#wait-writing? was that what my point was?

[themareverine]

Screeching because I love your writing and can’t wait to see where you go with this!

Logan Howlett, PG-13 (I’m thinking WW or trilogy Logan, but go where Lo takes you 😉)

Logan walking in on you taking an everything shower or a bath (candles lit, playlist on, etm.), dealers choice on at what point he bumbles in (or maybe NOT bumbles?) and where the muse takes you from there…

— All of You

Worst!Wolverine x fem!wife!reader

tags: fluff, some mentions of Weapon X, pre-established relationship, some heavy-handed innuendo.

a/n: and here it is, the last of my Valentine's Day requests! thanks so much for requesting my favorite variant, honey. hope you like bathtime with Logan! It isn't quiet PG-13, but it's hot enough for me.

☆ ── 💌FROM MARE WITH LOVE

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

Logan is aware of exactly two things as he breezes through the front door after a long day on the job.

First, it’s the quiet of the house. Long shadows splay golden fingers of light across the kitchen linoleum from the single light over the stove, curtains mostly drawn across the house.

Typical for the house on a Friday night.

There’s the quiet hum of the fridge and the rhythmic tick of the clock that deepens this sense of loneliness in the shadows, and for some strange reason, it probes the hair on his arms. Shouldn’t, he can smell her around the house – and that’s the second thing he notices.

The scent of her. 

Filling up the rooms, plastering the walls. She’s really in every bone of this house, and they’d barely lived here a year. More and more Logan thinks the place was built exactly for them, for this marriage, for this life he, somehow, magically came to possess. 

Down to the studs, he believes in his soul there’s no better Eden on earth than this house and all its homey things.

It would never be the life they'd left behind in Alberta, but it was a close alternative — he could outlive a thousand suns here and be just as thrilled as the day they turned the key at the homestead, he thinks.

Her scent, and the fresh kick of mint that manages down the stairs. He smiles. No, he doesn’t just think he could be happy here for the rest of the days God gives him. He knows. Deep inside the adamantium that haunts his better parts, Logan knows. Viscerally.

Anywhere with her is home, and home is the only place he’ll ever actually want to be. 

Stopping at the stairs, he coyly smiles at the quiet hum of music floating through the walls, bringing life back into the still haven of their nest. She sings off key, but that’s alright. Most precious sound in the world is hearing her alive after what feels like a lifetime apart. 

A sour note makes him flinch, smiling again. His chuckle of amusement hangs out low in his chest as he slips out of his jacket, drapes it over the railing. 

At the kitchen island he takes off his boots, toes them over to the corner by the fridge beside the others. Washing the day from his hands at the sink, he scrubs his face with cool water – listens halfheartedly as the water rushes through old pipes rattling with the effort.

The house is old but packed with so much character – he can’t quite bring himself to change anything, not yet. Measurements on the doorway’s woodwork from children that aren’t theirs, worn-away paint from crown moulding. 

Everywhere he looks, there’s so much of him in the old bones of this place. Kinship he can’t quite place, familiarities he can’t put a finger on. Maybe it’s age, maybe it’s stepping into a new world from a time he was more than ready to leave behind.

Marriage, family, settling – maybe it’s the wild blood in his veins finally breaking.

He doesn’t know, and maybe he’ll never. It makes little difference. 

Scratching through his beard, he breathes deep of the cool air and pauses. There’s a whiff of moisture in the air, humidity that isn’t the norm for their house. Both of them run hot, usually – he keeps this place cool.

And it’s never humid, if there’s one thing Logan can’t handle it’s humidity — that shit is a hard pass. 

He’d drowned on air enough in his lifetime. Duty and pride had taken him to Vietnam, China, the Amazon; Weapon X had forced him around the world as a weapon. The X-Men – Charles sent them everywhere, God knew.

Every and all had landed him in the sweaty armpit of the world, and of all the places he’d ever seen, the humid ones burned the worst. 

But despite the bad memories the humidity recalls, his lip curls in a smile. At a subliminal level, he knows what this is—his sweet little wife has drawn a bath nearly every day since finishing the remodel.

Logan doesn’t remember a time where he’s ever seen another soul so excited over plumbing fixtures, but she had been – she’d almost been giddy when the claw foot bath had arrived at their doorstep, delivery boys looking strained from just wrestling the thing out of the back of the van.

Another sour note from her happy singing has him shaking his head. Logan allows it to pull him up the stairs, down the hallway. Fusty shampoos and the fresh scent of warm water sirens him to the half-cocked bathroom door.

Peeking inside reveals a half-steamed mirror, shed clothing toed off the side in a pile – gym clothes, from the looks of it.

