#this show flashes before my eyes every time i so much as blink

[captainkirkk]

✩ MONTHLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

The fics I’ve read and enjoyed for the month of February. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC (Batman)

Light A Match, Pull The Pin (You Are Not Who You've Been) by WakingNightmares

Part 2 of I've Given Every Piece Of Me (And I'm Breathing)

“Games,” Dick says softly. “He… he likes to play games. With your… with your head. He won’t…” He shakes his head a bit, some of the distance in his eyes fading. “He won’t come at you head on. That’s not… That’s not what he does. He wants you scared, first. Helpless. Knowing there’s nothing you can do. He… He calls it… softening up the target. So when he… when he actually shows up… they’re so afraid they… they panic.”

“And if he does…” Jason swallows. “If he does, you… there’s no way out. He won’t… If you fail, he doesn’t care. What you do. It doesn’t matter. He won’t stop no matter how much you…” Jason blinks a few times, and Roy’s fairly positive he’s trying to blink back memories. “He’s going to do what he’s going to do. You can’t stop him. He doesn’t care.”

Roy takes a deep breath. Let’s it out slowly, so it’s only an exhale, and not a sigh, because Jason looks haunted, and Dick looks blank.

Set immediately after Screaming In The Dark.

Captive Prince

Blood, Bones, Voice, Ghost by sunsmasher

Damen’s grip on his arm is painful. His face in Laurent’s is ashy and sheened with sweat.

He says, “There was something in my drink.”

(Damen is poisoned, Jokaste is framed, Laurent must find them an heir. He's put it off for so long already.)

Miraculous Ladybug

the art of living lies and a fine mingling of letting go by blueh

“Ms. Bustier,” Marinette says a little desperately. “I have been fighting akumas nonstop for the past twenty four hours, I’m running on seven expresso shots right now and I can barely read the words on the board. Can we please reschedule the test?”

Adrien doesn’t look up from where his head is buried in his arms but he waves a hand and says, “Agreed.”

Or: the world knows their identities, but life goes on.

Sewing Needles and Cat Paws by SailorChibi

Later, they agree that Hawkmoth did it on purpose.

But in the moment, Chat Noir can’t think that far. His head is pounding, possibly from a concussion, and he has just enough time to look into Ladybug’s scared blue eyes before the flash of light overtakes them both. Then, suddenly, he’s looking at Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the journalists around them are screaming. Their names, including Adrien’s real one, are so loud that it’s disorienting.

The Growing Pains Of Child Soldiers by BloodWolf13 (+ podfic)

What do the citizens of Paris do, when they realize that their heroes are literally growing up before their eyes? They freak the fuck out.

Or everybody realizes that the heroes of Paris are young teenagers and are a little (extremely) worried about children fighting a terrorist.

Yesterday was plain awful by zipadeea

"WHERE IS LADYBUG? The headlines scream Sunday morning, and Caline Bustier feels her stomach just drop."

After a terrifying akuma attack, Paris and its heroes are left reeling. All most people want is to know what has happened to their beloved Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Marinette and Adrien just want to be okay.

Alternatively: Plagg has a whole lot of feelings, Marinette lies and says she's fine every other paragraph, and Adrien cries more in two days than he has in two years.

Miraculous Ladybug x DC

Bad news, Paris by BlueTee

Part 1 of Paris vs Gotham

Tim: @notTHATtim Are you parisians all right??? #onlyinParis Nathaniel Kurtzberg: @nathanielkart Replying to @notTHATtim hahaha no.

In which Nathaniel only wanted to pass some information but shenanigans issues and he ends up starting a twitter war.

Severance

Lay Me Back Down by EightMinutesToSunrise

Mark S. escapes Lumon and finds himself alone in an unfamiliar house. Or, not quite alone--his outie's with him.

Click. Click. by EightMinutesToSunrise

A few days after the destruction of Lumon and the innies' escape, Mark S. requests that his outie take their consciousness, and not swap back for anything. Not even (especially not) for their rebellion's firecracker leader, Helly Riggs.

From Lightswitch AU--a separate but related continuation of my fic "Lay Me Back Down."

As the Elevator Dings by Sdove

Breaking company rules is a form of self care. OR a story about the revolutionary act that is choosing to love yourself. OR the aftermath of the party and Mark S.'s role in it-- part character study, part plot, all angst, baby!

A Light In The Storm by Alooxis

Ever since the court order requiring that Lumon employees be provided with co-neural switches - a modified version of the overtime contingency device - Mark's world had become so much larger than he’d ever imagined.

Unfortunately, with a world of new experiences comes a world of new fears.

I.e.: Mark S. experiences his first thunderstorm. It does not go well. Thankfully, Devon is there to help.

[stormyoceans]

VV was and is always my favorite performance from Jimmy and Sea. It's such a great story about love, friendship......and the COLORS, goshhh the colors 😭 your gif make me feel so nostalgic

SOOOOOOOO TRUE OF YOU TO SAY THAT ANON VICE VERSA WILL REALLY ALWAYS BE THEE SERIES™ LIKE EVERYONE ON THAT SET WAS ON A MISSION TO PUT AS MUCH CRAZY PEOPLE JUICE IN THOSE CREATIVE DECISIONS AS THEY POSSIBLY COULD AND BY GOOD DID THEY DELIVER

they simply gave us everything!!!!!!!! colors symbolism cinematography storytelling originality imagery characters' growth the soundtrack of all time the breaking of the 11 episode curse the reflection on the self friendship family accountability romanticism parallelism soulmatism true lovism actor sea tawinan outselling outslaying outperforming everyone and doctor jimmy showing up on set every single day to gaze at sea with a love so all consuming and full of yearning and a devotion so palpable and plain to see it drives people to the brink of suicide!!!!!!!!!!!

every week was just win after win after win and then we got our skyy 2 and proceeded to win some more we literally won so hard that i could actually taste the colors they used in the show IT REALLY WAS SUCH AN UNPRECEDENTED UNPARALLELED UNMATCHED TELEVISION EXPERIENCE I GENUINELY MISS IT EVERY SINGLE DAY NOTHING WILL EVER COMPARE

[gutsby]

Bigger in Texas

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Size kink (seriously, don’t read if you hate big dicks / disgusting descriptions) Penis and pussy pronouns. Virginity loss. Age gap. Praise kink. Daddy kink. Joel ‘hung like a fucking horse’ Miller is a soft dom and also a good teacher. Competence kink (?)

Note: Somebody made a fic challenge to use penis pronouns, and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. If y’all find them please show them this and tell them I love their brain 🫠

Update: @sp00kymulderr you’re a legend for this. Dick pronouns are engrained in my brain, and I’m forever grateful.

Word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t the life Joel Miller had pictured for himself.

The dead coming back to roam the world and eradicate most of its population, for one. The cold. Finding his baby brother way out here in Wyoming with a wife and a child on the way. The looks he was getting these days. It’s not like he’d asked to get mixed up with a girl your age. It just happened. And since damn near every-fucking-thing that had “happened” to him since outbreak day fifteen years back had been bottom of the barrel, full-blown nightmare territory, the second he saw a good thing fumble across his path, he’d seized it—you.

You, who were young enough to be his daughter.

You, who’d never seen a man fully before meeting him.

You, who hadn’t squeezed so much as a finger in herself.

But much like his past, Joel Miller was a sordid and sick kind of man, and he had the cock to prove it: presently weeping precum at the site of your softest, tightest hole, smearing the pearly-white slick through your folds with a sound so sweet it was nauseating. Begging for entrance.

“Oughta have a boy your age pop your cherry, kid.”

It was simple.

“Ain’t right havin’ a man my age all in your guts.”

And true.

The head of his cock made another wet, sickening noise through your folds, and as though instigated by the sound, your eyes flitted to the source. You smiled.

“Probably. But I want you,” you answered. Soft.

Joel got harder, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. His gaze joined yours, and the sight nearly finished him.

Beneath him, your legs had spread wider, showcasing that perfectly glistening seam alongside the head of his cock. He looked huge. Or you looked small. Or perhaps it was both, and he was old, and he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, but then his hips stuttered a bit and his length pushed in. Joel hissed and seized the headboard.

It wouldn’t even go in. The tip just stretched the rim.

“Baby, fuck—” Joel whimpered.

“He’s so big.”

Three little words from your lips, and it almost did him in.

Again.

You wriggled your hips and flashed another happy grin.

“He wants in, daddy. I can feel him pulsin’ like I am.”

You volleyed a look up to Joel as if to say, ‘So that means we’re ready, right? Will you let me have him?’

And, strangled by guilt as he was, Joel couldn’t resist.

He let his big, bulbous, leaking head sink in the tiniest bit, and he let out a groan. Your walls were so tight. This was him, too—his tip was oversized, just like the rest of him—and when it notched in an inch, Joel could see the pain flash quick in your eyes. His hips moved to retreat.

But then your heels were lifting and digging in his ass, and though strained, your voice made it out, weakly:

“Don’t, daddy. I want him.”

Joel couldn’t dream of refusing.

And his vision blurred more at that word, him.

“I-I know. He wants you too, baby—”

Another quarter-inch.

“—so, so bad.”

“Daddy!”

Joel had to blink to try and wake from his daze. His tip was so warm, hugged so perfect and snug and wet, that he didn’t even realize that was all that fit. He was stuck.

You whimpered again.

“‘S’too big, daddy. Just make him go in.”

Your eyes rolled with indignation and overwhelming pleasure alike, and your hips squirmed again. This time, you tried to nudge him in deeper, but your body simply wouldn’t budge; you’d reached the widest part of him.

“Honey, it’s—”

“Hurtin’! I need you inside me.” you cried, impatient.

“Just takes a little time to get there, darlin’—”

“Well, get to it, then. A tip ain’t enough.”

Joel’s face flushed. He might’ve been forced to bite back a laugh under any other circumstances, but this was your virginity. His bed. Your naked bodies, together, tonight.

He wasn’t about to rush it now and fuck everything up.

“This tip’s about to paint your pretty insides white and make you wait til next week to try again if you keep it up.”

That made you go still.

You shook your head while Joel released the headboard from his grip and took your hip in it instead. He grunted.

“Sweet pea, you gotta see—” he resumed, voice low, “—it won’t feel good for you or me if I just…push right in.”

You sighed, feeling his hold tighten.

“Tongue and fingers only do so much. You gotta learn.”

You whined, digging your feet in deeper when his tip drew back to your entrance. Looking a bit squeamish.

“Be brave…and patient for me.”

From the look in your eyes, Joel could tell you probably hated him right now. That was just fine. He adjusted his hips to a more comfortable place, and then he pinched your hip bone. He nudged you back, and he let you wait.

Then, right when you opened your mouth, he sank in.

Joel thrusted with only his tip, the size of a small lime, and he fucked your hole gently. Back and forth. Shallow.

It did enough. You squeezed both his forearms.

“Oh, daddy.” Your bottom lip trembled as you said it.

With his free hand, Joel smoothed your hair back.

“Yeah, what is it, baby?” he murmured, dulcet as ever, “Thought you said the tip ain’t enough for you, sugar.”

His words came slow. His strokes were delivered quick, though tenderly. Your brain appeared to be in a fog, or a trance, as your chin dipped down toward your chest, and you watched him breach the first inch of you repeatedly.

“Curious little thing.” Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle now.

“He’s so…” you trailed off.

You squeezed his arms, and he squeezed your hip back. He let you watch him fuck you with only his tip, and when your head began to tilt back from the strain, he reached up with his other hand and held the back of your neck. He felt you clench at that, and you both groaned.

“So…big,” you finished, eyes glazed.

“I know.”

This went on for the longest time: Joel stretching the first precious inch of your pussy with the head of himself, you watching and breathing deeply, whimpering occasionally, and him holding at the nape of your neck like a softer touch might lose you to him forever. Was this teaching? When you clenched again, he reckoned it was.

“That’s it, honey. Watch her swallow me.”

“Stretches real pretty for the tip, doesn’t she?”

“Bet she can’t even fit another inch of this cock.”

Suddenly, your head was jerking up under his hold.

Eyes flaring with a hot, juvenile kind of anger: “I can!”

Joel clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and pretended not to hear. He also had to feign indifference when your walls tightened and all but choked his head and a wave of new pleasure surged up through his body.

“She can, Joel, I’m serious!”

Another two seconds of this and Joel sensed he might see tears. Though his gaze had trailed up to yours, and the look in his appeared stern, deep down, he was just as quick to want to cave. He just hid it better than you did.

“You think so, sweet pea?”

“I know so. I need it.”

“Need him?”

“Y-Yes.”

How sweet you seemed. How naive you must be.

Joel might’ve been mean, but he wasn’t cruel. He also liked teaching lessons as much as he enjoyed showing you the way, so in the next second, he obliged. He took the last shallow thrust of his tip and sank into your cunt.

As he filled you, you whined. It only took an inch or two.

“Da-a-ddy. Please.”

You must’ve been begging for lenience. Joel retreated.

Then, much to the man’s surprise, you kicked your feet. Not in relief but in protest, shaking your head up at him:

“Put him back. Please. D-Deeper.”

It was as though Joel’s brain had exited through the back of his head and all rational thought escaped him, for the moment. The only voice he heard was yours. It was pleading. And in between your legs, you were soaked.

So drenched to allow him another inch. Then another. Then another. Joel fucked in gently and felt a seismic wave of pleasure seize his limbs—and likely yours, as well. It was as though in two blinks, you’d forgotten the pain altogether. You were suffused with need instead, eyes wincing and lips curling and sounds leaving your throat like an animal in heat. Want him deeper, please.

Joel sawed back and forth with just those five or so inches and made you writhe underneath him. Felt you clamp down on his thick, slippery cock and heard the remnants of your shared arousal making sounds as your body accepted him. Stretching wider. Getting wetter. Bringing him closer to the edge with every breath.

“She’s doin’…so good f’me,” Joel told you, brainless.

His thumb drifted to your clit. He rubbed it gently. No sooner had he finished the first circle around that nub when your hips were stirring again—this time incensed.

“Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, thumb insistent. When his eyes met yours, he was surprised to find them wet this time. Tears pooling and streaking down to your temples while your body bounced gently beneath his thrusts. A whimper trembled out, and Joel slowed.

He could tell from that look you didn’t want him to stop, though. It just felt so good. So, instead of dropping his pace too much, Joel cupped your chin in one hand, and with the other, he kept thumbing at your clit. Humming.

“Poor thing’s never had something this big in ‘er, huh?”

You shook your head. Cried a little more.

Joel kissed the tears on one side, lips smiling as he did.

“I can tell, baby. But she’s taking it so well.”

“Y-Yeah?”

His hips sped up a little. The thrusts were still shallower than they normally would be, given your state, but they seemed to be working well enough. You winced again.

Joel kissed the other side of your face to take more tears.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, “Openin’ up real nice for daddy.”

It was like his words worked as well as his thumb on your clit. You whimpered again, lips parting a little wider now, and the sound that came out was as desperate and feverish and fuck-drunk as Joel had ever heard it.

