in character you know. I had a whole plan set up."

Jake laughs, "Here, let's pretend like I did fall for it. Go on, do your prank."

You nod and show Jake a crude, not very well drawn photo of him. "I made this for you, cause you're my bias, Jake oppa!" You did a cringey aegyo after

"Never mind, please never do that again Y/n."

you head over to Jakes dorm, having a better prank in mind

You wait on his bed and run into his closet when you hear the boys get home.

"What the hell is this? Y/n?"

You pop out of the closet, seeing Jake staring at the fake body you made with pillows, only for the face to be your drawing

"PRANKED!!"

Sunghoon

pretends like he doesn't realize

"Hel- Oh wow. Usually I'm not supposed to say this, but you're the most attractive person I've ever seen.."

You do a mental facepalm

"Sunghoon, it's me, Y/n."

"Y/n? That's a beautiful name.. Here, let me write down my number and text me after this."

Sunghoon scribbles down his number and puts it up to the camera

"Stop playing dumb, hoonie! I was supposed to surprise you!"

"Ahh, playing hard to get? That's okay Y/n, I'm more than happy to fight for it."

"Hoon, why don't you ever flirt with me like this when we're together?"

"If I knew you, I definitely would Y/n."

Wait for him to finish his fancalls, then call him

"Oh hey babe, I saw the most beautiful ENGENE during the fan calls today..."

"Sunghoon, I swear to god I'm gonna kill you."

Sunoo

Immediately decomposes himself and lays on the table

"Y/n... its brutal out here..."

You let out a little chuckle, "What happened this time, Sun?"

Sunoo peeks up. "I have to pee, it's too hot in this room, my hair isn't cooperating, and we still have a bunch of fan calls left to do... I don't know if I can make it."

"Do it for ENGENE Sun, lots of them are looking forward to this.

Sunoo sits back up and nods.

"You're right Y/n, and they're all so nice! One of them showed me this picture they drew.. It looked exactly like me, just more handsome!"

You smile, letting Sunoo talk about all the ENGENE he met today.

"You feel better, Sun?"

"Yes, just what I needed."

A hour later Sunoo sends you a text.

"Thanks for the pick me up Y/n! I picked up some ice cream and I'm on my way over : )"

Ni-Ki

Notices its you before you even realize the call connected

Ni-Ki lets out a fake sigh. "Oh great.. It's you."

You cross your arms, used to Ni-Ki's teasing by now. "And what is that supposed to mean, Riki?"

He grins and sits back. "All I'm saying is you already take up my free time, you should share some with ENGENE."

You scoff and act hurt. "I'll have you know I won this spot buying albums. Actually- buying ENGENE versions trying to get YOURS Riki."

Ni-Ki shoots his hands up in defense. "I offered to give you one, don't pin this on me!"

You roll your eyes playfully. "If you gave me one it wouldn't count towards Billboard! I was being a supportive partner!"

Ni-Ki laughs, admitting defeat. "Alright you got me, but only because we don't have much time."

"Sounds like an excuse, but I'll take my win."

"Good decision Y/n, you don't win often!" Ni-Ki laughs

"Oh you're so dead when you get home."

You wait in Riki's dorm room, hearing his steps grow closer

You jump on him as he walks in

"Ack- What the- Y/n?"

"I told you earlier! Your dead meat Riki!"

[reidyourpalms]

drunk in love

summary -> george embraces part of the american culture at the superbowl | george clarke x fem!reader

WC -> 1.1k

WARNINGS - not exactly accurate about the trip to the sb, mentions of alcohol/drinking/being drunk, may not be accurate about america

masterlist | main masterlist

this was probably the most exciting brand trip you had ever been on, all the way to America to watch the super bowl. life definitely felt like it had peaked - especially because you were with some of your closest friends you had made since entering the youtube scene. there was something about it: the lights, the chaos, the unnecessary amount of fireworks every five minutes, the overpriced nachos, and the unmistakable buzz of americans shouting every time a ball reached the hands of jalen hurts. it was magical.

you still had no idea how you ended up in a vip suite, let alone one sponsored by some brand you had barely worked with - something to do with fizzy vitamin drinks, or maybe hair oil. you weren’t really sure. but you weren’t complaining. not when you were sat next to the one and only george clarke, who had, for reasons unknown, decided that this trip was his moment to become a full-blown cowboy.

yes. a literal cowboy. the hat had appeared sometime between landing at jfk airport and arriving in the legendary vegas. one moment he was a regular guy with a duffle bag and mild plane hair, and the next he was tipping a dusty, too large stetson over his eyes and calling people “partner.” you thought he was joking at first. surely, he was joking.

he was not joking.

you weren’t sure what had happened to him but, something had switched the moment you landed in the states. maybe it was the jet lag. maybe it was the endless mimosas at brunch. or maybe - and this was your running theory - george had simply watched too many old westerns on the plane and had decided that now was his time to shine. cowboy-core was alive and well, and george was its very loud, very british ambassador.

by halftime, george was very drunk, far further gone than he was when he adapted his cowboy role. “did you see that?” he yelled excitedly, leaning dramatically across you and knocking over a plastic cup full of something pink and sticky. “he threw the thing! the sport thing!”

“yes, george,” you said patiently, dabbing at your jeans with a napkin. “that’s kind of the whole point.” he didn’t hear you. or maybe he did and chose to ignore you, which was increasingly likely. instead, he was now standing up in the suite, cowboy hat askew, attempting to start a slow clap that absolutely nobody joined in on. not even the americans.

“he’s going to fall,” max muttered, sipping his drink like this was a nature documentary and george was a very confused squirrel. you couldn’t stop laughing. you should have been embarrassed - he was drawing attention, and not the cool, influencer-kind. but something about it was endearing. he wasn’t trying to be cool. he was just… george. weird, loud, full of terrible ideas, and apparently trying to learn how to line dance in the middle of the super bowl.

but the real kicker? the thing that made it all completely unhinged? he was doing it for you.

at some point - maybe during the second round of tequila shots or maybe during that really weird conversation about whether american cows had accents - george had decided he was in love with you. well, that might be a bit strong. but the boy had a huge crush, and drunk george had no intention of hiding it.

he tipped his hat down dramatically as you laughed at one of his comically bad jokes. “m’lady,” he said, completely serious.

you choked on your drink. “you did not just m’lady me.” he stared at you, deadly solemn. “reckon i did.”