Gently nudging open the door with his foot, Logan works off his watch, grinning crookedly as he slips into the space lightly, with ghost-like grace.

Her back is to him, looking out the open window – she’d never be able to hear a thing with headphones on, which explained her singing off key. 

She has no idea, and at some base level of him, that worries Logan. Her contentment with such vulnerability concerns him in ways he hasn’t worried about before – this visceral, almost instinctual need to protect is so strange. Foreign, almost.

A part of him that isn’t him, demands he look beyond his own skin, protect someone else. 

In all his lifetimes he’s never worried about it before, until her. Until this quiet little cathedral of a home he calls his own – this life they’ve resurrected from the ashes. It’s his now, innocent and pure.

Demands a protector, a guardian which returns. 

Finally, something worthy of everything he’s been made to be. All the things he is. 

Never had he imagined anything in the world would actually demand his abilities, this thing that lives in him and around him. The Wolverine, Logan, James, Patch — this thing, this weapon weaved into his flesh and knocked about his adamantium bones.

His entire life he’s always been better being someone else – one of the X-Men, a living weapon. A killer, a soldier, a fighter. Always spinning out of control trying to take it. 

Until her.

She demands all of him, in ways the world never has. She wants him. She asks for him.

She doesn’t demand or require, her words aren’t sentences that enslave him to what he can do. She takes all of him, regardless – she would have him, if he wasn’t everything else. Unconditionally. 

If he were just Logan, just James, simply Wolverine.

Logan believes her when she says she wants all of him. Freely. She doesn't love him because he's Wolverine, because he’s an X-Man.

She loves him because he is. 

And there’s power in this enough to drive him to his knees. 

Quietly he discards his watch beside the sink. Logan begins unbuttoning his flannel, stained with the day’s sweat and grime of the welding shop and a 12-hour day of grinding in all the places nobody advertises in school.

It drops beside her discarded clothes; he works the t-shirt over his head. Fluffs his hair with calloused, thick fingers. Empties the pockets of his jeans. 

His pulse picks up a little at the sight of her leaned back against the tub, hand playfully skipping over the luminescent bubbles that catch the light in just enough of a way that it is Eden incarnate.

She’s radiant with a dewy rosiness that sends a punch of warmth to the base of his gut. 

It takes every ounce of willpower he possesses not to just haul her out of the bath and have his way with her — it would be fun. It would satisfy the baser, Wolverine parts of him.

Fills that primal ache that gnaws continually at the bottom of his spine, knocks heat into his cock. Would feel spectacular.

And she’d let him do it, she’d enjoy the baser part of his sexual drive. 

But that’s not Logan, not today. Not right now. 

Right now, he could use a bath. 

Slipping up behind her, he chuckles down his nose at the sight of her, naked and fully oblivious to the world around her as her head bops side to side with whatever she’s listening to. 

The rumble of his amused chuckle bleeds through his fingers, which dust over the tops of her shoulders lightly. Jarred, her attention snaps upward and she slingshot’s the headphones off.

Her heart rabbits behind her ribs for all of a few seconds—he can feel it beneath his hand as it curves around the back of her neck as he lingers beside the tub. 

Smiling at him as a blush creeps up the length of her neck to her cheeks, she moves to face him, arms dripping over the side of the tub. Almost nose to nose, her wrinkles a little with a smile. 

“Well well,” there’s not an ounce of shame, just the way he prefers her, as her eyes skate over his bare chest, finger tracing the lines of muscle in his arm. “You’re back a little early,” there’s no clock in the room, but that’s hardly the point. 

Her eyes move from her hand on his arm to hold his, their light beckoning him like a lost moth to brazen flames.

Nails catching on his skin, she leans a little over the tub to discard the headphones, Logan’s fingers grazing his beard at the sight of pearlescent soap clinging all the places that belong to him on her frame – his places.

All his. 

There’s a little lilt in her voice as she sighs, slinking back into the steaming water.

“I didn’t know what to make for supper – I thought we could go out?”

Her brow lifts as she plays with the wet hair sticking to the back of her neck, rolling it around and off a finger.

“You hungry for something in particular?” 

She’s not being flirty, not directly.

Logan doubts she’s even aware that his blood flies with heat at the sight of bubbles and water swirling around her chest, the dewiness on her skin. He can hardly think past the idea of lathing the water from her collarbones, it sends a zing of bestial hunger stabbing into his balls that makes him almost shudder. 

Knuckles ghosting white as he grips the side of the tub, he shrugs.