“S-Say it again,” you pleaded.

“Say what?”

“That he’s…stretchin’ me open. Makin’ me his.”

The soft, slick resonance between your body and his seemed to amplify even more—you were getting wetter, and Joel’s thrusts all but shook the bed with their force.

His eyes darkened when he felt you tighten again.

“Yeah? You like hearin’ all the filthy fuckin’ things your daddy’s doing? The way he’s breakin’ you in for him?”

You nodded. Your throat constricted with a moan.

And, just when a fresh set of tears seemed to be close on the horizon, Joel lowered himself to you. He held you to his chest, hips working relentlessly, and he watched your face screw up in pleasure. A trace of pain surfaced again, but it was soothed with a kiss. Joel grinned against you.

Between your thighs, his cock was throbbing with a feeling just as big. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Hurting and aching and needing as you were, he had to make sure that you would cum first.

When his cock grazed a fleshy, sensitive patch inside your walls, he knew it wouldn’t take much. He went on:

“C’mon, sugar. Daddy’s split you open on his cock so nice, least you can do is cum for him. Can you do that?”

His nose brushed yours. His thrusts sped up. You nodded, quickly, and when he shifted in the bed with his thumb still on your clit and his lips and his stubble grazing your mouth with every push of himself, he felt it.

It was a small pulse, at first.

Joel thought you might be adjusting��clenching—again, when the lips that were trembling against his own parted more. Your arms wound around his neck, and suddenly the throb of your walls around his member got tighter and tighter and tighter. One more second and your cunt might’ve squeezed the hot, sticky seed right out of his body and flooded your insides with it, but then came release. The ‘o’ of your mouth let out a shriek, at last, and your body went soft around him, beneath him, whining in turn, ‘Daddy, daddy, please’ while the muscles once taut and unflinching gave him reprieve. Fluttering repeatedly.

Joel fucked you through it. He talked you through it.

He stroked your hair, and he held you tight. Called you his sweetheart, pretty thing, perfect girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me. Keep going. That’s right, cum all over daddy. He told you to take what you needed, and without another word, he felt just that. Your cunt spasmed around him, and you consumed every inch he gave and drank every drop of spend shooting out in thick spurts.

You fell boneless on the bed when all was said and done.

You looked happy, and that made Joel even happier.

He stroked your cheek, and you leaned into it, clearly drained while your gaze held his in a weak sort of look.

It was soft. Loving, even. It could’ve been romantic.

Then Joel’s hand slipped down to the nape of your neck again. Your muscles were limp, like all the rest of you, but somehow, he was able to hold you up. Tilt your chin a bit.

Make you peer down between your shaking legs, where his cock was still sheathed inside you—partly, anyway.

Your eyes widened. Joel grinned.

“You did great, baby. Ready for the other half of him?”

can y’all believe this image is what inspired this fic HA

it’s only Thursday i’m sorry 😔

[tbaluver]

hiyaa! can i request scenarios with the lads boys where MC flashes them in the middle of an argument >< also love your writing so much!! it's actually giving me inspiration to go back to writing myself adjhsfhlds

Flashing Them During An Argument- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader, caleb x fem! reader tags: slightly suggestive, not so serious argument, silly a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ omg thank you so much you're so sweet my angel (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ and you def should whenever you can! i hope i get to read whatever you create or hear your ideas ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ ) also i swear someone req this too and i dont know if im imagining it or i just cant find it(╥﹏╥) anyways i hope this was alright and that you enjoy reading!! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ ty to my beta reader MWAH @ilovemitsuya any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

GOOD GOOGLY MOOGLY

You two had been going back and forth for what felt like hours, trying to decide on what to eat for dinner. Every suggestion he gave was close enough to what you were craving but either it was too far or you just didn’t like the area it was in

The stores were closing soon and you both still couldn’t agree and the frustration was creeping in. Before he gives another suggestion and tries to persuade you, you cut him off by lifting up your shirt with nothing underneath. He didn’t even hesitate, his eyes immediately dropping and feasting on the soft mounds that sit oh so perfectly. He doesn’t even remember what restaurants he suggested, he just knew how enticing they looked.

“So..let’s go to my restaurant?”

“huh..?” He blinked a few times, his gaze still locked on the now covered skin but he can still catch a glimpse of your nipples peeking through your shirt. “oh yeah..sure..” He trails off, his mind completely consumed by how soft they looked.

“okay! let’s get- Xavier!” Before you could even get up, he gently pins you back down, his needy hands snaking up into your shirt.

Zayne:

It started when you gently told him he should get ready to go to bed, it was already getting late. You loved your boyfriend deeply and you admired his passion and dedication to his work but it was clear that he was pushing himself too hard again. He promised he’d finish this last report and he’ll join you later but that was exactly what he said after the last five reports.

You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the deep bags beneath them. All the signs of his late night shifts, back to back operations, and countless hours of overtime in the past few days showed. His eyes fluttered shut just for a second, begging to stay closed, only for them to open again as he tried to push through.

You approached him again, urging him to go to bed. You told him he was being stubborn and how those reports could wait but of course, he countered back saying that you didn’t need to stay up and wait for him and that you should be getting some rest too.

The two of you went back and forth for a few minutes. But before he delivers another witty comeback, you lifted up your shirt, immediately silencing him. His eyes travel from your face down to your soft breast, losing his original train of thought and thought about how they sit so perfectly to him. They don’t linger for too long as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Zayne tries to regain his thoughts and you fail to notice the small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he shakes his head. “Just..” He sighs, “...Please, you don’t need to wait for me,” He said softly, standing up from his chair as he approached you. “I suppose I’m overdue for a long needed rest then right?” He whispers, his hands sneaking up inside your shirt.

Rafayel:

You were late, again. The mission took longer than expected and you already knew that Rafayel would be upset when you got home and sure enough, you were right. He didn’t bother to greet you the moment you stepped inside the house. His back was turned to you, ‘focused’ on his sketching. All the responses you got a dismissive “hmph” and a side pout that you’re clearly familiar with.

You gave him a moment to cool off as you slipped into something more comfortable, peeling off your hunter’s uniform before approaching him again. This time, you made an effort to apologize in front of him but he pretended you weren’t even there. “Huh..Do I have some bubbles in my ear? I swear I heard something..” He mumbles, pretending there was absolutely no one in front of him.

This escalates into you two having a back and forth, explaining how your phone died so you couldn’t text him and his responses were rather sarcastic, saying how fishes would’ve started walking on land before you’d ever show up on time. Both of you were exhausted, frustration bubbled inside of you as you paced around, groaning. In a last attempt to get his attention, you stepped back in front of him, lifting your shirt up without a word to flash your breasts in front of him.

His eyes widened, his breath hitching as his gaze slowly trails down. “You-” He shakes his head, fighting back his mind that’s screaming FLASH ME AGAIN. He’s trying to stay strong but unfortunately this sea god is not the strongest soldier when it comes to you. “Oh yeah? Well two can play that game cutie!” He huffs, tugging at the waistband of his pants.

Sylus:

He wouldn’t tell you a thing about his new mission and it was bothering you. How far was it going to be? Who was going to be involved? Nothing. He refused to budge, his lips sealed tighter than usual. Every time you asked, he deflected with vague answers. Every time you offered to help, he would tell you it's alright and that he has everything handled.

“It’s just a short trip.”

But you knew better that a short trip doesn’t involve secrecy. It was probably bigger than that. The tension between you was growing, both of you refusing to give in. But before he could even hint at how dangerous his short trip might be, you lift your shirt up, cutting him off mid sentence. It was a last and desperate attempt for sure to regain his attention, your boobs falling out and flashing Sylus in all it's glory.

His eyes widened for a moment, an amused smirk tugged at his lips as he watched you slowly lower it back down. “Oh? Is this your new counterattack?” He teases, inching closer to you. “I think one move isn’t going to easily take me down. What do you think?” His long fingers twirl the hem of your shirt teasingly. “Amuse me with more and I might just give in.”

Caleb:

clean up on aisle caleb’s pants!

You definitely caught him off-guard from the way his eyes shamelessly looked down immediately the moment you lifted up your shirt to reveal your exposed skin. The way you cut him off his sentence as he almost chokes on his own saliva.

“um..umm..” He stammered, attempting to look at you but his eyes betray him, flickering back down to your exposed skin. He fought the urge, his gaze shifting up and down but he was unable to tear his eyes away, his cock twitching in his pants. 

What was the argument even about? He doesn’t even remember what he said to you a few minutes ago and he doesn’t even remember what color your pants were. He didn’t even notice that you’d already lowered your hands, his gaze burning through the thin fabric as his mind lingered on the bare skin he’d seen. His thoughts of kneading your breasts were cut off when you called out to him.

“Can we do it Caleb?” His eyes snap back up to meet yours, the hypnotizing sight of your exposed skin covered and his mind slowly return back to reality.

“Of course, we can do it anytime pipsqueak,” He replies, a soft smile on his lips, completely unaware of what he'd agreed to. You could’ve signed him up for a cilantro eating contest and he’d win just for you. Whatever you want and say, he’ll do it for you.

[flamingpudding]

Little Snippets #6

(A/N: Vote winner so I did my best to finish this)

"Screw it, i am done..." Danny grumbled as he stepped onto the watchtower through a portal, ignoring the startled heroes around him, or his own rather disheveled state. His green glowing eyes surveyed the room he was in for a brief moment before his eyes zeroed in on the one hero that caused to much work for him.

"YOU!" He pointed an accusing finger at the red clad hero before floating over and grabbing the hero by the front of his hero suit. "Do you have any idea how much work you cause me!"

Danny got one confused blink before he launched into a rather thorough explanation of what he just went through fixing 20 different timelines that got created because of one flashpoint while shaking the Flash like he was a ragdoll, ignoring the other heroes around him.

Clark, who arrived a little late to the meeting, looked around the meeting room confused. He glanced to the side to one of his hero colleagues. "Is there....?"

"A white haired floating teen boy giving Barry the lecture of a lifetime?" Oliver cut in arms crossed as he watched on. "Yes, there is."

Clark blinked, looking back at the scene and then back at Oliver. "And..."

"And Bruce is actually taking notes and enjoying Barry getting lectured to an inch of his speedster life while also getting information on time itself? Yes he is." Oliver added an, his tone slightly frustrated but also happy that he wasn't at the receiving end of the teen boy's rant. The kid had been going on about different time lines and the multiverse theory as well as how Barry apparently created several different timelines any time a new flashpoint happened or the past gets seemingly changed. Oliver wasn't even sure the kid was breathing with the way he had been talking non stop.

"And for the record! Changing the past does not automatically fix your present! You just created an entirely new timeline! Do you know how many times I had to fix these? You left so many unattended timelines! I would be rich now if I had gotten a dollar for every time I or my siblings had to fix the stuff you did! Did you ever hear about the multiverse theory?! Hell you are heroes! Didn't you deal with other universes already!?"

The kid rambled on and Clark was pretty sure he wasn't hearing the kid breath in once, which was worrying in so many different levels. But a little traitor part of his mind was actually finding the situation quiet funny.

"Oh and don't get me started on your spawns!" Clark winced a little as he heard the floating boy breath in for the first time in his entire rant before launching into another rant about how it wasn't just Barry but his entire family. Next to him Oliver chucked finding the moment simply funny end enjoying the show of Barry, aka the Flash getting lectured by a floating teen boy.

Though they partially wondered why Bruce wasn't stepping in but then again, the kids rant was... rather informative if he wasn't cursing at Barry's entire family.

A little earlier that day...

Danny groaned as a green note fluttered onto his desk in the middle of his English exam. His head hit the desk and he was sure he was creating some sort of misunderstanding and appearing like he didn't study enough for this exam. Which for once he did, he actually had managed to get time to study for this exam for once. And that despite all the work that had been piling up lately.

The fun fact was that work didn't pile up because of some ghost king title or something, or his rogues dogpiling on him. No it piled up because of a hero organisation outside of Amity. Now don't get him wrong, he admires these heroes. The ones from outer space are his favorites even. But unknown to them they caused im a lot of work ever since clockwork started to mentor him.

Danny glanced at his English exam and then at the note before his head hit the desk again.

Just one day... was one day to much to ask?

He blames whatever hero was at fault this time as he couldn't concentrate on is exam anymore. He barely remembers finishing it as he hurried out of the classroom, forgetting to give Sam and Tucker an explanation as he went ghost and hurried of to the ghost zone. Danny's eye twitch a little when he noticed Clockworks amused expression.

"What is it this time?" Danny groaned already knowing he wouldn't like what he was going to hear.

"Another flashpoint was created. You know what this means." Clockwork chucked handing him a time medallion and Danny groaned even more.

"Can't Dan or Dani..." He started but Clockwork cut him off with an amused headshake. "No, they are currently busy with another job I gave them."

Reluctantly Danny nodded and stepped through the time portal. While he knew, he would actually only be gone for a minute at most in the present, it still annoyed him that he had to constantly fix time. And most of the time it was because of one specific hero at that. He was not looking forward on how many different timelines he had to fix right now now. this was going to take a while too. Even if only maybe a minute will pass in his timeline.

He still had bruises from the last 20 timelines he fixed. And in all honesty he was getting tired of this kid of work, he was partially sure Clockwork was him now, so he wouldn't have to do this himself. Or the ancient of time was getting a kick out of watching Danny fumble while fixing other timelines.

He yelped as he dodged velocraptors right after coming out of the time portal. "SERIOUSLY?! THE MESOZOIC ERA THIS TIME TOO?! WHAT AM I EVEN SUPOSED TO FIX HERE?!" He yelled at nothing in particular. That was it, this time, this time he decided he would finally go and pay these heroes a visit and make them aware how much work they had been causing him...

[hazymoonlinh]

🤔 phainon x astral express member fem reader

Like he is fall in love with her in first sight when he first meeting with the other astral express member. In that scene when he suddenly appear and then he cut dan heng's weapon into two, thats where they first meet.

👀 Imagine how he try to impress fem reader by showing of his skill and flirt with her

Ahaha I have a lot of draft I write for him and my OC just like this. So this kinda base on those draft.

Really really love this! I hope you like it!

Our first meeting.

(Fluff, Phainon is head over heels with reader.)

Fem!reader.

“You’ve got something interesting,” Phainon drawled, his icy blue eyes scanning the group.

The clash of steel rang out sharply, echoing through the quiet ground of the abyss of fate. Phainon, with his usual flamboyant flair, emerged like a thunderbolt, took the trailblazer’s bat as he sliced Dan Heng’s spear clean in two. He landed with a smirk that could rival the sun, looking every bit the arrogant warrior he was known to be.

But then he saw her.

Among the stalwart crew of the Astral Express, she stood out—not because of her combat stance or any defiant glare, but simply because she existed. Her eyes, her presence, the way she carried herself—it hit him like a strike to the chest. For the first time in what felt like centuries, Phainon faltered.

“Oh,” he said under his breath, his smirk slipping for the briefest of moments.

“Who are you?” she demanded, stepping forward, her gaze sharp.