“oh my god.”

max, now filming him with the glee of someone who knew this was going straight to his instagram story, shouted, “do it again, george!”

george, always one to commit to the bit, turned on his heel like he was starring in his own cowboy rom-com. he swayed slightly, steadied himself by grabbing the back of a bar stool, then swaggered back toward you with all the confidence of someone who had never once been rejected.

“you,” he said, eyes a bit unfocused, “are prettier than a sunset over the great plains.”

“george, you’ve never even been to the great plains.”

“still counts, i know they’re great.” he did the hat thing again.

“m’lady.” you buried your face in your hands, trying not to laugh too hard. “you’re absolutely insufferable.”

he looked delighted. “that’s a yes then?”

“to what?!”

“marriage. probably.” you stared at him. he stared back, eyes wide, the hat now somehow even more crooked than before. it was absurd. he was absurd. but damn if it wasn’t kind of charming.

“i’m not marrying someone who thinks beer pong is a real sport,” you said, crossing your arms. “i beat Max at beer pong,” george said indignantly, turning to your friend for backup. max raised a brow, “you fell into the table and then threw up in a plant.”

“details,” george muttered. then, without missing a beat, turned back to you with a smile that was - god help you - genuinely cute, “still counts.”

it was after the halftime show, when the lights dimmed and everyone settled down slightly, that george found himself next to you again. this time quieter, sleepier. he had ditched the line dancing, finally sat down, and was now leaning his head against your shoulder like a very affectionate golden retriever in a hat. “i really like you,” he mumbled, almost inaudible over the noise. you looked over at him, unsure if he meant to say that aloud. he looked up at you, eyes fully sincere, even through the drunken haze.

“i’m not just messing,” he added, a little softer as if he could read your mind. “I mean it.”

the cowboy stuff, the dramatic tipping of the hat, the weird compliments - it was all part of the george clarke charm. but this bit, this honesty? it caught you off guard. “i like you too,” you said quietly.

he blinked slowly, “yeah?” you nodded in response, “even when you’re dressed like you just walked out of a spaghetti western.”

he laughed, leaning back with a grin that reached all the way to his cheeks, “i knew it. the hat’s working.” you rolled your eye, “let’s not push it.”

later that night, when the game had ended, the confetti had rained down, and you were all being herded out of the stadium like drunken cattle, george reached for your hand. not in a big, dramatic, rom-com moment kind of way. just quietly, softly.

“next super bowl,” he said, slurring just slightly, “we go as a couple.” you squeezed his hand lightly, “only if you promise not to say ‘m’lady’ again.”

he tipped the hat down, “no promises, darlin’.”

i’m back after a shit ton of revision. british yt boys have my heart ig!

requests are open <3

[noellehdl]

misery business - paramore

pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!Reader

warnings: dark themes, angsty/fluffy, Cat's mind games

summary: 'i watched his wildest dreams come true not one of them involving you' and it's true, you watched Spencer's wildest dream come true and not a single one involves the ghost that haunted his dreams for the longest time.. Cat Adams.

a/n: this is completely based on my personal beef with Cat and the fact that i absolutely love her character and how she is the red line in Spencer's life, reader pov, post prison reid, obviously

the song

w/c: 1137

'she got an body like an hourglass it's ticking like a clock'

When Emily first called you to get her colleague and good friend Spencer out of prison because he was wrongfully arrested and accused of murder and drug dealing you thought it was a twisted joke. At that point you never imagined that the chaotic cause of all of this was a pretty girl with a miserable background. All of you, the whole team, every single one and also you believed that Scratch was behind all of this, until it weas up to you to find the proofs that it was Cat and her girlfriend all along.

'i waited eight long months, she finally set him free'

She loved Spencer, in her twisted, sick way i had trouble understanding. She loved him in ways i couldn't even imagine if i really tried. Still the second he got out of prison and interrogated her, he snaped, and that was the second i started to understand what she saw when she looked at him, the darkness around him like an unsolveable riddle.

'i told him I couldn't lie, he was the only one for me two weeks and we had caught on fire'

While everyone told me how cold Spencer got after prison, he thanked me for getting him out of jail, with flower bouqets, a dinner, and that led us right here, i'm curled up in a self crochet blanket, the one that Garcia made us as a wedding gift. My upper body hugged by one of Spencer's washed out CalTech shirts, our adopted shelter cat Newton demanding attention with soft meows. Spencer sits on the other end of our couch, his large fingers drawing soft patterns on my calve while my feet rest in his lap. His other hand is tracing the printed words of the worn out book he's reading.

'but God, does it feel so good cause I got him where I want him now'

The weather outside is grey and it's the perfect day for cozy couch days. It smells a bit like fresh autumn rain and the green tea Spencer is making in the kitchen when my phone rings in my office. I place Newton next to me, and get in my office, it's chaotic, papers and files laying around, notes everywhere, it smells llike cold coffee and stress whenever i come in here. I answer the call. 'Hello, here's Mrs. Reid, how can i help you?'

'second chances they don't ever matter, people never change'

The voice on the other line is clinical and strictly professional, telling me Cat wants to see me again, she has information regarding Doctor Reid that are interesting for me, according to her.

'well, there's a million other girls who do it just like you Looking as innocent as possible to get to who'

The temperature of the already cold interrogation room drops lower than zero when my eyes met Cat's. 'Hello Kitty Cat, what's the matter?' i say dryly, i played her games for longer than i ever imagined playing anything, not even a good chess party with Spencer.

'But God, does it feel so good 'Cause I got him where I want him right now'

'A ring i see..' her voice is warm but still so calculated i can feel the faint hairs in my neck react to her tone, '.. i take it as a personal offense that i didn't get an invitation.' i almost laugh out loud at her words. 'I'm not here for your twisted games or belated wedding congratulations, tell me what you want.'

'And if you could, then you know you would 'Cause God, it just feels so'

'do you really think he loves you?' she barks in my direction. 'No princess, he's just thankful you got him out of prison, there is no love, he thinks he owes you something.' I swallow the bitter taste on my tongue down. 'You're just jealous he wanted me and not you and if you have no neccessary informations for me, i'll leave you and your demons alone in isolation again.' I get up and grab my things again ignoring the way she calls me replacable and irrelevant in his life, as if she knows anything about me or Spencer. I turn aound on my heels on the cold grey floor. 'And Cat? i watched his wildest dreams come true, not one of them involving you.'

It still leads me back on my couch, looking for Spencer's eyes halfway across the room. His sweet warm brown eyes look up at me, 'Baby what's going on in your pretty mind?' he asks sweet like his tongue is covered in honey. My mind wrestles back and forth with telling him that i saw Cat and not putting more trouble on his comfortable shoulders. I still breath out a bit shaky but steady enough to not worry him further. 'Cat got in my head again for nothing.'

His beautiful face immediatly darkens, his smile falls and the softness in his eyes vanished like it never even existed in the first place, like every time Cat gets mentioned in whatever context it takes.

His sweet voice from seconds ago suddenly feels like a well kept memory and nothing like the presence. 'Cat? You've seen her again? Without asking me first?' with every question his voice raisesand i shrink more and more. 'Don't you think i have a right to know where my fucking wife is?' That's my undoing, i tear up, my cheeks heat up and Spencer immediatly drops on his knees infront of me on he couch. His cold hands brush softly over my slightly red cheeks. 'Baby, hey baby, i'm sorry, i didn't mean to yell at you, shhh'

We end up breathing in sync while i explain my poor baffled husband what the modern personification of a Siren told me when i was in prison. Spencer takes a deep breath and by the way his hands occasionally flex on my knees i can tell he's trying not to snap, even if i know his anger isn't directed towards me.

'Princess, she's wrong. i didn't marry you because i thought i owe you anything. I married you because you were my light in the darkest times of my life.' I felt silent tears run down my cheeks again, this time not because he yelled, but because his words trigger a warm cozy feeling in my chest, little butterflies terrorizing my stomach.

I cup his now softned face in my hands and press my lips against his. A known feeling which still makes me sometimes really flustred, like now. This time will be one of many times that remind me why i married Spencer Reid. He is my safe haven and we can realize all dreams together.

[padawan-snack-packer]

[My Homework Turned Into a Clone Feelings Spiral: "Where the Caf Is Always Hot and the War Is Over"]

(Aka me losing my sh!t over blueprints of houses and imagining the Clones designing their homes.)

I’m studying interior design. It’s what I love. Textures, space planning, the way light hits a room at different times of day—I could talk about it for hours.

Today I was working on a project. Residential layouts. I was designing living spaces—bedrooms, kitchens, a reading nook with big windows and warm-toned flooring. I was thinking about comfort. About home.

And then out of nowhere—I thought about the clones.

Like. Not even trying to. I was just sketching out a living room and suddenly I was knee-deep in “What kind of house would Rex want?” What would his walls look like? Would Fives want a window seat? Would Cody pick copper fixtures or matte black?

And then it just… spiraled. Because the truth hit me, fast and hard and ugly:

They never got a home. Not really. Not like this. Not a soft, lived-in space that smelled like caf and laundry detergent instead of ozone and medbay. Not a kitchen where they burned toast and laughed about it. Not a hallway lined with pictures. Not somewhere they could say, with their whole chest, “This is mine.” And today, while working on a homework assignment about warm, livable spaces... I just cried. Because I realized I want to build homes for people who never got the chance to dream about them.

People like the clones. People like Rex. Cody. Echo. Wolffe. Jesse. Fives. All of them.

So I made this. Not because I had to. But because I had to. Because somewhere in another galaxy, maybe they’re sitting in those rooms I dreamed up— Feet on the table, coffee in hand, windows wide open— And saying:

"This? This is home."

Those are rambles, you do not have to read them at all, I just wanted them out besties X'D

The clones never had a home. But maybe, maybe… they dreamed of one.

The War Tent Conversations™

You KNOW they talked about it. Not often. Not loud. But during long nights in war tents, huddled under tarp during storms, passing ration bars and swapping stories...

Someone whispers: “If you could live anywhere after the war... where would you go?”

And suddenly it’s quiet. Like the air’s holding its breath. And then the stories start. Not big. Not flashy. But specific.

Rex wants a place with creaky floors and a soft bed.

He’s used to sleeping on permacrete and ships that hum all night. But in his dream house, it’s quiet. He can hear wind through a cracked window. The click of an old kettle. The rustle of a blanket that doesn’t smell like plastoid.

There’s a bookshelf. He doesn’t know what’s on it yet. Just knows he wants one. "Something with... books and framed photos. Might be nice.”

He doesn’t say it, but he dreams of family photos. The ones they never got to take.

Cody wants a kitchen. A big one.

He has no idea how to cook. But he wants to learn. "Seems like a useful skill,” he mumbles. But what he means is: “I want to feed the people I love. I want to make them laugh while stirring soup. I want to be... normal.”

He wants a round table. No sharp corners. No tactical edges. Just something soft. Human.

He wants to wake up without an alarm. Wants to sit. For once in his life, he wants to just sit and not calculate the exit route or enemy angles.

Waxer and Boil dream about a house with a backyard.

Big enough for kids to play. They don’t even say “Numa.” They don’t have to.

There’s a little garden. A bench. A tree. They carve initials into it. Not their own. Names they want to remember.

Waxer wants a porch swing. Boil says that’s “too domestic,” but secretly draws it in his journal later.

They argue about paint colors. But you know they’d end up with matching mugs and a shared dog and an ugly couch they pretend to hate but secretly love.

Fives wants windows.

Big ones. Everywhere. He grew up in the sterile white of Kamino. He wants light. Sunbeams on hardwood. Shadows on his face. He wants to lie on the floor at 3pm and feel the warmth seep into his skin and just exist.

Maybe he wants a rooftop. So he can sit under stars he isn’t chasing in battle. Maybe he just wants to know he can sleep there again tomorrow.

Echo wants a little house with tech built into the walls.

Not because he wants to be connected—because he wants to control it. A house that listens to him, not the other way around. A space where he chooses when the lights come on. When the door opens. When he feels safe.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he thinks about it: A safe room. A panic button. Emergency protocols. Just in case.

And then… A soft rug. A mug warmer. A real bed, with flannel sheets. He never says it. But he dreams of being tucked in.

Wolffe wants something quiet. Secluded.

Near a cliff. Maybe a lake. A place where no one expects him to talk. Where silence is not a punishment, but a gift.