Phainon recovered quickly, his trademark grin returning. “Who am I? Why, I’m the one who’s just stolen your heart, darling.”

The group collectively groaned, except for her. She blinked, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Forgive me,” Phainon said, his tone deliberately melodramatic as he placed a hand over his chest. “I wasn’t expecting to meet someone so radiant today. I’m Phainon, by the way. Remember the name—I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.”

“Is he serious?” The Trailblazer whispered to Dan Heng, who was still glaring at his broken weapon.

“Unfortunately,” Dan Heng muttered.

From that moment on, Phainon became a constant presence, much to the frustration of the rest of the two Astral Express crew. Wherever she went, he wasn’t far behind, finding every excuse to be close to her.

“Need help?” he asked one day, leaning casually against a wall as she searched through the streets of the Okhema for treasures.

“I’m fine,” she said without looking at him, crouched over a map.

“Come on,” he said, stepping closer. “A treasure hunt’s no fun without a partner. Besides,” he added, flashing a dazzling smile, “I’m quite good at finding hidden things. Like your heart, for example.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I try,” he said with a wink, pulling out his weapon and twirling it effortlessly. “But in all seriousness, two sets of eyes are better than one. I’ll even let you keep all the treasure we find—consider it my gift to you.”

“Fine,” she relented, standing up and brushing off her hands. “But no more flirting.”

“Deal,” Phainon said, though his grin made it clear he had no intention of keeping that promise.

It didn’t take long for his antics to become a regular occurrence. Whether it was showing off his combat skills by slicing through imaginary enemies with theatrical flourishes or insisting on calling her nicknames like “starlight” and “darling,” Phainon seemed determined to leave an impression.

“Why do you keep doing this?” she asked one day as they walked through the streets, the sun casting a warm glow over the city.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Following me. Flirting with me. Trying so hard to impress me.”

He stopped walking, his expression softening. “Because I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he said, his voice sincere. “And I don’t want to miss my chance.”

For a moment, the playful mask slipped, revealing a glimpse of the man behind it. And though she wasn’t quite ready to admit it, something about him was beginning to grow on her.

___

Few days later.

By now, Phainon had become a fixture in her daily life. His teasing had shifted into something more gentle, his playful remarks often followed by acts of genuine kindness. She’d catch him looking at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, his gaze softening in a way that felt different than before.

One evening, after a particularly difficult mission, Phainon appeared outside her quarters, holding something behind his back.

“Phainon, what now?” she asked, her tone flat but not unkind.

He grinned, stepping closer. “I’ve got a surprise for you, darling. Close your eyes.”

She raised an eyebrow, wary but intrigued. “A surprise? I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Just trust me,” he said, his voice dropping lower, playful but gentle.

Reluctantly, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was holding out a small, delicate flower—an exotic bloom with silver petals that shimmered faintly under the light.

“It’s a flower from a faraway land,” he said. “One that only blooms for those who capture my heart. Consider it a token of my affection.”

She stared at the flower for a long moment, the sincerity in his voice settling over her like a gentle warmth. “Phainon…”

“Don’t say a word,” he murmured, leaning a little closer. “I know I’m not easy to deal with. But I’m persistent. And for some reason, I can’t seem to stay away from you.”

She smiled softly, unable to hold it back. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He chuckled, handing her the flower. “Impossible… or irresistible? I’ll let you decide, starlight.”

In the days that followed, Phainon continued to find ways to be near her, whether it was sharing his battle strategies, teasing her during downtime, or offering to help with anything she needed—just so he could be close. There was no escaping him, but somewhere along the way, it began to feel less like an annoyance and more like a comforting constant.

Phainon, with all his pride, flirtation, and ever-present smirk, had carved a place in her life—and maybe, just maybe, she was starting to see him in a different light.

[lambilegs]

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

striking a deal (sevika x reader)

contains: sevika being a jackass (what's new tho I still love her), gambling, reader sort of being a hater against gambling due to the negative impacts its had on their friend, enemies-with-a-bit-of-desire sort of vibe going on, reader is called a "girlfriend," very sfw, not much explicit romance and just a bit of flirting + attraction

a/n: hiii pookies so this is my first fic for miss sevika!! I hope it's accurate to her character and you all enjoy <33 would love to hear what y'all think hehe

art: four gentlemen of high rank playing primero

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

"hey, do you know where I can find sevika?" you tentatively ask the bartender. he's some nervous looking kid who's probably going to quit after two weeks of witnessing the shit show that is the last drop since vander was killed.

not that you can blame him. you rarely frequent this part of the undercity, avoiding it for both the sake of safety and your own sense of sanity. you couldn't stand half the crap that went down here -- all the drunken fights, the sloshing of alcohol spilling and soaking through nearly every visitor's clothes, the lewd public displays that sent your face burning and ducking down -- and, of course, the gambling.

the damn gambling you had been imploring your friend, zafar, to put aside for almost half a year now. ever since he had lost his younger sister to an "intervention" enforcers had made at a party a year ago, every bad habit of his that had once been a small spring in the ground, roots shallow, had blossomed into a rotten, ugly plant that had spread faster than the blink of an eye could capture. you tried to be there for him, you did, but you also had your own family to take care of, and with his new friends being nothing but a bunch of enablers, he had now landed himself into a world of debt.

why, you ask? he had made the stupid decision to play with one of silco's little henchmen, sevika, whose reputation at cards is so notorious that even you've heard of it from your dinky little corner, far away from this place. you had heard rumours of her, some admiring, others downright terrifying. her help in smuggling shimmer, the ass-whooping she did for silco, how she was a constant presence when it came to the drug lord. that was enough to drain you of any admiration you could've beheld for such a strong woman. you had seen what shimmer did, the power it had in crumbling people's bodies, mental states, and their ability to keep living. you don't approve of anyone who's involved in the horrors of it.

the only reason you're here now is because zafar came to you sobbing this morning, grief heavy in his eyes over the money he had lost. he claimed sevika cheated it out of him, and while you still aren't sure as to how true that is, you'd at least try to set the record straight with her. you want to do something, anything, for standing around and watching zafar self-destruct no longer feels like a valid option. you promised him you'd try to see if you could convince her to return his money, under the condition of him avoiding gambling as best as he could and beginning to work part-time at the shop where you worked so he could have a more reliable source of income.

you can only hope this shitty plan will be in your favour. already, your stomach is tightening with anxiety, the knot circling and circling to bulge against your gut and make you slightly nauseated. but, you try to, at least physically, keep your cool, schooling your features to be calm, levelled and devoid of any jitters or twitches.

the bartender cocks his head to a dark corner near the jukebox. "right there. why, you've got business with her?"

a spring of irritation flickers through you at his prodding. the less he knows, the better. "in a way." you nod your thanks, then make your way to her.

you had seen flashes of sevika before. rallies, protests, gang fights. a blur of dark hair, a murky red cape and swinging fists. that's all she ever was to you. so, now, to behold her in her full state, feels... intimidating, to say the least. she carries herself as though the rickety wooden boards and worn out hinges of this place are her prized palace and she's the hailing king, rightfully seated on her throne. her dark lips are twisted into a leering smirk, haughtily bringing her cigar to them and taking a prideful puff from it. you swallow hard. you're definitely out of your league.

you linger nearby, watching through the crowd and awaiting an opportunity to approach her. when the men around her slam their palms down on the shared table, groaning and shutting their eyes in clear loss, her arm tossing towards them cockily, you stiffen up. you have an opening.

as the losers begin to file away, shoulders slumped in defeat, you can't help but feel a twinge of pity for them. everyone in this city struggles, one way or another. to have those struggles tied off with a loss in poker is a downright cursed fate. you try not to meet their eyes, sliding through the sweaty bodies until you reach her table.

you pause in front of her, hands twiddling as she collects the coins. you wait for her to look up, and when a few seconds pass and no such thing happens, you clear your throat.

eyes still casted onto the table, she speaks. her voice is like sand that's fallen through the surface of the ocean, rough and textured, impossibly deep and smooth. "you waited your turn long enough. what do you want?"

you flinch. "waited my turn?"

she tilts her head in the direction you came from. "you were lurking there. just watching, or is there something you need?"

jesus, and here you had thought you were at least a bit subtle. "oh, I--"

"didn't think I'd notice you?" she scoffs, scooping up the coins and pouring them into a small sack. "you almost fell head-first when bunny-face bumped into you."

your eye nearly twitches. "okay, well, good observation, I guess." honestly, it's impressive. you had expected her to be all brawn, no brain. "I'm here to talk to you about something."

her eyes finally meet yours. they're nearly silver, a dark grey that flashes under the colourful lights. her gaze is piercing, punctuated all the more by her dark eyebrows that are drawn in curiosity. "make it quick."

that's all you need. "okay, well, my friend, zafar, gambled with you last night."

"okay."

"well, you won, and took a bunch of his money." you wobble on your feet, hesitation seizing at you due to the accusation you're about to lay out. she could probably snap your neck in less than a millisecond. you've heard of her ability to totally crush any enemy designated to her by silco. definitely not a person whose bad side you want to get on. hopefully, nothing of the sort will happen if you express yourself in enough of a civilized way. "he, I don't know if it's true, but he says you cheated." you avert your eyes, the hand in your pocket gripping tightly onto the handle of your dagger. you haven't had to use it, not yet, at least, but in the undercity, it's better to be safe than sorry. and, frankly, you're expecting the worse from her.

which is why you nearly flinch when the corner of her lip twists up, and she says, "a common scapegoat for losers."

protectiveness immediately kicks in, searing through your body and urging you through your fear. you know it's hypocritical, considering you, too, don't fully believe him. but, still, you at least know his character, whereas she's just riding off her assumptions. "he could just as well be telling the truth."

"oh, yeah? is that why he sent his little girlfriend to save his ass?"

gross. the insinuation feels nearly as offensive as her insults towards him. "I'm not his girlfriend. and I volunteered to come here myself."

her eyes flicker up to you, and you rear back when they linger on your face, skimming over your features before settling back down to the table. "and while that's nice, and well, pretty stupid of you, I didn't do any cheating. anything he lost was because he couldn't play his hand well."

you grit your teeth together. "I'm not stupid. I just came here for a friend."

"a friend who clearly is a sloppy poker player and likely to lose to anyone who has the playing ability of a child." she snickers, and you catch sight of the split between her two front teeth, a little gap protruding. you force yourself to meet her eyes. the last thing you'd want is for her to catch you staring at her mouth.

what's worse is that you can't even argue back with her on this. for all you know, zafar very well may be a shit player. probably is, in all honesty. it wouldn't surprise you -- he always was impulsive as hell, and you wouldn't bat an eye to discover that challenging sevika had been an in-the-moment decision of his. but, you know what he's been through. you know how down in the dumps he is financially, and just how desperate he's gotten. his mourning has only made it worse.

"okay, well," you trail off, not really knowing where to continue. you didn't really lay a plan for yourself, and now that she's swiftly shut you down in a manner which you have no rebuttals for, you're not sure how to proceed.

"was that all?"

"no." you force your shoulders to straighten, hoping you sound somewhat firm, maybe even dignified. "is there any way you can return his money? he's been through a lot this year, and--"

she cuts you off with a bark of laughter, the raspy noise of it harsh and grating to your ears. the anger it's stirring in you probably isn't helping either. "okay. listen, friend of...?"

deadpan, you respond, "zafar."

she nods. "yeah, whatever his name is. this game comes with risks, and one of them is losing all your shit if you play with no tact."

you suck in a sharp breath at the condescension in her tone. "I'm well aware of that. but, listen, he's had a hard time of it lately, and--"

"and what? we've all had a hard time of it lately. if he chose to put his life's worth on the table, that isn't my problem."

"I'm not saying it is, but c'mon, can't you have a little empathy now and return his money?" you stick an incredulous finger at the table. "you have enough as is! no need to drain every zaunite of their hard-earned money before you're satisfied."

her eyes flutter in what seems to be exasperation, but you firmly planted, both on your feet and in your stance. physically, you can't do shit against this mass of muscle. but, maybe, just maybe, you can verbally get somewhere.

she stares up at you, elbows propped on her knees. "if it's so hard-earned, why did your friend gamble it away? are you asking me to return someone's money because they were an idiot?"

frustration begins to gnaw at your stomach, a burning sensation swarming through your insides and making you tense up. "I'm telling you, he's not in his right mind right now. things have happened in his family lately, and it's been hard for him."

"are you forgetting where you live? things happen in every family here. being smart is how you survive. if your friend can't do that..." she shrugs, continuing to sweep the coins into the opening of the sack. "then, that's not my problem."

"being a decent person helps in surviving in this place, too. being there for each other and our community. don't you care about that?"

her movements halt for a second, eyes flicking between you and the table. you nearly crack a grin and do a little rejoicing dance. bingo.

you add a sticky sweet tone to your voice, pleading and coaxing. you've heard she frequents babette's brothel, and if that's any indication about where her romantic interests lie, maybe you'll be able to woe her into complacency. "c'mon, I promise, he'll never gamble with you again, and if he does, take anything and keep it. but, please, just this one time, help him out, hm? do it for him, do it for your people."

her face, which was stoic only moments ago, shatters into a loud round of laughter, her palm smacking against her knee. "I gotta hand it to you, the 'for your people' thing was a nice touch." she stands up, and you try not to blink too hard at the sight of her towering over you. jesus, she's gigantic. no wonder people are scared shitless of her. no wonder you were scared shitless of her. "now, be honest. was the money yours? boyfriend left you and stole from the cookie jar? told you you had to come and get it back yourself?"

the more she talks, the more you get the sense that to her, this conversation is simply something to toy with, and just engage with as a playful little pastime. it only causes more anger to ooze within you, fiery and hot within your guts, like lava. this isn't a game. this is about people's lives, people's financial sustenance. she must earn a decent amount of time for her work for silco, and yet here she is, milking the people of zaun who don't know any better or who are too entrenched in their habits to put a stop to their gambling.

you want to make a jab at her that's as harsh as the blow to your ego was. it might risk you a limb, but you're praying the surprising amount of calm she's shown so far is a sign that your safety is secure. "you know what? I was stupid for coming here in the first place. to think one of silco's little servants would actually have a moral compass."

unfortunately, her irritatingly cool collection not only keeps your physical wellbeing in check, but does the complete opposite to your pride. for all she does is stare down at you, the long, blue scar seeping through her cheek curling as she chuckles, the noise husky and rough, like crushed velvet. "ouch. good one. anyone else might've gotten offended by that." her stormy eyes skip to your lips for a split second. "quite the mouth you have on you."

what the fuck is that supposed to mean? is that a pass or a genuine comment on your temper, which is very much flaring up? either way, you're determined to try harder to goad her. "yeah, well, I'm sure it has no impact on you, right? after all, you spend your days contributing to half the shit going down in this fucked up city."

her jaw suddenly clenches, mouth pressing together. you would've thought someone in this business would be a bit more discreet with the physical manifestations of their moods. but, sevika is like an open book, grey eyes wide, and eyebrows sunk down, her newfound disdain clear as day. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"the shimmer," you answer, squinting at her, praying the expression conveys how stupid you think she is. "your little boss has just tossed it to this city and watches the damages of it unfold without doing shit. wasn't his glorious plan to make this city a better place, not fuck us over even more?"