The furniture’s all hand-carved. The kind that creaks with age and memory. There’s a chair no one else sits in. It’s his.

He wants space to grieve. Space to heal. And maybe—one day—he’ll put a second chair next to the first.

Tup wants a loft with a huge art wall.

He doesn’t care if it’s messy. He wants it messy. He’ll hang half-finished sketches and smudged paintboards and postcards he’ll never send.

He says he wants a house where he can leave a mess and no one will come clean it up. Where he can walk into the kitchen with paint on his hands and no one yells about protocols. Where the art stays. Because he stays.

Hardcase wants a houseboat.

Because of course he does.

He wants to fall asleep with waves rocking the walls. Wants music playing all the time. Wants beaded curtains and loud wallpaper and mismatched chairs that all have names.

He wants it weird. He wants it his. And if anyone says it’s “too much,” he’ll just say: “Then get your own boat, brother.”

Jesse wants a balcony.

So he can feel the sun. So he can sit with someone else. Maybe not talk. Maybe just watch.

He wants something simple. A couch. A soft blanket. A place to be held. Because he spent his whole life holding others. And maybe now it’s his turn.

I'm literally at my desk, pen in hand, sketches in front of me. And my hands are shaking. Because I'm there—I'm designing/writing homes for ghosts. Filling little imaginary rooms with love, and music, and memories they never got to have. And I wish they could see it. I wish they could be there. I wish they lived.

So yeah. My homework is stained with tears now. But that’s okay. Because somewhere in the Force… The clones are sitting in their living rooms, with caf in hand, looking out windows they chose, And whispering:

“We made it.”

.

..

...

WELL BACK TO IT I GUESS?????? (Rex is getting throw pillows whether he likes it or not.)

[akairawrites]

When the silence breaks | Damian Wayne x Reader

At Gotham Academy, no one asks too many questions—especially when your past is too heavy to carry out loud. Y/n L/n is no exception. The daughter of a once-feared mob figure, she hides behind sharp eyes and graphite sketches, trying to stay invisible while the weight of her childhood still claws at her spine. When a school project unexpectedly pairs her with Damian Wayne, the two begin to orbit each other in quiet, careful steps.

Previous | Next

The dining room was exactly what Y/n imagined it would be—long table, heavy drapes, a chandelier that looked like it hadn’t been touched since the 1800s. But somehow, it wasn’t stiff or cold. Maybe it was the way the lights were dimmed just enough. Or maybe it was the fact that only one end of the table was set—two places, close together. Intimate.

Alfred stood at the sideboard, placing the last covered dish onto a silver tray. “I hope you don’t mind something simple tonight, Miss L/n. Master Damian insisted you liked grilled vegetables.”

Y/n blinked. “I—what?”

Damian was already pulling out his chair. “You ordered it three times last month when the academy brought in food trucks.”

She sat slowly, watching him as she lowered herself into the seat. “You pay that much attention to what I eat?”

“I pay attention to everything,” he said plainly.

Alfred coughed into his hand. “He means that in the least unsettling way possible, of course.”

Y/n actually laughed. “Good to know.”

Dinner was… quiet, but not awkward. The food was simple, like Alfred had said—roasted vegetables, warm bread, lemon rice, and grilled eggplant topped with just enough seasoning to make it feel like a secret family recipe.

“Okay,” Y/n said after a few bites. “This is better than the dining hall.”

Alfred gave a small bow. “I do my best.”

There was a pause. Y/n looked over at Damian, who was eating methodically, like it was a checklist.

“You always eat here alone?”

“Most of the time.”

“No giant dinners with Bruce and the whole Wayne family?”

His expression didn’t change. “They’re not all around much anymore.”

Y/n nodded, sensing something behind the words but not pushing. Instead, she looked around the room. The walls were lined with oil paintings—nothing too extravagant, but definitely old. Familiar. Warm in that untouchable kind of way.

“Do you ever draw?” she asked.

Damian hesitated, then shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then: “I used to be good at it. But it stopped feeling like mine.”

Y/n met his eyes. “That’s the worst feeling.”

Something passed between them then—quiet understanding. Not pity. Not sympathy. Just recognition.

Alfred returned with tea and something that resembled spiced shortbread.

Y/n took a sip, letting the warmth settle. “This place… it’s quieter than I thought it’d be.”

Damian gave a small nod. “It’s easier to think here.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “Do you ever get lonely?”

He didn’t flinch. “Not often.”

That made her smile. “You really are something else.”

“I��ve been told.”

They sat in silence for a moment longer. Then Ivy leaned back in her chair, her eyes still on him.

“You’re not what I expected.”

“Neither are you,” Damian replied, voice soft. “But I think that’s the point.”

They wandered slowly after dinner, the manor dim and echoing with the creak of aged floorboards beneath their steps. Damian walked beside her, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed for the first time all day. Y/n followed, gaze shifting from portraits to old suits of armor, to bookshelves lined with titles in languages she couldn’t read.

“Okay,” she said, pausing by a tall stained glass window. “This place is either haunted or enchanted. There’s no in-between.”

Damian glanced at her, expression unreadable. “I’d say both.”

She smirked. “Not comforting.”

He led her through a small gallery tucked between wings—a long corridor filled with black-and-white photos, most of them of the Wayne family over the years. Bruce as a boy, young Alfred in uniform, Thomas and Martha Wayne standing in front of an old car.

Y/n slowed, her eyes landing on a photo near the end. It was small. Framed in silver. Damian as a child—maybe five or six—standing stiffly beside Bruce in a training yard. He looked… angry. Tense. Like he didn’t know what to do with the softness in the way Bruce’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“I’ve never seen this one,” she said quietly.

“It’s not for show,” he replied. “Not many people come up here.”

She glanced at him. “So why bring me?”

He didn’t answer at first. Then, simply: “You listen.”

Y/n took that in for a moment. No sarcasm. No bravado. Just quiet honesty.

She looked out a nearby window. The sky was almost completely dark now, the horizon a thin wash of deep blue over the distant glow of Gotham.

Her voice came gentle. “I should go. My mom’ll worry.”

Damian nodded. “The car’s waiting.”

They walked back in silence, the hush of the manor following them like a shadow. At the front steps, the limo idled under soft exterior lights. Alfred stood nearby, offering Y/n a small nod and a paper bag.

“For the road,” he said with a faint smile. “There’s more shortbread in there than anyone could reasonably eat in one night, but I trust you’ll manage.”

She grinned. “Thank you. Seriously.”

Alfred’s eyes flicked to Damian, then back to her, something knowing in his glance. “Anytime, Miss Y/n.”

Damian walked her to the car himself, stopping just short of the open door. For a second, he didn’t say anything. The cold crept in through his sleeves.

“Come back tomorrow.”

Y/n looked up at him. “To finish the project?”

He nodded once. “And maybe something else.”

She tilted her head. “Are you asking me to hang out?”

His lips curved ever so slightly. “Don’t push it.”

Y/n laughed under her breath and stepped into the car, settling into the seat with the paper bag in her lap.

Before the door shut, she looked up at him one last time.

“I’ll come back.”

Then she was gone, the car disappearing into the dark curve of the road.

Damian stood there for a moment, the lights from the manor flickering behind him, watching until the car disappeared.

And then—quietly—he turned and walked back inside.

The heavy front door shut behind her with a quiet click, the moment Y/n stepped inside, the silence of the manor slipped off her shoulders like a coat—and what was left was the stale quiet of this house. She tossed her keys in the bowl near the door, still holding the crinkled paper bag Alfred had packed for her.

The house was dim except for the soft overhead light spilling from the kitchen. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and lemon cleaner—like someone had tried too hard to make it feel like home.

“Y/n?” her mother’s voice called from down the hall. A moment later, she appeared in the doorway. Hair tied up. Slippers. Eyes tired but alert.

“Where have you been?” she asked, her tone sharper than it needed to be.

Y/n stiffened. “Working on a project. School.”

“At this hour?”

“I lost track of time,” she said quickly, already starting past her.

“Was it with that boy?” her mother asked, following her into the hallway.

Y/n turned slowly. “His name is Damian.”

Her mother crossed her arms. “And you were at his house?”

A beat passed.

Her mother stepped closer, lips pressed together. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Y/n didn’t answer—just raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Her mother swallowed. “Your father… he’s been asking to see you.”

Silence fell between them, immediate and heavy.

Y/n stood still for a moment. Then laughed once—quiet, cold. “You’re kidding.”

“He wrote again last week,” her mother continued, voice trembling at the edges. “Said he’s been trying to reach you. Through the lawyer. Through the warden. He wants to talk.”

“No,” Y/n said flatly.

“You don’t have to say anything now—”

“I’m not saying anything ever,” she cut in. Her voice didn’t rise, but it was steel. “He doesn’t get to ask for me.”

“He’s still your father—”

“No,” Y/n said again, louder this time. “He’s a man who tried to break me into something I never asked to be. And you—” she stopped, jaw clenched, forcing her voice to lower. “You watched it happen.”

Her mother’s eyes shone. “I was scared.”

“I was a child.”

The words hit hard, echoing in the quiet foyer.

Her mother wrapped her arms around herself like it was the only thing keeping her upright. “I thought… maybe it would help. Closure. Answers. I thought maybe you’d want to look him in the eye and tell him what he did to you.”

Y/n’s voice cracked, low and sharp. “I already know what he did.”

Another beat. Y/n looked down at her own hands—ink smudged, knuckles tight.

“I went years without him touching my face with anything but the back of his hand,” she whispered. “You want me to sit across a table and give him closure?”

“I want you to take back your power,” her mother said softly.

Y/n’s eyes met hers, and for once—just a second—there was something raw there. Tired. Unforgiving.

“I already did,” she murmured. “I left him behind. You should’ve done the same.”

Then, quieter, as she turned for the stairs:

“I have school tomorrow.”

Her mother didn’t stop her this time.

And when Y/n’s bedroom door closed upstairs, it didn’t slam.

But it felt like it had.

The sky over Gotham was overcast, clouds hanging low and heavy like they hadn’t made up their mind about rain yet. The school grounds buzzed with the usual half-awake chaos—students rushing in, voices rising and falling, the occasional drone of a late bell overhead.

Y/n stepped out of the car Alfred had sent. She hadn’t asked him to—but it was waiting again, same as yesterday. No driver in sight. Just a silent gesture of you’re not doing this alone.

She pulled her coat tighter around her and headed toward the main entrance. Her sketchbook, a little more worn around the corners now, was tucked under one arm. She hadn’t drawn anything since last night.

Not after that conversation.

“Morning,” came a voice from the steps.

Damian leaned against the stone railing near the school’s main doors, as if he’d been there a while. He was wearing the same uniform as everyone else, but it somehow looked sharper on him—less like a dress code and more like armor.

Y/n stopped beside him. “How early did you get here?”

“I don’t sleep much.”

She gave him a look. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“It’s supposed to be honest.”

She smiled—barely—but it was real. “Thanks for the ride.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stood there for a moment in comfortable silence, students streaming past them like they weren’t even there. Damian watched her closely, like he could see last night etched into her face.

“You didn’t draw,” he said quietly.

Y/n blinked. “How would you know?”

He tapped the edge of her sketchbook. “The corner’s still folded the same way as yesterday.”

Her chest tightened—not at his observation, but at the way he said it. Like it mattered.

“I wasn’t in the mood,” she said, voice quiet.

He nodded once. “You don’t have to be. Just don’t stop.”

The bell rang again—sharper this time. They didn’t move.

After a beat, Y/n said, “Let’s go before we get caught loitering again.”

They walked inside side by side, shoulders brushing once in the crowded hall.

The hallway hummed with lockers slamming shut, the low murmur of early gossip, sneakers squeaking against the tile floors. Ivy walked just a half step behind Damian, sketchbook pressed to her chest. Her eyes were still a little distant—yesterday lingered in her like a shadow that refused to lift.

“Y/n.”

The voice cut through the noise, too familiar.

She turned toward it just as Max stepped out from a cluster of students by the lockers. He had that easy, lopsided smile that always looked like he was either flirting or trying to win an argument before it started.

“I didn’t see you yesterday,” he said, walking up.

Y/n opened her mouth to respond, but before she could his eyes flicked to Damian.

Something shifted. Not obvious—just a flicker behind Max’s expression. That subtle tightening around the jaw, the way his hand flexed slightly at his side. He didn’t look directly at Damian, not at first.