"the shimmer is helping," she retorts, her voice harder than before, lined with a firm pressure that had been absent in her prior teasing and casual dismissal. "we have something that topside could only wish for, something that gives us an advantage."

"an advantage?" you laugh bitterly. the injustice of it all, the agony you see your people in everyday -- it all floods your insides, wracking you from within. "it's been years since it's come about, and nothing has changed. piltover is still on top, and in addition to that, they have hextech." you make sure your eyes pointedly lock onto hers, hoping she feels every single fibre of your rage. "just admit it. you guys haven't done shit."

"and what exactly are you doing?" her voice is lowered to a heavy whisper, and you feel the noises surrounding you two melt away into a light, background buzz. the iciness of her voice feels almost worst than any other stupid tone she's taken since you started interacting.

"something you and your boss don't seem to be helping at all with." you give her a tight-lipped smile, your gums aching with how hard your teeth press in together, the disjointed shapes of them uncomfortable and crooked as they mash at the edges. "trying to survive."

her nostrils flare, her burning glare pulsing through the barrier of your skin and making your insides turn from the onslaught of anxiety that enters. god, will she unleash some goons on you now or something?

"sevika!"

you jerk at the sudden sound, whereas sevika simply blinks down at you, gaze unrelenting. "what?" she calls out.

uncomfortable at having her eyes still pointed at you, you turn to the voice, seeing a man with small, rectangular glasses hanging off his nose looking awfully mopey.

"you promised us another round," the guy wails, tossing his hands in the air.

you swallow hard at the silence that ensues, still feeling her stormy eyes hooked onto you. after a moment, she says, "maybe later."

the man's shoulders sag as he heaves a dramatic sigh, turning to who seems to be his friend, whimpering, "she's too busy with her date."

you grimace at the mistake, though the disgust you feel at it is fused with an irritation directed at the way your stomach spins at the word 'date.' you're not stupid -- sevika is, objectively, pretty attractive. hot, some people might say. but, jesus, she's a bitch too. and working with silco, which makes for a very unappealing combination.

"come on," she drawls out. you turn back to her, the anger from before now replaced with a wide smirk, one sharp eyebrow lifted up inquisitively. "I can't be all that bad, can I?"

you roll your eyes. this conversation has strayed too much as is, and you're not about to let it tiptoe off into flirtatious territory. "are you going to give my friend back his money or not?"

"hm," she ponders, and lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. you can immediately catch a whiff of the falsehood in the gesture, and tap your foot, waiting for her to just solidify your assumption. "no, I won't. but, do give him my regards."

you grunt, shaking your head. despite your expectancy of it, you can't help but feel a stone of disappointment sink through the waters of your body, falling to the bottom with more impact than you'd like. you shouldn't expect anything of her, there's no reason for you to feel disappointment. your expectations shouldn't have gotten this high in the first place. "of course. have a good day."

as you whirl around to leave, she grabs your forearm, callouses brushing against your skin. "hey, I just turned down a poker game for you."

"uh, yeah, and as a reward, you get a departure from me that doesn't include a kick to the shin." you snatch your arm from her grasp, trying to direct your thoughts to her shitty words as a desperate attempt to ignore the warmth in your stomach. "you're welcome."

with her snarky laugh ringing in your ears, you practically dash to the door, wanting to get out as soon as possible.

it's awful, but at the opening, something in you whispers for you to look back once more. it's okay -- it's reasonable, right? you barely frequent this place, anyone would want to catch one last glance at such a notorious woman in your city, no matter how degenerate and callous she is.

the only con to this is as soon as you find sight of her through your tentative search of the crowd, she's already staring back at you. at being caught, you internally cringe, the feeling only intensified by a tenfold when she tips her head at you with a grin.

ugh. never again.

two weeks later, you find a crisp envelope laying out on the mat outside your front door. in neat, cursive writing, it reads:

A thank you gift for the free business consultation. Do with it what you will. Whether you or someone else needs it. - S

[ivyues]

Animal Fears: Stray Kids' reactions to their S/O's SKZOO phobia

Bang Chan (Wolf Chan – Wolfs)

You're watching a nature documentary together when a wolf howls on screen, and you instinctively flinch. Chris notices immediately.

“Wait… you’re scared of wolves?” he asks, suppressing a grin. 

You nod sheepishly, and he bursts out laughing. “Ya! Wolves eat sheep, you know,” you huff defensively, crossing your arms. “Brutally killing the lambs. Should I start worrying about how much meat you’re eating?”

Still laughing, he shakes his head. “I promise I’m not dangerous,” he says, flashing you an exaggerated innocent smile and wraps an arm around you. “Don’t worry, I’m only a pretend wolf. You’re safe with me.”

Lee Know (Leebit – Rabbits)

At the petting zoo, you freeze as a rabbit hops closer, its nose twitching curiously in your direction.

“Wait, you’re scared of rabbits?” Lee Know asks, slowly blinking in disbelief.

“They’re so… jumpy,” you admit nervously.

“But I am a rabbit!” he exclaims, gesturing to himself dramatically. “You’re scared of the fluffiest animal ever?”

You cross your arms defensively, trying to keep your composure. “By the way, rabbits can bite, you know,” you counter with a huff.

“Oh no,” he mocks with a dramatic gasp “But don't worry. I’m no wild rabbit - I don’t bite.”

Before you can respond, mischief flashes in his eyes. He leans in and pretends to nibble on your shoulder. You can’t help but burst into laughter, doubling over at his antics. 

Then, in a low whisper, he teases, “Unless you want me to.”

Changbin (Dwaekki – Pigs)

When Changbin finds out you’re scared of pigs, he’s initially confused.

“Wait, are you serious? Pigs? They’re so smart and cute!”

You explain nervously, “They eat anything, and sometimes… they can even be cannibals!”

Changbin stifles a laugh, trying not to make you feel bad. “Should I start oinking every time I walk into a room?” he teases, making you roll your eyes.

Later, he casually starts showing you pictures of his SKZOO, saying, “See? Dwaekki isn’t scary!” he insists, “Anyway,” he adds with a smirk, “Dwaekki is only 1% pig. The other 99% is pure cuteness and rabbit energy.

Hyunjin (Jiniret – Ferrets)

When Hyunjin learns you’re scared of ferrets, he gasps as if you’ve just revealed a deep betrayal.

“Ferrets are adorable! How could you be scared of them?” he exclaims, eyes wide with mock disbelief.

“They’re so squirmy and unpredictable,” you explain, shuddering at the thought.

Hyunjin immediately mimics a ferret’s movements, wriggling and twisting dramatically around you like some overzealous noodle.“Am I squirmy and unpredictable, too?” he asks, laughing when you swat at him.

 “They can also bite you!” you add defensively, pointing an accusatory finger.

Hyunjin gasps again, clutching his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. “I see how it is,” he says, his voice dripping with exaggerated sorrow. “My own girlfriend, terrified of my representative animal! Maybe… we’re not meant to be after all.”

You playfully slap him on the chest while laughing.

Han (HanQuokka – Squirrel) (I couldn't think of anything to fear about quokkas.)

As you’re walking through the park, you suddenly freeze at the sight of squirrels hopping around, your eyes widening. Han looks at you confused.

"Are you scared of the squirrels?" he asks, looking genuinely shocked.

You nod awkwardly, explaining, "They’re so aggressive here. They come up too close, and I’m just not a fan of how bold they are."

Han blinks at you, trying to process. "But… I’m sometimes compared to a squirrel." he exclaims, clearly surprised. "What about quokkas, then? Are you scared of them too?"

You smile, shaking your head. "No, quokkas are cute! No fear there."

He grins. "Good. I’m definitely more quokka than squirrel anyways."

Felix (Bbokkari – Chicks)

When Felix hears you’re scared of chicks, he’s in disbelief.

“Baby chickens? They’re tiny!” he says, looking at you like you’re joking.

You shiver a bit and explain, “They have beaks… they could poke you!”

Felix laughs, clearly amused. “Poke you? They’re so small, you could probably hold one in your hand!”

But then, with a playful smirk, he forms a beak with his hands, pressing them together in front of his face like a little chick.

While laughing, he taps you lightly with his hands, pretending to peck at you. You giggle and try to escape, but Felix keeps “pecking” at you with his hands, making soft, comical “peck-peck” sounds. 

Both of you laughing, you finally manage to dodge him, your heart racing from the mix of playfulness and laughter.

Seungmin (PuppyM – Dogs)

When you tense up upon seeing a dog at the park, Seungmin notices immediately. “Wait, you’re scared of dogs?” he asks, his eyes widening in surprise.

You shake your head and explain calmly, “Not exactly. It’s just… not all dog owners are responsible. I had a bad experience as a kid.”

Seungmin listens intently, nodding before offering a small, reassuring smile. “Well, you don’t have to worry about PuppyM. He’s very well-behaved,” he jokes lightly, trying to ease the tension.

The two of you continue walking, Seungmin subtly guiding you away from the dog’s path without making a big deal out of it. After a moment of quiet, he speaks again.

“Hey, you know… you’re not wrong. Some people shouldn’t have dogs if they can’t take care of them properly. But not every dog is like that.”

“I know. Thank you tho,” you smile, glancing at him.

He holds your gaze for a moment, his expression soft and comforting. Then, with a gentle nudge to your shoulder, he teases, “If you’re thanking me, does that mean I’m your emotional support human now?”

You tilt your head, a small grin tugging at your lips. “...or emotional support dog.”

I.N (FoxI.NY – Foxes)

When you admit you’re scared of foxes, I.N gasps dramatically.

“But foxes are like… fluffy and magical!” he says, eyes wide.

“They’re sneaky, and their laugh is creepy!” you reply, crossing your arms.

I.N stops and looks at you seriously. “Wait, does that mean my laugh is creepy? But I’m FoxI.Ny, I’m supposed to be cute!”

You raise an eyebrow and give him a playful smirk. "Well, your laugh is a bit sneaky. You do have that mischievous vibe, you know?"

I.N gasps again, clutching his chest dramatically. “Sneaky? I’m not sneaky! I’m just... mysteriously charming!”

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Yeah, always up to something."

masterlist

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Close call

Word count: 1.2k

Pairing: lando Norris x reader

Summary: After a heated argument that leads Y/n to storm out into the rain, a near-death accident brings Lando and Y/n back together

________________________________________________________

The day had started off fine—normal, even. You had both been in good spirits after Lando’s last race weekend. He had been on the podium, and the celebrations had been nothing short of electric. But then, like a storm brewing on the horizon, small tensions began to rise between you two. It was always something—little things that built up over time. The missed texts, the rescheduled plans, the constant feeling that his attention was always somewhere else. Today, it had finally come to a head.

“I’m not asking you to choose between me and your career,” you yelled, your voice shaking, eyes burning with unshed tears. “But I need to know where I stand, Lando. It’s like I’m just an afterthought to you!”

Lando stood on the opposite side of the room, hands clenched into fists by his sides. His jaw was tight, anger simmering in his eyes. “That’s not fair! You know how much I care about you. But I can’t just drop everything every time you feel neglected. This is my job. My life.”

“And what am I, then?” you shot back, stepping forward. “Just something on the side when it’s convenient for you? I sit here, waiting—always waiting—while you go off and live your dream. What about my life, Lando?”

His face twisted with frustration, and he ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “You knew what this was when we got together! You knew racing would come first, that my schedule is insane. What do you expect me to do? Quit?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I expect you to make time for me! To show me that I’m important, that I matter! But you don’t, Lando. It’s like I’m just… background noise.”

Lando’s eyes flashed with anger, his voice rising. “That’s bullshit! You know that’s not true. I’ve been trying, but you keep pushing and pushing, like nothing I do is ever enough for you!”

“Because it’s not!” you screamed, tears spilling over now. “I’m tired of feeling like I have to fight for a place in your life. You’re never here, and when you are, you’re not really present.”

He stopped pacing, his face hardening as he glared at you. “Maybe if you actually supported me instead of complaining all the time, things wouldn’t be so hard.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You took a step back, your breath catching in your throat. “You think I don’t support you?”

Silence.

“I’m at every race, every event, doing everything I can to cheer you on. I rearrange my entire life around your schedule, and you still have the nerve to say I don’t support you?”

Lando’s face softened for a brief moment, but the anger flared again. “I didn’t mean it like that. But it’s exhausting, alright? Trying to balance everything when it feels like you’re constantly on my case.”

You blinked at him, tears falling freely now. “On your case? You think I enjoy feeling this way? I’m exhausted too, Lando. I’m exhausted from waiting for you to show up.”

His expression twisted, and for a moment, he seemed to want to respond, but something snapped in you before he could speak. You turned on your heel, storming out of the living room and heading towards the door, grabbing your jacket as you went.

“I can’t do this right now,” you muttered, pulling the door open.

“Where are you going?” Lando demanded, his voice sharp behind you.

“I don’t know. Anywhere but here.”

Just as you stepped outside, the sky that had been so clear all day suddenly let loose. Rain poured down in thick sheets, soaking you within seconds. You didn’t care. You needed to get away, clear your head, breathe something other than the heavy air of your apartment. You began walking, not even knowing where you were going. You were too hurt, too angry, and too tired to think clearly.

Behind you, Lando hesitated at the door. He hated seeing you like this, but his pride kept him frozen. You didn’t wait for him to follow, assuming he wouldn’t.

The rain pelted harder as you walked further, your clothes drenched, your hair sticking to your face. You kept going, lost in your thoughts, but as you stepped off the curb to cross the street, everything changed in an instant.

The loud honk of a car horn blared, headlights flashing in your peripheral vision. You turned just in time to see the vehicle barreling toward you, too fast to stop. A surge of panic shot through you, freezing your legs in place.

Suddenly, something slammed into you from the side, sending you tumbling to the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of your lungs, and your body hit the pavement hard. The world spun as you lay there, rain pouring down on you, gasping for air. You realized someone had pushed you out of the way—Lando.

He had run after you, faster than you realized, and tackled you just in time to get you out of the path of the car. The vehicle screeched to a halt mere inches from where you had stood, its tires skidding on the slick pavement.

“Y/N!” Lando’s voice was panicked, hands shaking as he pulled you up, eyes scanning you for any injuries. “Are you okay? Did it hit you? God, please tell me you’re okay.”

You coughed, trying to catch your breath, but your chest ached from where you had hit the ground. “I’m… I’m okay,” you whispered, wincing as you sat up.

He knelt beside you, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, eyes wide with fear and guilt. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I shouldn’t have let you walk out. I should’ve—God, if I hadn’t run after you—” His voice broke, and you saw the terror in his eyes.

You reached up, placing a shaky hand on his cheek. “Lando… I’m fine. You saved me.”