Damian didn’t even blink.

“She was with me,” he said simply. Calm. Completely unbothered.

Max’s gaze snapped to him now, tone edging cooler. “Right. The new guy.”

Damian’s eyes were steady. “You’re very observant.”

Max looked back at Y/n. “So… was it a date, or?”

Y/n raised a brow, unimpressed. “It was a school project.”

“That took all day?”

“It’s a big project,” Damian said flatly, his tone giving nothing. “You might’ve heard of it if you spent more time in class.”

Max let out a breath of a laugh, but it was thin. “Right. Well, I’ll see you later, okay?”

Y/n didn’t answer. She just gave a tight nod and turned to keep walking, Damian naturally falling into step beside her.

Once they were out of earshot, Y/n exhaled. “He’s… persistent.”

“He’s irritating,” Damian corrected.

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

He gave her a sidelong look. “Should I be?”

She smiled, amused despite herself. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

They reached the classroom doors a few moments later, the buzz of the hallway dimming behind them. Inside, the other students were already gathering supplies for the assignment.

Damian reached for the handle, then paused.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now.

Y/n hesitated. Then nodded. “Getting there.”

And with that, he opened the door and held it for her like it wasn’t a big deal.

But somehow, it was.

The classroom was quiet, the usual hum of voices dulled by focused work. Pairs of students sat at their stations with scattered materials between them—paint jars, graphite sticks, tablets, notes. Morning light filtered in through tall windows, casting wide amber streaks across the worn wood floor.

At the back of the room, Y/n sat hunched slightly over her sketchbook, one leg curled under her on the stool. Her pencil moved steadily, looping through strokes and lines—but Damian noticed it first: the way her grip tightened, the way she paused between lines just a second too long.

She was drawing, but not here.

Damian set down the drafting pen he’d been using and watched her. Quietly. Without pressure.

“Y/n,” he said, voice low enough to stay between them. “You’re somewhere else.”

Her hand slowed, hovering over the paper. A pause. Then a quiet, resigned breath.

“I talked to my mom last night,” she said, not looking at him. “She told me my father wants to see me.”

Damian didn’t react right away. He just let the silence hold. Let her decide if she wanted to keep going.

Y/n’s eyes stayed on the page, on the lines she hadn’t finished yet. “She said he’s been writing. Asking. Like he deserves to ask anything of me after everything.”

“What did you say?”

She let out a dry laugh. “No, obviously. But… it still messed me up. He’s still there, you know? In the walls. In the things I can’t stop remembering.”

She finally looked up at him.

“And she just stood by. For years. Now she wants to play the part of someone who tried.”

Damian’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t know if I can forgive that. I don’t even know if I want to.”

He nodded once, steady. “You don’t owe her that. Or him. Forgiveness isn’t some moral checkbox.”

Y/n’s lips parted slightly—surprised not by the agreement, but how calm and firm it sounded from him.

“I used to think there was strength in burying things,” Damian continued, watching her. “In silence. In distance. But it just… sits inside you. Festers.”

Y/n looked down again, pencil moving faintly now, lines softer. Her voice was quieter. “So what do you do with it?”

He thought for a moment. Then said, “You let it teach you how not to become them.”

That hit her harder than she expected. She blinked, the sting behind her eyes sudden but familiar.

A moment passed, the quiet stretching between them again—but this time, it felt… easier.

Damian leaned forward slightly, his voice low but certain. “You’re not her. You’re not him. And if it means anything—I see you, Y/n. Not the version they tried to carve out of you.”

Her breath caught just a little. Then she looked back at him and smiled—soft, tired, real.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

They returned to the project—side by side, the silence now full of something else entirely.

This will be the last chapter of this story that i will be posting on tumblr if you want to read the whole thing it will be on Wattpad the next part is already up.

(My user is the same)

Taglist

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Add yourself to my taglist here

[jasontoddscrowbars]

Part 28 of making a list, checking it twice? Hoe, hoe, hoe!

Jason, chewed on some dots as he flipped through a magazine. Noticed Tim nose deep in writing in a journal on a lap desk.

Jason: watchu got there babe?

Tim tucked it in tight into his chest away from Jason hiding it. Of course this only garnered suspicion. Jason slowly nodded but continued to flip through his magazine. The other two stared as they sat across from them on their phones.

Damian already had the timer on his phone open. Had pressed it the moment Jason had nodded. Jason flipped another page. It was obvious he wasn’t reading. Another page.

Then he leapt up, the magazine and his dots flying. As he flew for Tim, Tim had tossed the book across the floor and picked up the lap desk swinging it. The cushioned desk met Jays side knocking him over as Tim scurried to run.

Jay rebounded as he grabbed Tim’s waist, tugged down de-pantsing his husband while also tripping him so he fell face first, Tims knees never leaving the couch. Tim screeched like an owl as Jason crawled down him like the woman from the ring was coming out of the tv.

Jason: what are you hiding?

Tim: my resentment towards your small dick.

Jason: I know that’s a lie because I have a huge dick!

Tim: your brother doesn’t count! It’s small!

Jason: you weren’t screaming that last night.

Damian: good god.

Jason: what is it?

Tim: nothing! It’s nothing!

Jason had Tim on his belly now, managed to bind him up with his own sweat pants which were now off. Jason rose, Dick and Damian staring at his white briefs.

Damian: who puts their name on the front of their underwear.

Dick, muttering: I do.

Damian, avoiding him: that explains a lot.

Jason was now in front of the journal, reaching for it.

Tim: Jason!

Jason paused, saw Tim’s wet eyes and rosy cheeks. His limp body as it’s hogtied.

Tim: you promised me. That you’d never invade my privacy and trust me.

You promised.

Jason stared at him. Felt an internal crises as he weighed it over, his head swinging side to side as he groaned.

Jason: dammit.

He stood straight, began to head to Tim. Then… turned around and dove for the journal like he was heading for first base. As Tim slowly rose, the sweats in hands because he’s a boss ass bitch and can’t be contained (by his husbands gross ass sweats that haven’t been washed in a week most of all) Damian stopped the watch.

Jason, in hysterics as he’s reading it, oblivious to his incoming end: villains you had fucked!

Tim stopped an inch from behind him. Jason froze as he lifted his head up straight and stared forward. He scoffed a laugh as he welcomed his end.