He shook his head, his throat tight with emotion. “I was such an idiot. I should’ve listened. I should’ve been there for you.” His voice was low, filled with regret. “You’re right. You’ve been there for me through everything, and I’ve taken it for granted. I’m sorry.”

The rain continued to pour, soaking both of you, but in that moment, none of it mattered. You let out a shaky breath, wiping the wet strands of hair from his face. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I just felt so… lost. But I know you’re trying. I see it, and I’m sorry for making it seem like it’s not enough.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he was afraid to let go. “I love you,” he whispered against your hair. “I’ll make this right. I promise.”

You held onto him just as tightly, both of you soaked to the bone but no longer feeling the cold. The fight, the anger, the hurt—it all seemed so small compared to what had just happened. You almost lost each other in more ways than one.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, and this time, it felt like a promise.

[hoshifighting]

Ok I know your reqs are closed and I don't ask you to write a fic but can we just take a moment and think if woozi's partner dressed up as a very slutty musa from winx club and when I say slutty I mean underboob showing top and booty showing skirt with the slit and red boots. And maybe that's his birthday gift. I have a hunch that woozi has secretly seen all seasons of winx club including the movie franchise. And then you show up as MUSA???? FAIRY OF MUSIC????? WHEN HE IS THE GOD OF MUSIC????? ON HIS BIRTHDAY???? ahem. Open that for discussion as you may

dressing as winx—musa for jihoon's birthday

a/n: anon, this discussion was so good that i made this drabble, and a small fic inspired on it! i hope you like it!

WARNINGS: smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering + oral (f. receiving)

check the story here

it’s a dumb idea. like, so dumb. you almost talked yourself out of it five times before even ordering the boots. because, like…woozi?? the man whos 24/7 hunched over a keyboard like it personally owes him royalties. not the kinda guy you’d peg as a secret fan of sparkly-ass fairy shows. but then you saw it—the tiniest slip of a reference in one of his texts. some offhand comment about “fighting the darkness with the power of music” or some shit. and you were like no fucking way.

so obviously, you had to test the waters. subtle shit at first. humming the theme song when you’re in his studio. saying “magic winx!” when you stretch, just to see if he flinches. and he does. he fucking flinches. it’s like catching a cat with its paw in the cookie jar. he’s so bad at hiding it, too, gets all awkward and mumbly, trying to pass it off like you’re imagining things.

so naturally, the only logical next step is to dress up like musa for his birthday.

“what the fuck,” woozi says when you walk into his studio. and by say, you mean choke out, because dude’s sitting there with his jaw hanging open like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

you do a little twirl because why not? the skirt’s barely there, all slitted up the sides, and the boots are so red they look illegal. the top it’s doing the most. cropped high enough to flash underboob every time you so much as blink. you catch his gaze dipping, like he’s trying to decide where to look without combusting on the spot.

“happy birthday!” you sing, grinning like the menace you are. “do you like it?”

“you—you’re—” he stammers, eyes darting between you and the door like he’s expecting someone to bust in and arrest him for horny crimes. “why the hell are you dressed like that?”

you plop down onto his lap because subtlety’s for cowards. “like who? musa? fairy of music? your soulmate?”

“oh my god.” he presses his hands to his face, but it’s useless; the tips of his ears are already neon red. “you’re insane.”

“insane for you,” you say, leaning in close enough to watch his eyes widen. you trail a finger down the side of his neck, all slow and teasing. “c’mon, jihoon. you can admit it. you’ve seen every episode, haven’t you?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles, which is the worst lie you’ve ever heard. the way his voice cracks halfway through? chef’s fucking kiss.

“oh yeah? then why’d you flinch when i said ‘magic winx’ last week?”

“...fuck you.”

“thought you’d never ask.”

you don’t give him a chance to retort, crashing your lips onto his. he freezes for, like, half a second, then he’s all in, hands gripping your hips like you’ll disappear if he lets go. the kiss is messy, teeth and tongue, and you can feel him hardening under your skirt—if you can even call that a skirt.

“you’re the worst!” he groans against your lips, but the way he’s pulling you closer says otherwise.

“and you’re a winx club stan,” you shoot back, grinding down on him just to hear the breath hitch in his throat.

“shut up,” he mutters, before flipping you onto the couch. you’re so fucked.

you’re grinning, smug and shameless, sprawled out on his studio couch like a gift he’s just unwrapped. he doesn’t know whether he wants to worship you or ruin you.

now you realize that, maybe you underestimated just how feral this man could get.

he’s still dressed, but barely tho; his shirt’s pulled halfway up his chest, showing off just enough skin to make you the feral one instead. you hook your legs around his waist, tugging him down until you’re pressed flush against each other. he’s hard—so fucking hard—and you can feel it, the thick length of him pressing against your core through the flimsy fabric of your skirt.

he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “you show up dressed like that, looking like—like that—”

“like your dream girl?” you tease, running your hands through his hair. it’s soft, messy from all his pacing earlier, and you tug just enough to make him groan. “admit it, jihoon. you’ve been thinking about this.”

“youre my dream girl, babe,” he hisses, grinding against you like he’s losing the battle with himself.

“show me,” you challenge, lifting your hips to meet his, you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. “c’mon, birthday boy. don’t you wanna blow out your candle?”

he pauses, pulling back just enough to give you that look—the one that says you’re about to regret being a little shit. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, before grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“oh, we’re doing this?” you say, breathless but still grinning. “kinky.”

“shut up,” he growls. his lips find yours again, rougher this time, his teeth catching on your bottom lip as he kisses you. his free hand slides down your side, slipping under your top to cup your breast, and the feel of his calloused fingers against your skin makes you arch into him.

you gasp, as he tugs your top up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. he pauses for a second, just staring at you—at the way your chest rises and falls, the way your skirt’s ridden up to reveal more skin than it covers. you can see the way his throat bobs, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

“you’re perfect,” he says, and it’s so soft, so genuine, it makes your chest tighten.

“yeah?” you say, your voice shaky. “then stop staring and fuck me.”

he’s on you in a second, lips trailing down your neck, over your collarbone, to your chest. his tongue flicks over your nipple, and you let out a sound you didn’t even know you could make, your hands twisting he sucks, bites, licks, like he’s determined to leave his mark.

his hand slips between your legs, pushing aside your skirt and finding the damp patch on your panties. “fuck,” he groans, pressing his thumb against you through the fabric. “you’re so wet already.”

“wonder why,” you manage to say, though it comes out more like a whimper as he slides your panties down and off. his fingers are on you immediately, spreading you open, and itmakes you feel like you’re melting.

he teases you, running his fingers up and down your slit, barely grazing your clit just to watch you squirm. “you talk a big game,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “but look at you now. all needy.”

“ngh—babe please!” you say, even though you’re very much proving his point. “stop teasing.”

he smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “patience, fairy of music.”

he licks stripe up your slit before circling your clit. your hips jerk, but he holds you down, his hands gripping your thighs as he works you over that’s honestly unfair. it’s too much and you’re a mess, moaning his name and tugging at his hair.

“jihoon!” you gasp, your voice breaking as he slides a finger inside you, curling it just right.

he sucks your clit harder, adding another finger and sucking on your clit until you’re seeing stars. your orgasm hits you, taking you by surprise, your whole body tensing as you cry out, and he doesn’t stop until you’re begging him to.

when he finally pulls back, he looks so fucking smug. “happy birthday to me,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“get your pants off.”

he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue, standing up and shucking his jeans and boxers in record time. your mouth goes dry at the sight of the cock that you loved and craved, the flush on his cheeks only makes him hotter.

“what’s the matter?” he says, climbing back over you. “cat got your tongue?”

you shush him, pulling him down for another kiss.

“as you wish, fairy girl.” and then he’s pushing into you, filling you inch by inch until you’re gasping at the stretch. you love the way he feels inside you, the way he groans against your neck as he bottoms out.

“you okay?” he asks, knowing the time you need to adjust.

“yeah,” you breathe, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer. “move.”

you meet him thrust for thrust, your nails raking down his back as he picks up the pace. “fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his breath hot against your ear. “so fucking perfect.”

“i’m close.” so so fucking close—shit!

“me too,” he says, his thrusts turning frantic as he chases his orgasm. “come for me, baby.”

you do, cumming around him with a cry of his name, he looks at you. your head thrown back, your pussy desperately clamping around him—pushes him over the edge. he comes whiny groan, his hips stuttering as he spills into you.

he collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, and you can feel his heart pounding against yours. “best birthday ever, thank you babe.” he mumbles, his voice muffled but sincere.

you laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “told you you’d like it.”

“you’re never living this down,” he says, lifting his head to look at you. “next time, i’m dressing as bloom.”

“deal,” you say, grinning, and pull him down for another kiss.

[d-z20]

The Familiar's Return (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: After a quiet night takes an unexpected turn, you find yourself drawn back into the orbit of two witches who once owned your soul. Your bond as their Familiar begins to pull tighter, reigniting flames you’d long buried. In the shadows of magic and desire, you must navigate old connections, simmering tension, and a power that refuses to let you go.

- OR -

You flirt with Alice to make Agatha and Rio jealous so they fuck you to put you back in your place

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, bratty reader, top agathario, magical restraints, smidge of begging, mention of orgasm denial, fingering (Reader recv)

Words: 3.7k

A/N: totally didn’t write reader flirting with Alice because I want to flirt with her. This was written for this request that's been sat in my inbox for a while oops

AO3 | Masterlist

You’re lying on your bed, unwinding after a long, mundane day. A book in your hands, a mug of tea on the bedside table—just another ordinary evening. But then your eyelids grow heavy, and the pull of sleep becomes too much. You set the book down, curling into the warmth of your bed and closing your eyes for a moment...

The next thing you know, you’re waking up with a groan. You blink a few times, confusion clouding your mind. It’s dark, but the air feels different—charged somehow. You stretch and sit up, a little too quickly. That’s when you hear a voice above you.

"Uhhhh, guys, does the road usually have people just lying around sleeping?"

You blink again. The road? You glance around, confusion rising. This isn’t your room. You’re not even in your house. Instead, you’re on a strange dirt path, surrounded by towering trees that stretch endlessly in every direction, bathed in an eerie, otherworldly light.

You rub your eyes. That’s when you see her: Rio Vidal, one of your old owners.

She grins, flashing a wild, flirtatious smile. She’s clearly surprised, but there’s no hiding her amusement at seeing you again. “Well, well, look who decided to show up.”

The familiar tug at your soul confirms it: Agatha is here too. You don’t even need to see her to feel the connection. That bond... it’s been so long. You’d almost forgotten how strong it could be.

That must be how you ended up here. Their reunion summoning you to their side. Just when you thought you were free of their messes. Fucking brilliant.

Before you can finish that thought, a witch with red streaks in her hair walks over, frowning down at you.

“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing on the Witches’ Road?”

You freeze. The Witches’ Road? You knew it to be a con—something Agatha had fabricated to further her own power. But this place? It looks real. Too real. So what the hell are they doing here? And where exactly is here?

"Hey, answer the question!" The witch snaps, her tone sharper this time. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

You smirk up at her, unbothered. “Oh, just your average wanderer, looking for a bit of fun.” You stand up, brushing yourself off and raising an eyebrow at the confused faces around you. “I’m Y/N, by the way. Familiar extraordinaire, at your service.” You bow, bringing her hand to your lips for a playful kiss. “I was Agatha’s and Rio’s little pet back in the day.”

The witch blushes at your gesture, and the rest of the coven stares at you, unsure how to respond. But before anyone can say anything, Agatha’s voice cuts through the awkward silence.

“Alice, sit back down,” she orders, before her attention shifts to you. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

You meet her gaze, a cocky grin spreading across your face. “Guess I got summoned by your delightful company,” you say, glancing at Rio. “Seems like the connection still works, even after all this time.”

You cock your head to the side, glancing around at the others. "Well, this is... interesting. Always thought the Witches’ Road was a little too good to be real, right, Agatha?" You wink at her, and Rio laughs from beside Agatha, clearly entertained by your antics.

"Oh, this is definitely real," Rio says with a smirk. "Good to see you haven’t changed."

You flash a wicked grin. "Oh, you have no idea just how much I’ve changed, darling." The words hang heavy with implication. Before, you’d followed them around like a loyal, obedient plaything. Not anymore. Tonight, you were going to have some fun with them.

As the others chat, you notice Alice still watching you. Her gaze is intense; curiosity piqued.

You sit next to her, leaning back and crossing your arms to flex your muscles. “I have to admit, I’m intrigued by you, Alice. What's your story? I’ve always had a soft spot for women with a bit of edge.”

Alice blushes again, trying to maintain composure.

Rio laughs, clearly enjoying the way you’re provoking Agatha. She plays along, her voice laced with amusement. “You are exactly their type, Alice,” she says with a wink.

Agatha glares at you from across the fire, but there’s something more in her eyes—a flicker of jealousy she can’t hide. It’s that same old dance, and you’ve missed it. You love pushing her buttons, even when she tries to act indifferent.

Alice clears her throat, breaking the tension. She eyes the symbol on your arm, her voice dipping into something more serious. “That mark... what is it? Some sort of spell?” She lifts her sleeve to reveal a small tattoo. “My mother made me get this. Protection, she said.”

You glance at her arm, then back to her face, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Protection, huh? That’s cute.”

You lean in just a little, your fingers tracing lightly over her tattoo. “But no, my mark isn’t a spell. It’s the sign of a familiar. A scar that binds your soul to another.”

You let the words sink in, your fingers lingering a moment too long on her skin. Alice shivers slightly, caught off guard by your touch, her breath hitching. You enjoy the effect you’re having on her, the flush on her face making it all the more satisfying.

“So,” you ask teasingly, “do all you witches have a little family tradition of getting tattoos, or is that just an Alice thing?”

Alice laughs nervously, trying to hide her growing discomfort, but you can see the tension building. She’s trying so hard to stay in control, but you’re making it harder and harder to resist.

The rest of the coven continues chatting, but you remain focused on Alice, your body language making your intentions clear. You lean in closer, your touch deliberate, your words sweet but laced with something far less innocent.

You glance over at Agatha and Rio, seeing jealousy on both of their faces now. You knew flirting with someone else would get a rise out of them. Agatha’s eyes narrow, while Rio hides her irritation behind a smirk.

But Agatha’s had enough. She stands abruptly, her voice laced with fury. “Alright, pet,” she says, her tone unmistakably warning. “We need to have a word.”

You stand, cocking an eyebrow at her. “Oh, do we now? I’m not sure I’m in the mood for a ‘word.’”

Before you can protest further, Rio grabs your arm, pulling you away from the fire and into the shadows, out of the coven’s sight.

“I guess duty calls,” you tease, glancing back at the others as Rio pulls you further into the dark.

Once you’re out of sight, Agatha steps forward, her eyes smouldering with frustration. “You’ve been all over her since you got here,” she growls, her voice thick with something possessive. “Have you forgotten you belong to us?”

You pull back, laughing lightly. “Oh, really? You think I’m just going to roll over and—”

Before you can finish, Rio’s lips crash against yours—hard and demanding. Agatha follows suit, her kiss searing as she pulls you between them. The bond crackles to life around you, familiar and undeniable. Oh, how you’ve missed this.

You give in for a moment, allowing yourself to be swept up in the intensity. But then, with a mischievous smirk, you pull away. “As much as I’m enjoying this,” you say, breathless, “I’d rather be doing it with Alice.” You turn on your heel, leaving them standing in stunned silence. It was a lie, of course. Another taunt to see how far you can push them before they make you submit.

Agatha calls after you, fury and desire mixing in her voice. “You can’t just walk away from us.”

You roll your eyes, halting mid-step and turning to face them. “Oh, am I supposed to beg for your attention, Agatha? Like the good old days?”

Rio steps in, her playful side still evident as she pulls you closer. “We’re giving you the option to do it willing; we could just make you. You’re still our familiar, after all.”

pleasemakemepleasemakemepleasemakemepleasemakemepleasemakeme

You lean back, eyes glittering with defiance. "I’m not begging for anything from either of you." At least not yet. You turn and walk back to the fire.

As you sit, you flick your wrist, conjuring up a spread of food and drink. The coven watches in awe, unsure how to process your sudden display of magic.

You smirk, explaining with a sly grin, “Being a familiar means I can do things other witches can’t. Just a perk of the job.”

The coven, unsure whether to be impressed or confused, starts reaching for drinks and food, the alcohol loosening them up. Soon, laughter fills the air, and their earlier wariness is forgotten.

You continue to flirt with Alice, enjoying every blush you pull from her, knowing you’ll face the consequences later.

—

By the time the fire burns low and the coven is scattered around in various states of drunken stupor, you’re left with Agatha and Rio—both simmering with desire, their eyes locked on you.

"Okay, you’ve had your fun," Rio murmurs, voice thick with something darker. "But now, it’s our turn."

Agatha steps closer, her lips curling into a sly smirk as she tilts her head, eyes dark with challenge. "Still think you’re in control, pet?" she purrs, her voice low and full of authority. 

Before you can retort, Rio sidesteps you, her presence a heat against your back. Her fingers trail along your shoulders, her touch feather-light, but there’s no mistaking the strength behind it. Her voice, husky and teasing, whispers close to your ear. "Oh, love, you don’t seem to understand. This is our game, and you don’t get to change the rules."

You scoff, trying to summon some of that bravado from earlier.

But before you can say anything, Rio’s magic snaps into place. Vines, glowing faintly with her energy, erupt from the earth, curling around your ankles and locking you in place. You glance down, startled, but the roots are unyielding, pulsing with her power. You tug once, then twice, and realise you’re trapped.

Agatha moves to stand in front of you, her piercing gaze meeting yours. She doesn’t touch you, but the weight of her presence alone has your pulse quickening. "Not so bold now, are we?" she says, her tone mocking, but there’s an undeniable heat behind her words.

Rio leans against you from behind, her lips brushing the shell of your ear as her hands rest on your hips, holding you firmly. "Don’t worry," she murmurs, her voice almost soothing if not for the edge of danger. "We’ll remind you where you belong."

To your shock, they don’t focus on you. Instead, Agatha steps into Rio’s space, their lips meeting in a slow, deliberate kiss, filled with hunger and command. It’s magnetic, their power crackling in the air, and you feel your body react against your will, heat flooding to your core, and you squeeze your legs together.

"Enjoying the view?" Agatha asks, her voice dripping with amusement as she pulls back just enough to smirk at you.

While your time apart means they’ve lost the ability to peer into your mind, they can still pick up on your feelings, especially when they’re this strong.

You glare, trying to fight the growing heat pooling in your core, but your voice betrays you. "Is that all you’ve got?" you challenge, though your voice wavers slightly.

Rio chuckles, a rich, sultry sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Still so defiant. Let’s see how long that lasts." With a small twitch of her finger, the vines force your legs apart, removing what little relief you had given yourself.

Agatha leans in again, her kiss with Rio deepening, more passionate now, as if daring you to watch, to feel your own irrelevance in the moment. You bite your lip, fighting the whimper, threatening to escape as you struggle against the vines keeping you rooted.

And then, Rio’s magic flares again. The roots tighten, pulling you slightly forward, locking you in place with perfect precision to watch them. Your arms tingle with the same sensation, her magic wrapping around your wrists as if sensing you might lash out.

Agatha glances back at you, her eyes alight with mischief. "What’s the matter, love? Jealous?" She tilts her head mockingly. "You didn’t seem to want our attention before, did you? Now you’re going to beg for it."

You feel a flush of frustration mixed with undeniable arousal. "I don’t beg," you snap, though the words lack conviction.

Rio arches an eyebrow, turning just enough to glance at you. "Oh, you will." Her voice is a promise, smooth and unrelenting. She leans back into Agatha, her hands trailing along the other witch’s waist, pulling her closer. Suddenly your legs feel cold and you look down to see your pants have vanished. There’s a vine snaking its way up your leg and between your thighs. It starts to stroke up and down your crotch, and you buck your hips trying to get more pressure. You thought you’d gained at least a scrap of dignity after all those years apart, yet here you are grinding down on a fucking plant, making it impossibly wet from your arousal, just because they’re making out in front of you.

Their kisses grow hungrier, more deliberate, and every movement feels calculated to remind you of your place. The tension in the air is suffocating, their bond radiating power and control. You watch as Agatha’s nails rake lightly down Rio’s back, eliciting a small gasp from the witch.

You tug harder at the magical restraints, a desperate sound bubbling in your throat despite your pride. Your body betrays you, heat pooling in every nerve as the intensity of their connection pulls at something deep within you.

Agatha turns to you again, her lips swollen from Rio’s kisses, her smirk sharper than ever. "Say it," she commands simply, her voice firm but not unkind.

You shake your head stubbornly, your pride warring with the growing need inside you. "Not a chance," you manage, though your voice is barely a whisper.

Rio chuckles again, her magic tightening the restraints around you just enough to keep you aware of how completely at their mercy you are. She presses a kiss to Agatha’s neck, murmuring something you can’t quite hear but feel in the air—a promise, a plan.

They turn to you together now, their combined presence overwhelming. Agatha steps closer, her hand reaching out to cup your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes. "You’re trembling," she observes, her tone teasing. Her fingers trail down your jaw, leaving a tingling heat in their wake. "You can end this, you know. All you have to do is beg."

You bite your lip, your pride a fragile shield against their dominance. "I don’t—"

Rio cuts you off, her magic surging, pulling you taut against the vines. "Try again," she says softly, but the threat in her tone is clear.

Agatha’s lips brush against your ear, her breath warm and sending shivers down your spine. "Say it, pet. Or maybe we’ll just leave you here to simmer while we enjoy each other properly."

The thought sends a sharp pang through you; the idea of being left out, of missing their touch, their power, their presence, is more unbearable than you want to admit. Your resolve crumbles just slightly, enough for your voice to tremble as you whisper, "Please..."

Agatha’s eyes light up, her smirk widening as she leans back to survey you. "Not good enough," she chides.

Rio steps in, her hands on your shoulders now, grounding you. "Louder, love," she purrs. "We want to hear it."

Your pride shatters under their combined weight, and you finally let the words tumble from your lips. "Please, Agatha... Rio... I—" You swallow hard, your voice cracking with a mixture of need and surrender. "I need you. Please."

Rio lets the magical restraints fall away, disappearing into the ground, and Agatha’s lips come crashing down on yours. The kiss is fierce, hungry—more than just a reclaiming, it's a possession. You feel your mark burn with desire, the familiar sting that always came with them, only this time it’s more intense, more urgent. They embrace you fully now, and you melt into the sensation, every inch of you on fire, every breath shared between the three of you.

Rio’s hands are everywhere, teasing, possessive, pulling you tighter against her. She presses you into Agatha’s chest, feeling the magic thrumming in your veins, making every part of you ache for more. Agatha’s fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head back, allowing Rio to trail kisses down your throat, her teeth grazing your skin, setting your nerves ablaze. It’s overwhelming, all-consuming—your resistance dissolving entirely under their combined touch.

The moment Rio pushes a finger inside you, you feel your walls tighten immediately. A benefit of being their familiar was how easily they could make you cum; the downside was it also meant they were the only people who could make you cum, so in all your decades apart, you haven’t been able to climax even once. Talk about orgasm denial.

They can feel your desire, the way your body trembles in anticipation, and they’re more than happy to give you exactly what you need. Rio, her eyes burning with possessive hunger, inserts another finger, pressing her palm firmly against your clit. Her fingers flex, teasing, sending waves of heat through you as they start to move, driving you crazy with the slow, deliberate pressure. Every touch from her feels like an electrifying promise, like the world is collapsing into the space between you. You can barely focus, drowning in the sensation as she doesn’t stop, guiding you into a rhythm that has you gasping for more.

Meanwhile, Agatha is relentless. Her lips find yours again, but this time it’s different—her kiss is sharper, more urgent. She bites down on your bottom lip, hard enough to sting, but it’s the kind of pain you crave, the kind of roughness that always ignites something dark and hungry within you. You gasp, the sensation intensifying as she takes advantage of your breathless moment. Her teeth graze your lip one more time, a reminder that she holds the power in this dance.

Before you can process, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, deep and possessive. The kiss becomes an exploration, a claim, as Agatha takes what she wants, making sure you feel every movement, every shift of her body against yours. You kiss her back hungrily, matching her intensity, responding to the pull of her control. It’s familiar—this frantic need to give in, to let go, to surrender. And yet, it feels different this time—there’s no escape, no hesitation, only the heat of their presence enveloping you, pulling you further under their spell.

Your breath hitches as Rio shifts her focus, pressing harder into you, moving with purpose, her touch as commanding as Agatha’s kiss. It’s a beautiful chaos—the push and pull of their desire, the control they hold over you. You can’t tell where one touch ends and the other begins, everything blending together into one overwhelming sensation that leaves you gasping for air, for more.

"That's it," Agatha murmurs against your lips, her voice low and throaty. "You’ll always be ours, and ours alone."

The words sink deep, pushing you past the breaking point. You finally let go completely, surrendering to the tidal wave of sensation. Your entire body tenses, every nerve lit up with a white-hot intensity as you reach your peak. It’s as if time itself halts in reverence of the moment, and all you can feel is them—their hands, their lips, their presence anchoring you even as they unravel you. It’s overwhelming, raw, and impossible to contain. Your breath catches, breaking into a shuddering gasp as your orgasm consumes you, leaving you trembling in their hold.

The aftermath is a blur of warmth and relief, your body melting against theirs as the world slowly rights itself. Still high on the ecstasy of your climax, clarity seeps in through the haze. For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself think about how much you’ve missed them—not just their touch, but them, the soul-deep connection that once defined your bond. The longing you’d buried, the emptiness you’d ignored, rushes to the surface, overwhelming in its magnitude.

Agatha’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and familiar, sending shivers down your spine. “We’ve missed you too.”

You blink, startled, because her lips haven’t moved. The realisation strikes you like a spark catching flame—they’re in your mind again. The bond has fully reignited, glowing brighter than ever, their thoughts brushing against yours like the softest caress.

A grin tugs at your lips, even as a lump forms in your throat. For so long, you’ve felt stretched too thin, as though your soul had grown just a little too large, leaving a space that nothing else could fill. You hadn’t realised just how incomplete you’d been until now, until this. With them.

For the first time in what feels like forever, the missing pieces are back in place. The weight of their presence settles over you, grounding and comforting, like the steady pulse of a heartbeat you’d forgotten you needed. You close your eyes and lean into them, basking in the completeness of it, a smile playing at your lips as the warmth of their bond wraps around you.

Rio chuckles softly, her fingers brushing through your hair. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. There’s no need to say anything. They already know, as deeply and completely as you do. Whatever comes next, you’re no longer alone—and that, more than anything, is what you’ve missed the most.

-----

I know you didn't ask for the soft finish but I'm an absolute sucker for a happy ending

[emmyrosee]

His foot taps anxiously against the floor of the flower shop, eyes glazing over the beautiful bouquets and vibrant colors that splash under the fluorescent lights that crackle above his head. The smell of so many flowers is getting into his head, powdery and sweet, but the nausea brewing inside of him is not budging.

He messed up. He knows that.

He also knows he relies on the bet that you’ll accept flowers every time he messes up, which while seldom, happens more than he still would like.

You deserve the utmost love and respect. And he can’t stand that sometimes, he feels like he can’t give it to you and has to hope flowers will be enough for your trust again, like a bandaid on a scraped knee.

After this, he’ll run to the bakery for a pastry, wrapped in a little box, waiting for you to enjoy it-

What is he thinking, countless gifts won’t make up for it, for all he’s done. You’ll never forgive him, each bouquet and each slice of cake when he messes up surely is only driving you away, and he cards a hand through his blonde hair as he has a small, teeny freak out in front of the display.

He looks to the old man next to him who easily picks out a bouquet of assorted flowers with a predominantly purple color story. The old man sniffs them, and smiles, before sighing happily. He turns to Atsumu with small nod, “think she’ll like ‘em?”

Atsumu tenses up before offering the old man a small chuckle, “sure is one of the prettiest bouquets in here,” he encourages, and the man hums as he looks around the boquete for any imperfections in the petals. “She’ll be lucky to have them from ya, yessir.”

The man smiles, “no, son; I’m lucky to have her.” He sighs dreamily, “there isn’t enough bouquets in the world to show her how much she means to me.”

Atsumu freezes. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, a lump forms into his throat at the man’s words. He tries to swallow it thickly, keep his emotions at bay before he wails to this strange man about all the ways he’s hurt you over the years and how always, he’s never been able to fully forgive himself despite you assuring that you do.

This argument would be no different.

Atsumu nods his head in understanding, “I think you might be in the same boat as me,” he says, wondering if this man too, is making up for a mistake he made. If this man is trying to repent, and the first way to do it is to bring her flowers, a symbol of a love he’s determined to keep blooming, keep alive, keep beautiful.

But maybe, just maybe, he’s not relying on the fact that flowers are an apology, perhaps they’re being purchased just because, just to make you smile.

Perhaps Atsumu should start doing that for you. Just something nice.

Something to look forward to.

The man chuckles once more; it’s raspy, like perchance he’s one to indulge in a cigarette when the craving arises, but it’s comforting, and for the first time in hours, Atsumu feels a little more at ease.

“At least we’re in the boat, my friend,” the man says. Atsumu swallows thickly once more, but he flashes the man a comforted smile.

“You’re right. We sure are, sir.”

The man bows at the blonde, “you take care of yourself,” he says simply, before coolly turning to make his way to the registers. Atsumu looks back at the boquetes and grabs one that reminds him of you; bright and pristine, like bubbles on a warm day, a warm blanket at night. Like the movie you can repeat by heart by now, but he’ll still watch with you like it’s the first time.

He smiles, sniffles and blinks the sting in his waterline, thrilled to be in the boat with you.