Jason: it was a trap. He trapped me. He was testing my loyalty.

As he was dragged down to the ground like a rabbit being thrashed by a wolverine, Damian shook his head.

Damian: wow. He lasted a whole two minutes this time.

Dick: if only he’d realized it wasn’t entirely a trap.

Jason, popping his head up: what? Wasn’t entirely a trap? *struggle* Everything about it was! He had- ack, ow- that planned to a T. Wheeze, He even knew the journal would get my… wait, you really fucked those men!

Damian, curiously: who?

So the time between me posting these is going to be longer cus I’m going to be adding drawings to some of them.

Also! If you have ideas for these posts, comment on this one!

It can be funny, crazy, off the racket shit. Or serious if it’s good. There are mild limits to what I write. But, remember that it’s:

Tim x jay

Bruce x Clark

Dami x Jon

And dick x Kon

Though I’m willing to do au one shots and all if it’s good enough.

[seokminfilm]

This idea has been floating in my mind for these few days and who else to request to instead of the best (you)

SO

What if.. The oc broke her hand (Harsh ik 😔) How would svt help her with her daily tasks and WHAT exactly

Love ur work a lot!! <3

this is actually such a cute idea so strap in! i'm gonna put it in the ask for you 💗

seventeen and a s/o with a broken hand

(warnings: none! hint of angst in seokmin's but that's it)

seungcheol as the protective one

seungcheol would be the one to tell you (force you, in all honesty) not to move a muscle, so much so you'd have to remind him that your wrist was broken, not your whole body. of course, seungcheol feels like he has to take care of you in any and every situation, and it applies to breaking your hand, too. he's running any errands you're asking him to (or aren't even asking), and will not let you move an inch. i think seungcheol is a man of many talents and can do whatever you ask of him easily.

jeonghan as the lighthearted one

jeonghan will laugh at you if you stupidly broke your hand, without hesitation. he does it to lighten your mood, but if you get tired or annoyed by the jokes, he'll stop immediately. jeonghan's low energy himself, but he'll do anything for you while your hand is broken. he also kisses your broken hand and helps you slowly get back to moving it once you're fully healed. jeonghan likes to do the dishes and laundry for you as you sit on the couch.

joshua as the doctor-like one

joshua was the reason you found out you had a broken hand; at first, you thought it was just a bad ache, but joshua noticed your slight discomfort after a few days and told you to go get it checked out. now that he knows your hands are broken, he'll take care of you well, ensuring you have everything you need while telling you to focus on healing up. he sketches on your hand-cast, drawing flowers, stars, and rockets to help you cheer up. joshua helps you stay warm and full in bed, bringing you food and blankets when you ask.

jun as the worried one

jun is freaking out when you told him you think you broke your hand. when it was confirmed, jun actually breathed a sigh of relief before crying that evening. jun has always seen you care for him when he was hurt, but now that the roles are reversed, jun is scared he's not doing it right. jun stays by you at all times, helping you with simple tasks when you ask. he specializes in cooking your favorite dishes when you ask him.

hoshi as the soft one

hoshi is known to be a very excitable, jumpy person, but when your hand becomes broken, he's a whole different person. he's soft and slow-moving, careful around you as he helps you around the house. hoshi's never seen you in so much pain before, and even the jokes you crack don't help hoshi lighten up. he opens up to you later, telling you he just wants to do the best for you to heal. hoshi will spend his time cleaning your shared room or doing housework.

wonwoo as the attentive one

wonwoo is definitely paying attention to how you're feeling and what's going on with you when your hand's broken. he knows what to do and what not to do, and spends his time making sure you do those things needed to help you heal quicker. wonwoo is a very attentive person, watching how your face contorts at the touch of your broken hand or how you delicately try to watch how your hand is lying. he assists you in any way he can.

woozi as the serious one

when woozi finds out you broke your hand, he doesn't waste any time getting down to business. he hears the doctor's reports and asks all the questions he can before getting you home. woozi was never really one to bother you unless you asked, but you were awfully quiet, and it made him nervous, so he finds busy work to do to keep his mind off of how sad you've seemed to get. woozi goes and buys groceries, always bringing back your favorite snacks and drinks.

dokyeom as the soft one

god bless dokyeom's soul: he's so worried about you. he always knew something was off when you came home clenching your hand, but when he found out that you had broken it, his heart was shattered. how did it happen? more importantly, why wasn't he there to stop it? it makes dokyeom feel bad, knowing he couldn't be there to maybe prevent the situation, but he does his best to keep his smile for you. dokyeom gives your broken hand extra care, keeping it moisturized and massaged when it starts to ache in the cast.

mingyu as the caring one

mingyu is already whipped for you, but when you break your hand and become unable to do things for yourself, mingyu takes it upon himself to do everything for you. you find it very cute, how mingyu scrambles over himself to do simple things for you. you have to remind mingyu you can still do things yourself, and he begrudgingly allows you to, secretly watching you from afar to make sure you're okay. he likes to cook for you the most, always asking you what you want before cooking it quickly and bringing it to you.

minghao as the understanding one

minghao doesn't really know how you broke your hand, but it still hurts him to see you so reserved and stationery. minghao is a very calm person, so he helps you stay calm and relaxed during your healing period. he's doing all the errands for you, and staying close to you no matter where you are just in case you need him. he doesn't want to overwhelm you or rush you to get better, but wants to keep his eyes on you as often as possible. likes to make you tea and even reads books to you if you want him to.

seungkwan as the humble one

you love doing things for seungkwan: it's your love language. when you break your hand, though, seungkwan finally thinks it's time to repay you for all of your sweet acts. he's very soft with you the next few weeks, helping you do whatever you need him to do ALSO while encouraging you to aid yourself in getting healed faster. seungkwan is very considerate when it comes to what you want and need, and doesn't mind getting it or doing it for you. seungkwan usually helps you with dishes, also ordering food for you if you want it.

vernon as the nonchalant one

lowkey feel like vernon will take care of you as well as any other person just because he has experience breaking his own hand. he knows what's good and what makes the pain ease up, and helps you through everything you need. vernon finds it cute when you hold out your broken hand to him, asking him to kiss it (and he does, without hesitation). vernon will put on records while organizing things for you as you sit on the couch, watching him work as he keeps you in conversation.

dino as the overzealous one

dino is very dramatic when he hears that you've broken your hand; he's screaming and almost on the verge of tears, and he's not even the one with the broken hand. dino panics a lot because he's not sure if he can take care of you or watch you like you need to be watched, but tries his hardest anyway. dino is like your shadow over the next few weeks, watching you and what you do with concerned eyes. he's helping you with whatever task you need and will beg you for something to do if he feels like he's not helping.