[00valentina-writes00]

PLEASE part 2 of a slip of the tongue (sevika)

maybe next day??

idk but youve awoken something within me with sevika as mommy

✞⛧ Slip of the tongue (part two) ✞⛧

Warnings: Pet names, including “mommy,” used in a sensual/domestic setting Suggestive language, heavy implications of dominance and submission dynamics Light embarrassment, power play, and playful banter

You wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and an overwhelming sense of dread. The events of the previous night flood back in disjointed flashes—Ricky rambling at the bar, too much alcohol, Sevika showing up like a looming shadow of judgment, and… oh, god. You called her mommy.

You groan, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples. Why did you think drinking was a good idea? Why did you think calling her was a good idea? And why the hell did she not immediately burst out laughing and leave you to wallow in your shame?

You crack an eye open and glance around the small, dimly lit apartment. You’re home—miraculously—though you have no memory of getting here.

Sevika. Of course.

You glance down at yourself. Your shoes are neatly placed by the door, and a blanket is draped haphazardly over your legs. She must’ve brought you home and tucked you in. The thought makes your chest ache with a confusing mix of mortification and warmth.

The faint sound of movement from the other room catches your attention, and your stomach drops. She’s still here.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffle toward the kitchen, every step making you wince as your head pounds in protest. You find Sevika leaned against the counter, sipping from a mug of coffee like she owns the place. She looks annoyingly put together, her trench coat gone but her usual confidence intact.

Her sharp eyes flick to you as you enter, and a smirk tugs at her lips. “Morning, sunshine.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Don’t. Just… don’t.”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning to. But now that you’ve said it…” Her smirk widens, and you can already tell she’s going to enjoy this way too much.

You collapse into a chair at the small table, cradling your head in your hands. “Please tell me you’re here to kill me and put me out of my misery.”

“Tempting,” she says, setting her mug down and crossing her arms. “But no. I figured you’d need someone to drag you out of the gutter this morning.”

“I’d prefer the gutter, honestly,” you mutter.

She lets out a low chuckle, the sound both infuriating and strangely soothing. “Relax. You were drunk. I get it.”

You peek at her through your fingers, bracing yourself for the teasing that’s sure to come. “So… you’re not mad?”

“Mad? No.” Her smirk turns teasing. “Amused? Definitely.”

You groan again, slumping back in your chair. “I can’t believe I called you that.”

“‘Mommy,’” she says, enunciating the word slowly, clearly enjoying your suffering.

“Stop,” you beg, your face heating up.

Her laughter is deep and rich, filling the small apartment. She pushes off the counter and steps closer, towering over you in that way that always makes you feel small and flustered. She rests a hand on the back of your chair, leaning in just enough to make your heart race.

“You’re lucky it was me you called and not someone else,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth.

You swallow hard, unable to meet her gaze. “Yeah, real lucky.”

Her fingers brush your chin, tilting your face up so you’re forced to look at her. Her expression softens, the teasing giving way to something warmer.

“You said it was an accident,” she says, her thumb grazing your jaw. “But if you want to call me that when you’re sober, I’m not stopping you.”

Your breath catches, your cheeks burning hotter than ever. “You’re serious?”

Her smirk returns, but it’s softer this time. “I wouldn’t joke about this.”

You blink up at her, your brain short-circuiting as you try to process her words. “I… I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” She straightens, ruffling your hair in an annoyingly affectionate way. “Now, drink some water before you pass out again. Can’t have you calling me for help twice in one week.”

You watch her walk back to the counter, her confident stride making it clear she’s still in charge of the situation.

You spend the rest of the day nursing your hangover and mulling over Sevika’s words. Her smirk, her voice, her teasing—all of it has been looping in your mind on a reel you can’t escape. She said she wouldn’t mind if you called her mommy again. She even sounded serious.

But was she?

The idea of actually testing it makes your stomach twist in knots, but the curiosity is unbearable. Sevika never says anything she doesn’t mean, and the way she had leaned in this morning, all confident and steady, had been… something.

By the time evening rolls around, you’ve made up your mind. You have to try. Just once. Just to see if she’s really okay with it—or if she was messing with you.

Sevika is lounging on your couch, her legs spread wide, an arm draped across the backrest as she scrolls through her phone. She’s the picture of casual dominance, and you’re trying your best not to let it get to you.

You clear your throat, and her eyes flick up to you. “Feeling human again?” she asks, her tone light but amused.

“Yeah,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “Thanks for… you know, everything. Last night, this morning…”

She shrugs. “Not a big deal. Someone’s gotta look out for you.”

You hesitate, shifting on your feet as you try to work up the courage. Your heart is hammering, but you force yourself to push forward. “Sevika?”

“Hmm?” She doesn’t look up from her phone, her attention only half on you.

You take a deep breath, your voice coming out softer than you intended. “…Mommy?”

Her reaction is immediate. Her head snaps up, her phone forgotten as her sharp grey eyes lock onto yours. For a moment, she says nothing, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, the corner of her mouth curves into a smirk.

“Well, well,” she says, her voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t back down. “You said I could, so…”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she studies you with a look that makes your stomach do flips. “I did, didn’t I?”

The air between you feels heavier now, charged with something unspoken. You shift under her gaze, feeling both nervous and exhilarated.

“So…” you say, your voice faltering. “How was it?”

She chuckles, the sound deep and smooth as she sits back again. “Not bad,” she says, her smirk widening. “Though I think you can do better.”

“Better?” you echo, your voice squeaking slightly.

“Mmm.” She pats the empty space beside her on the couch. “C’mere.”

You hesitate for only a moment before crossing the room and sinking onto the couch next to her. She doesn’t waste any time pulling you closer, her strong arm wrapping around your shoulders as she turns to face you.

“If you’re gonna call me mommy,” she murmurs, her voice dropping to that dangerously low register that makes your heart race, “you’d better mean it.”

You blink up at her, your breath catching as she leans in, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Try again,” she whispers.

Your pulse is pounding now, but the warmth of her touch and the challenge in her voice push you to obey. You tilt your head up to meet her gaze, your voice coming out soft but steady.

“Mommy.”

Her smirk softens, her eyes darkening as her hand cups your jaw, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “Good girl,” she says, her voice like velvet.

Your heart stutters, and you’re pretty sure your face is on fire, but you don’t look away. The approval in her tone sends a rush of warmth through you, and suddenly, you’re not so embarrassed anymore.

Sevika’s smirk widens as she takes in your reaction, clearly pleased with herself. “You’re lucky I like you,” she murmurs, her hand sliding down to rest on your thigh. “Otherwise, you’d never hear the end of this.”

You laugh nervously, your voice shaky. “So… does this mean you’re okay with it?”

Her thumb presses into your thigh, just enough to make you squirm. “I’d say that’s an understatement.”

You don’t have time to respond before she leans in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s both possessive and tender. By the time she pulls back, you’re breathless, your mind spinning.

“Now,” she says, her voice dripping with authority, “why don’t you be a good girl and sit in my lap?”

You obey without hesitation, your embarrassment all but forgotten as you settle onto her strong thighs. Her arms wrap around you, holding you close, and the way she looks at you makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

Maybe calling her mommy wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

[charliemwrites]

Part 2 of Neighbor!Johnny!

(Feeling a bit ✨naughty✨ this Christmas Eve so… here.)

After the fight with Ryan, you try to keep your distance from Johnny — keep the peace and all that. The more you think about the accusations your husband made… the more that guilty pit in your stomach grows.

It’s all been platonic, at least on your end. Sure, you let Johnny get away with a bit more than the average stranger, but he’s a good friend! Nothing you wouldn’t let one of your other friends do. (Even if you would find the lingering touches and general disregard for personal space a little strange from someone else.)

Sure, you have a suspicion every now and then that Johnny has more than platonic feelings for you… but they’re fleeting. Every time you worry that he’s about to cross a line, he always draws away from it. Evens out his smile, break his gaze, drops his hand. You’re close, that’s all.

But… if it’s bothering your husband. Well, you’re obligated to take that into account, aren’t you?

Even if you ache, missing your friend. Missing his silly little jokes, his cheeky grin. Miss his company while you do laundry, a helping hand in the yard, even just someone to chat with over podcasts and tv shows.

Hell, you miss hugs. Ryan’s never been big on… affection. Especially not in public.

(Barely in the house, either, really. You’ve tried talking to him about it. He swears he loves you, he just doesn’t show affection that way. You struggle to figure out why that’s so with you when he has no problem hugging his mother, sister, hell, even his secretary.

Actually… you struggle to figure out how he shows you affection. So you’ve stopped trying to figure it out at.)

But Johnny. Oh, Johnny is just so sweet to you. A hug when he greets you, a hug before he leaves. A kiss to your cheek when you hand him a drink or a snack. A hand on your hip when he leans past you to get things from high shelves. Nudges to your thighs during good parts of shows.

You miss it. Him. The friendship you’ve built in your too-quiet home, where the other neighbors seem to like your husband so much more than you.

“What’s goin’ on, hen?” Johnny asks one morning. You’ve been keeping coffee dates meetups on the porch. Which is almost worse, because it’s cold and you find yourself cuddling up to the heat he exudes like a furnace. “Hardly seen you in a month; miss my best girl.”

“Sorry, Johnny,” you sigh, rubbing at your face. Ryan’s been working late most days this week, comes in so late and wakes you up. “Just… Ryan, ya know.”

His jaw tightens, eyes flashing dangerously. You’re reminded suddenly, inexplicably, of just what Johnny does for a living. How often you’ve seen him just back home with blood still buried in his nail beds.

“Dinnae, hen,” he replies. “What about ‘im?”

You fidget, eyes on your half-empty mug. It feels wrong, admitting relationship quibbles to someone outside of family. You used to have a policy that marriage matters should stay within the marriage. But… it’s hard when it feels like you’re the only one working on the marriage. It’s a lot of work to do alone.

“He just… he doesn’t think it’s proper,” you admit, “how… how often you’re over. How close we are.”

“That so?”

You hunch your shoulders, feeling wrong. Feeling guilty for a whole new reason; for disappointing Johnny.

“Look at me, bonnie?”

He has to tip your chin up with his hand to get you to meet his eyes. His expression is softer than you expect.

“What about you, eh?”

“Me…?” You blink, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Yer feelings are all I care about, hen.”

“Johnny,” you sigh, trying to reprimand, but sound more pleading instead. He shakes your head a bit, gently; his own reprimand.

“Answer me, bonnie.”

“I like spending time with you,” you whisper.

The corners of his mouth twitch up as he hums.

“‘Course ye do,” he hums, “‘n I like spendin’ time with you. It’s not fair of ‘im, is it?”

You blink, brows pulling together in confusion. Johnny continues, the thumb on your chin gently stroking.

“Not fair of ‘im to keep you all cooped up here, come home so late, neglect ye when he is around,” he coos. “And now he’s tellin’ you to keep away from your best friend.”

He tsks, that dangerous glint in his eyes again.

“Wastin’ his tongue for bullshite when he should be usin’ it to lick your pretty pussy.”

Your mouth drops open, shock and heat flooding you hotly. “Johnny!” You gasp, scandalized.

He finally cracks a grin again. “Tell me I’m wrong, bonnie, ‘m not! When’s the last time he worked you over the way you deserve, huh? When’s the last time he made you squirt all over your sheets?”

You shove at him and then cover your burning face, trying not to squirm. Can’t answer because it would be proving him right and you don’t want to encourage his scandalous teasing.

“Bet he’d try to make you change ‘em even if he did,” Johnny grumbles, shaking his head. “Disgraceful. You ought to be put to sleep on a nice, thick cock.”

Whack!

“Oi! What was that fer?!”

“You’re being a creep, Johnny!” Your stern tone in undercut by your embarrassed laughter. “Quit talking about my shitty sex life.”

“So it is shitty!”

“Shut up!”

When a discreet box shows up at your door two days later, you know exactly who it’s from.

…that doesn’t stop you from using the (shockingly detailed and realistic) dildo inside the packaging.

[princesseilish]

Heyyyy been missing your writing had an idea of Rosie going to billies show for the first time? Please? If not that's fine

FIRST SHOW

Billie Eilish x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, that’s like all

Synopsis: it’s Ro’s first time going to one of billie’s concerts, and she can’t contain her excitement

Rosie had always known her mommy was Billie Eilish, but to her, that was just a name. Just something other people called her. Because at home, Billie wasn’t some worldwide superstar—she was just Mommy. The one who made her pancakes shaped like bears, the one who let her sit on her lap during movie nights, and the one who sang her to sleep every night.

So when y/n finally told Rosie that she’d be going to Billie’s show for the first time, the little girl screamed.

“I get to see Mommy sing? Like, for real?”

Y/n laughed as she helped her daughter pick out her outfit for the night. “Like, for real.”

Rosie gasped, dramatically placing a hand on her chest. “I need to look so cool.”

Y/n bit back a smile. “You always look cool, baby.”

—

The moment they arrived at the venue, Rosie’s excitement reached an entirely new level. Dressed in an oversized Billie Eilish hoodie (courtesy of her mommy, of course), her tiny noise-canceling headphones hanging around her neck, she held y/n’s hand tightly as they were escorted backstage.

Rosie’s big brown eyes widened as she took in the busy energy around her—crew members running around, instruments being tuned, cameras flashing. It was a whole new world.

And then—

“BUG!”

Before Rosie could even react, Billie sprinted towards her, scooping her up into her arms.

“Mommy!!!” Rosie giggled, throwing her arms around Billie’s neck. “I’m at your show!”

Billie kissed her cheeks repeatedly, making Rosie squeal. “You are at my show! And you look so cute, bug, oh my god.”

Rosie pulled back just enough to give Billie an intense look. “Mommy, I’m so excited.”

Billie let out a soft laugh, rocking Rosie side to side. “Are you ready to watch me sing?”

Rosie nodded aggressively. “Yes! But—” she held up a finger, “—can you sing Mommy Song first?”

Y/n covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

Billie raised an amused brow. “What song, baby?”

Rosie blinked up at her. “I Love You,” she said, as if it were obvious.

Billie’s heart melted. “Bug… I love you so much.”

“I know,” Rosie grinned, poking Billie’s cheek. “That’s why you gotta sing it first!”

—

When the show finally started, Rosie was mesmerized.

She had seen Billie sing before, of course—but never like this. Never with flashing lights and thousands of people screaming her mommy’s name.

Rosie stood on y/n’s lap in the VIP section, wearing her little headphones, her eyes huge as she watched Billie move across the stage.

“She’s so cool,” Rosie whispered, completely in awe.

Y/n kissed the top of her head. “She really is, baby.”

And then, during a quieter moment in the show, Billie looked towards their section.

“This is a really special night for me,” she said into the mic, a warm smile spreading across her face. “Because my baby—my little bug—is here at my show for the very first time tonight.”

Rosie’s eyes lit up as the crowd cheered.

Billie looked directly at her and said, “Hi, bug.”

Rosie gasped. “SHE SAID HI TO ME.”

The crowd lost it.

Billie grinned. “This one’s for you, baby.”