[what-if-i-like-my-mechs-older]

(His arousal to battle plans is a slight dig to the episode triple take over)

As promised Blitzwing had spent the whole night doting on Orion and the experience had been wonderful, even now as they were spooning, their bodies were connected, gentle moments and nuzzling at the younger mechs neck.

Certainly noticing that Orion enjoyed it even just like this, a slow sensual joining, optics closed and his intake breathy.

He turned Orions head just enough so they could kiss, glossas meeting ,their careful pace built to another moment of bliss.

Blitzwing couldn't help but smile, crooning as he praised him

"Did my Prince overload again?"

The sweet whimpers of the autobot had him move just fast enough to overload in him again, starting the careful pace all over again.

Orion reached out to pull him back, for another kiss, nuzzling against him.

Every thing Blitzwing had done for him throughout the hours, was still doing, he welcomed it , despite being terrified that it would all end...that the triple changer might suddenly change his mind.

Blitzwing had an an arm around Orions waist , pressing light kisses to his finial, he didn't know what Pax had been through but he wouldn't toss him out, their bodies hummed with pleasant satisfaction that they kept indulging in.

"I got you, I'm here Orion, stay as long as you want to."

He whispered against his audio receptor, drawing small circles over his chest and sinking deeper into the warmth of the smaller form.

Orion reached up and held the hand that was on his chest and laced his fingers with it.

This was perfect. He hadn't quite expected this, but he wouldn't forget it, that was the wonderful thing about older mechs, they knew so many things, ways to bring about a harmony in you and reset it all at once.

He snuggled down into the soft berth smiling.

"I have an idea on how to get Energon...it's probably a rather weak one though...."

"You've read our mission reports, maybe it could be a refreshing one compared to all the chaos, I'm curious what would the autobot way be of getting it."

"Well....the plans have always been to get it as quickly as possible, causing destruction and....giving the autobots the moral highground...reasons to stop you....so what if you build solar panel farm that can harvest energy from the sun without destroying it....in the desert."

Blitzwing held him tighter, he didn't expect himself to actually feel a fresh new wave of desire, something more alive from affectionate to feral, but he was trying to maintain calmness, however the playful laugh that came from Orion when his hips had moved faster wasn't helping.

"Go on."

"Communicate with the humans, do a show of good faith, definitely get a lawyer....make a contract of helping with building schematics, work, it'll take some time but even if you have a few panels that'll be enough to keep heads above water and-"

Orion found himself being moved onto his back and looking up at Blitzwing who was staring down at him, hands on his wrists, sliding down his arms , over his chest, waist, hips , curling around his thighs and putting them over his hips again

"You get it, a careful plan...so what next Orion?"

He pushed back in and Pax gasped feeling it's length fully slide all the way, certainly one thing he did know he enjoyed with the Decepticons was being in bed with them, frag even Soundwave blew his processor.

"It'll give us time to build the solar panel farm, keep up good relations with humans , even if you don't like it, your main goal is home, it's for Cybertron and isn't home worth it? Even humans who despise each other will work for a greater benefit...and I can only imagine the humans want then Decepticons to leave."

The more he went on, he felt a sense of pride as Blitz was beginning to lose himself, face buried against his neck, his body jerking as Blitz took out his need on him.

Orion bit his bottom lip, optics looking up and going a little cross-eyed as Blitzwings thrusts were a slow drag back only to come back, as deep as possible, the rocking motion rubbed at his node , it was purposeful, Orion loved that the Decepticon was making sure it did so they both felt pleasure.

He wrapped all four limbs around him, purring in his ear

"And if you do everything via protocol, the honorable Optimus Prime would be in the wrong if he tried to stop you...they would be the bad GUYS!"

Orions voice came out in a cry as Blitzwing lost the ability to show mercy and went to fragging town on his valve , practically being folded in half, feet by his head.

DAMN Blitzwing had been holding back on him!

Elsewhere on the Nemesis

Skywarp had his feet on the table making a groaning sound

"Arrrrgh is Pax STILL with Blitzwing, Primus that slagger must be good."

Thundercracker shook his head and smiled

"I think dear Orion has learned the benefits of staying and aftercare, they can't still seriously be going at it."

Astrotrain who was passing by spat his drink, his laughter deep and booming

"Are you kidding me, Blitz has the energy of a turbo rabbit, no that mech is definitely still ruining Orion as we speak."

Starscream glanced at the other two in his trine and they looked at him, their single brain cell coming to one conclusion, if Orion could that much ....then maybe all three of them should take care of the Autobot.

"You said you had something you wanted to give him Skywarp , what is it?"

Star asked , finally taking off his reading glasses, because Starscream with glasses , mm damn. Yes please.

"I'm not telling you, you'll take credit for the idea if I do. Also Soundwave said Shockwave was always tone deaf, so he has to fine tune it."

"Fine, fine , keep your secrets."

The seeker pouted only to scream when he saw Soundwave standing at the door.

"You need to stop doing that! You fragging slag heap!"

"Request denied, I find it amusing to see others startled. "

"You dick."

Thundercrack roller his optics as the two mechs bantered.

Soundwave ignored Starscream’s response and set the wrapped item on the table.

"Skywarp it is ready, where is Orion?"

Skywarp leaned forward, chin in hands as his elbows rested on the table and Soundwave rested his hands on said table.

"With Blitzwing, since last night."

The seeker answered him, the tone was definitely mean girl and it got the desired response as Soundwave accidentally snapped the table corner off.

"I see, and when will he be available?"

"Primus knows, its already been seven hours."

And Skywarps smile widened as Soundwave's fist went through the table.

Previous

First

[dol-dee]

🥇Winners of "Worst Couple in Town" competition<33🥇 Foxglove (pc) belongs to @getinthefuckingcarkitten

[tomboyyyaoi]

nightlight

[casukaga]

fanart of drawfee’s trans rigs charity stream that happened today 🩵