And when the first chords of I Love You started playing, Rosie immediately turned to y/n, whispering very seriously, “I told you she would sing it first.”

Y/n laughed, hugging her daughter tight. “Yeah, baby. You were right.”

And for the rest of the night, Rosie didn’t take her eyes off her mommy—not even once.

[syoddeye]

like i'm winning it - 03 demotion

ghost x f!reader | 3k words | series page | ao3 cw: alcohol, terrible boyfriend, skin picking, crude/bad jokes, mean!Ghost You hate being alone with him.

"I thought we were going to Palm Springs."

"What? Baby, no, no. I told you last week, it's all business—you'd be bored out of your mind."

A sharp slice of pain. You worry the edge of a hangnail, peeling until blood beads. You bring your thumb to your mouth, and pull the cuticle between your teeth.

"Maybe, but I'd be bored out of my mind by a private pool." 

Win steps out of the ensuite, his monogrammed toiletry bag dangling from one hand. The boyish sweep of his hair falls across his forehead just so as he flashes his perfect teeth at you. Catching you perched at the bed's edge, he chuckles, tossing the bag into his suitcase before crouching, hands landing on your bare knees.

"Trying to make me late?"

"Maybe," He pushes the hem of your dress higher, his movements unhurried, like he's weighing the pros and cons of rearranging his AV in real-time. His eyes flicker, that peridot gleam catching the light before he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he pulls back, returning to his suitcase.

"Not going to work this time, Stella." He teases, rifling through a stack of shirts. Stella. His nickname for you, the one that stuck—vintage, like out of an old movie, all tied up in his joke about your 'inevitable stardom.' It's not great , but it's better than—

"Princess." Ghost flatly intones from the doorway. "Your carriage awaits."

You don't look at him, instead grabbing Win's sleeve. "Fine. If I can't go, any news about that pharmaceuticals ad? Did they call?"

"Right," Win's tone is breezy, but his hands stall. A tell. You know the answer. "Nothing yet. These things take time, Stella." He doesn't meet your eyes. Ghost shifts in the doorway.

You release Win's sleeve, staring at the line of silver in his skin. There's a balance to maintain. You can't push him. Ghost clears his throat, but you don't bite. Win meets your gaze, a hint of apology that smooths into a grin. "Look, no one books these without a callback, you know that."

He's right. You do. Lumina Vitae was a favor. It's not like work's been scarce. Voiceovers, background gigs, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it commercial hawking a sports car worth more than your life. Enough to drop some hours at the galleria. Enough to hope it means something.

"Have a good trip. Say 'hi' to your dad for me. Call me." 

He hesitates, glances past you. "Of course, baby." The kiss that follows is sudden, hungry, a break from his usual ease. It's the same energy when he visits the club, showing off like he owns it.

When he pulls back, you repeat with a shaky breath. "Call me." 

He nods, but there's hesitation—his eyes dart to Ghost, then back. "Make sure she gets to the car."

You try not to smile too obviously. Win's protectiveness borders on caricature sometimes, but it lands right. The building's airtight, cameras and turrets covering every inch, yet he insists. He knows how to make you feel wanted, even when he can't fix everything. When he can't whisk you away or make a job appear. It's sweet. It's thoughtful. The warmth of it sticks with you, until it's Ghost in the lift with you instead of him.

Ghost looms beside you, leaning against the railing. You focus on the floor counter, watching the numbers tick down.

You hate being alone with him. Ever since that night at the warehouse, since he cornered you in this very elevator—you try to avoid it as much as possible.

His words always cut with surgical precision. Each snide remark calibrated to sting. At first, after Win's little security theater, you figured the comments were part of the act. Pressure tests to keep you on your toes, random snaps at your heels. But you don't feel sharper or more alert. It's smothering. He has a way of making his presence feel like a loaded gun pressed to your skull, and you've pleaded, more than once, for Win to send him away when you're around. But no dice. Where Win goes, Ghost follows.

Please don't talk. Please don't talk. Please don't–

"Such a shame we won't 'ave ya on the trip," Ghost doesn't look at you, but you feel his eyes in the wall's reflection. "Sunshine, spa days, little umbrella drinks by the pool. Is that what you thought would happen?"

You stiffen, say nothing. He doesn't need a reply to keep going, though. "Hate to break it to you, but 'e's never gonna introduce ya to 'is old man. Never was. Thought you'd've caught that by now."

The numbers drop—forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight. Your stomach knots tighter with every floor.

"I keep tellin' ya. You're a distraction. Flavor of the week. Eye candy for Junior when 'e's got downtime. You're on the menu, not the itinerary."

That one bruises.

After a short eternity, the doors slide open with a hiss. Ghost gestures for you to step out, one hand sweeping dramatically toward the lobby and the rain-slicked curb beyond. You clutch your bag tighter, wishing you'd grabbed one of Win's coats. The rain is relentless, dropping in sheets that turn the perpetual haze into a smear of blues, pinks, and violets across the pavement.

At the curb, one of Win's cars idles. The driver's just a silhouette. Ghost waves you toward it, his smirk razor-thin. "Go on then. Maybe next time, yeah? If there is one."

You glance back once you're inside, but his face is already gone flat and unreadable before the door slams and the car pulls off into the night.

The pharmaceuticals commercial gig comes through. It's the kind of consolation you need. It's not Palm Springs, but it's work. Another rung on the ladder to climb.

On the day of the shoot, you show up ready to channel some professional gravitas, only to feel like you're not playing a doctor so much as playing doctor.

The set is almost what you pictured: white-on-white everything, big red pill bottles lined up in rows on shelves, but then there's a king-size bed in the background and the two naked models sprawled across it. Their poses a little too languid to be for an iron supplement or allergen shot.

You're directed to a garment bag with your name on it, and when you unzip it, your expectations plummet. The lab coat is…not a lab coat. Hemline somewhere mid-thigh, neckline plunging low enough to threaten a serious wardrobe malfunction. There's also a misunderstanding over footwear—the stylist assumed you'd had stiletto implants, apparently—and you're squeezed into a pair of pumps a size too small.

And the meds you're peddling? Fuelibido: Make Them Melt!

Staring at the prop horse pill in your palm, morbidly curious about how it's taken, you briefly consider walking out but shake it off. Fortunately, you know all you need to do is to swallow your pride.

At least your lines are brief. Tight, punchy sound bites. The whole thing is a blur. Your co-star fumbles their grip on the free, promotional prostate massager five takes in a row before finally nailing it, and by then, your feet are screaming.

Then there's the pay. Instant. As soon as you sign out with a frazzled assistant, you hear the soft ping in your skull. Your cut zips into your account in real time, lighting up your new HUD. You're still getting used to the sensation, the faint vibration in the back of your head, but you grin automatically when you hear it now. All Pavlov-like. You step off set, shoes in hand.

You're barely dressed when a throat clears behind you. Peering back, you see a man whose entire head is encased in a matte black helm. It's featureless except for two oval eyeholes, and through them, there's nothing—just void.

He speaks, and his deep rumbling is immediately filtered through a translator. You catch the tail end of what you think might be Russian, the English following closely, modulated and slightly amplified. Painfully scripted.

"I am authorized to inform you that my employer found your performance engaging. We are always in search of new talent. Our engagements span several key industries. We have a proven track record—"

You tune him out once you realize what's happening. Someone's trying to poach you. You. You, with a handful of commercials and mobile ads under her belt. 

You think of the garment bag hanging on the rack behind you, the name under yours in bold lettering: Goforth Agency. Is this about you, or them? You can't tell if you're being scouted or if this is just how agencies like Goforth work, drawing everything into their orbits, junk included, without even trying. The helmeted man continues talking, but you're done.

"I am sorry, Mr…?" The man stops, but does not offer a name. "Right. Well, I'm already under contract." So many forms. "Best of luck." 

You pull your coat on, force a tight smile, and brush past him, your heart pounding too fast. Your head's buzzing.

Mere months into the real deal, and here you are, already in someone else's crosshairs.

It's really happening.

You arrive home to synthetic blue roses, the expensive ones, for a job well done and an apology. Win's trip's been extended. Another week, maybe two. Something about his father, a crisis, and all their meetings getting pushed back. It's not important. What is important is that you need to record audition self-tapes and that he'll send a car tomorrow to take you to a rent-a-booth before work.

He sends a picture in lieu of a call. Him, lounging poolside, the water a glimmering cyan, and an orange drink in hand. The sunlight glints off the silver tracks in his skin, and you follow them, naturally, to the waistband of his shorts. The frame cuts off the best part. 

>> Wish you were here.

> Me too :( 

>> You staying out of trouble? No one bothering you?

That gives you pause, your ego lifting its head, recalling your run-in with the helmeted man. You smirk as you dictate your response, carefully applying your eyeliner.

> No trouble, but I did get approached by a rep at the Fuelibido shoot.

>> Name?

> Didn't waste my time. Said thanks but no thanks, and left.

There's a delay. His typing starts and stops.

>> What did he look like? What was he wearing?

> Tall. A little smaller than Ghost. All black everything. Black helmet, didn't see his face at all. Why?

>> Next time it happens, get a name.

> Am I in trouble?

>> No, you did good, Stella. >> Tell me immediately if he bothers you again.

You hesitate this time. It feels like you stepped in shit. He sends another message while you putter.

>> Can't let someone steal my favorite star.

> Of course, Win. I'll tell you.

>> Keep up the good work, and you'll earn yourself a bonus. ;)

You smile reflexively at his cheeky tone, then tap your mirror to send a live capture. Seconds later, his reply lights up your HUD with lines and lines of flames. A gentleman, your Win.

Your feet have been killing you since morning. Spending the rest of the afternoon horizontal sounds like heaven, but you gather your things and trudge out the door. The second act of your day waits, and it's only marginally better than peddling dick pills.

The club's slow. Not unusual for a weekday night, but it lands you in the stockroom, elbow-deep in crates of vodka while a barback chatters aimlessly beside you. You pray for something—anything—to happen out front.

Then Mal sticks their head in like you summoned them.

"Small party. Upstairs. Garnet booth. Single bottle, mid-shelf. Got some money to burn. Sending you the details."

You're already brushing past them, murmuring thanks as your heart ticks up. You check your hair in the fridge's steel door, grab the selected bottle, fasten the sparkler, and head for the floor.

The doors swing open, and you pick up speed, double-timing it up the stairs as the sparkler sputters, warming up to its full show. Slowing only near the top, you adjust your grip and smooth your expression, pulling on your brightest, most practiced smile.

Small group, indeed. No overlapping voices, no bodies spilling out of the edges of the private booth. Maybe it's a promotion, a deal. Whatever it is, you've got your lines ready.

But then you skid to a halt and nearly drop the bottle.

Ghost.

He's sprawled across the booth, legs spread wide, arms draped over the back. His suit jacket is neatly folded on the chair beside him, and the shirt's top buttons hang open. Your mind flashes to the glimpse of his heavily modified torso you got at Win's place.

He tilts his head, and you know he's smirking behind the slab of polycarbonate shielding his face.

"Hate champagne." 

Ghost says for the fifth time since you sat. Sat between his legs on the table's edge, just like Win had you sit the night you met. You stare at his middle, and Ghost swirls his glass, which looks more like a test tube than a flute in his mitt.

"I can get you something else," you repeat flatly. This is the summary of his visit so far: you, trying to do your job with a plastered-on smile, and him, being a useless asshole. Summary of your relationship, really.

"No."

You glare, catching him hook a finger under his mask to pull it away to drink. You watch his throat bob as he polishes it off, then look over your shoulder instead. The club's still dead.

"If you don't want anything, can I at least go—"

"No."

Your arms cross instinctively, patience fraying. "If you're just going to make me sit on my ass all night—"

"You're getting paid. You're comfortable."

"Not really." You hug yourself tighter, glancing away, mumbling about your aching feet. "Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be in Palm Springs with Win? Umbrella drink in hand?"

Ghost slowly leans forward, forcing you to uncross your arms and press onto your palms behind you, ducking awkwardly to avoid him. He sets his empty glass near your hip.

This close, you can't help but look at the gap in his shirt where the buttons hang undone, at the triangle of skin. The protruding veins and cables in his neck. The champagne's scent clinging to his breath, mingling with tobacco and a twist of mint. You resist the urge to scrunch your nose. He's technically a guest, and you're still on the clock.

"Junior sent me back early." He reclines. "His old man's got more than enough security."

"So you were sitting on your ass and decided to take it out on me."

The sneer is immediate. "Not 'ere by choice. Since you failed to get a name or a solid description of the man who approached you, I'm on babysittin' duty."

Babysitting? Because some other agency took an interest in you? Your ability to sell junk pills? Your legs in a skimpy lab coat?

"That's a terrible demotion," you place a hand over your heart, voice laced with mock sympathy.

"So we're agreed."

You pause, picturing the mystery man. His helmet. The void behind the eyeholes. All this feels like overkill for some faceless rep. Then a dreadful thought pushes him to the side.

"Is Win worried I'm going to jump ship? Are you? " The questions rush out. You think of the elevator incident, Ghost's gravelly warning: One step out of line, and you'll be in the landfill. You shake your head. "Because I'm not. I like Win. And the–the contracts. I'm not stupid. I know I'd lose everything."

"No, but he's invested in you." He knocks a knee against yours. "Too much, if you ask me, but enough 'e wants to make sure no one else throws as much money at you."

"Right." You glance at the bottle, the small puddle in the bucket, then at him. "The club's secure, though," He snorts. "And I'd rather be doing something useful than sitting here, so…can I go back—"

"Aren't you supposed to dance?" 

You clench your jaw so tight you think you might crack a tooth. "No. Not in my job description."

"Seen other bottle boys and girls do it."

"It's optional," you snap. "Up to the individual. And I don't dance."

His chin tips toward his chest. There isn't a trace of red in them tonight, just a dark, cold brown. "And if I gave you five grand?"

Your lungs empty in a silent rush. You stare at him, waiting for the giveaway. Anything to prove it's a joke. It's—fuck, it's strange. Equal parts frustrating and weird that your rejection isn't as immediate as it was with Max.

In your head, you know this is another of Ghost's twisted pressure tests. He doesn't actually want you to dance for him. He just wants to see you squirm. But the thought creeps in anyway, uninvited. You picture it. The narrow space between his legs, the slow roll of your hips, teasing him. Dragging your hands up his thighs and chest. His hands sliding up your sides, gripping you—

You swallow the fantasy down, seeing for what it really is, a product of his mind games.

"No way."

"Took a second." He murmurs, his tone dry, amused. "You think about it?"

You clamp your mouth shut, but he doesn't need an answer.

"Oh, Princess," He dips into a low, dry chuckle. "You did, didn't you? Bet you had it all planned out in that pretty little head of yours. Poor thing." Ghost draws his legs in and slowly stands, forcing you to scoot down the table, knocking the glass over with a clink. You watch as he rises to his full height and then bends to grab his jacket. "I'd tell you not to let it keep you up tonight, but we both know it will."

He pulls it on one arm at a time, then jerks his head toward the stairs.

"Go get your things. We're goin' home."