“Nothin’ that requires goin’ anywhere, darlin’,” his hand drops to unbuckle his belt, and her smile quirks a little wider as it falls open with a light jingle. 

“Oh. Let’s just order in then,” her shoulder shifts, hand flitting through the foamy bubbles, “I bet if I check, Sylvia's will still be running that special for Valentine’s Day.” 

Her brow snaps up at attention as he stands to his full height to peer down at her. He discards the belt with little more than a flick of his wrist. Forgetting jeans and socks, he slowly drops into the bath and beckons her to slot between his legs with a crook of his finger and a smile. 

Obedient, she falls back against his chest when his arms wrap around her. Pulling her close, she props her foot up against the opposite end of the tub and he matches her effort, dripping sock making her snort in amusement. 

Dissolving into laughter as he gently nuzzles the soft of her neck with his scruff, he hums low and presses a soft kiss to her collarbone. 

“You even hungry for pizza, Logan?” Off a laugh, the giggle is soft, light. Strangely it sends butterflies to his chest when she sighs deeply, relaxing against his ministrations fully. “Or is there something else you want for supper?” 

His growl is dark, low in his chest. He can feel it ring against her breastbone as his arms snug around her chest, protectively. On fire from the heat of her so close and the temperature of the bath, he ignores the sweat the rises in his beard, as his temples. 

“Got everythin’ I need right here, baby,” gently nipping at the soft of her shoulder, she playfully pulls away on a sharp inhale that catches in the back of her throat. Hand skimming her side beneath the cloud of soapy bath water, his palm presses softly to the low of her stomach, making his point. 

Chuckling, he sucks in a sharp breath as she gently moans beneath the heat of his hand. 

“Who needs supper when I can eat right here, for free?” 

[cherryyluvs]

Hi just discovered your blog and I love it❤️ can I request a mark Grayson with a s/o who's the batman of their universe like she's a rich girl and a playboy(girl?) like in the public but at night she's the dark knight and it's a regular human with the skills of batman. I just find it funny if he's like "omg the batman/dark knight is it true your vampire or what kind of powers and reader is like 🦇 "no I'm human" and he's like 🤨 since he saw her knee kick the air out of a guy for jaywalking and break the ribs of 5 guys for littering without a sweat also how they would work as a duo maybe she gains a robin?

Thank you! I love this idea so much!! ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡ I had so much fun writing it I hope this lives up to your expectations — hope you enjoy!! 🦇💕

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

Rich girl by day, Dark knight by night. Mark was aware that you were wealthy and kind of a big deal in the social scene. Designer outfits? Attending exclusive parties ? Fancy galas? Driving expensive sports cars? Yeah everything about you screams rich.

Mark had some suspicion on you, but when he found out he was SHOOK! You?? The masked vigilante everyone in the city feared? “Wait.. you're the one who put those 3 guys in the hospital last week?” You’d shrugged it off “They had it coming��

“What kind of powers do you have?” He would deadass think you had some kind of supernatural ability. Maybe vampirism? Super strength??? Nope! Just peak human conditioning and a lot of training. “So you're human?” “Yep” “…And you're doing all of this?” “Mhm” “Jesus Christ”

When he first watched you in action his jaw was on the floor, taking 6 guys in under a minute – one well placed knee kick, backflip, and some nice creative use of grappling hook. Mark just floated above you like =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) “You… you just–” “Yeah” “And you're–” “Human”

He finds it funny with how different you are when you're in your dark knight mode versus your public person. Seeing you at a charity gala and that same night you’re taking down a drug ring in the city’s back alleys.

He pictures you in a fancy dress but when you suit up as the dark knight he's like “Hold up, that's the same person?!”

You’re always on the arm of a new date, you use it as a way to cover your work, making it easier to explain why you're out all hours of the night. Mark lowkey gets jealous, even though he knows it all means nothing. “So.. dinner with that tech billionaire last night?” “He was boring” “Sure, sure. Guess i'll just have to keep an eye on you” (๑>؂•̀๑)

He 100% talks about you to the Guardians of the Globe all the time. “Yeah my girlfriend? Took down 8 guys by herself last night. No big deal” Rex: "isn’t she human?" “Yeah that's the crazy part!”

You’re always teasing him, running a finger down his chest, leaning in close wherever you talk to him. Mark pretends he's unaffected but his jaw clenching when you call him handsome says otherwise. He tries to flirt back but c'mon you're too good at the game.

Training together, Mark would BEG you to train him in hand to hand combat. He would get frustrated with you wiping the floor with him despite his super strength. “How are you so fast??”

The media loves them. Headlines like “Dark knight And Her Flying Sidekick Strike Again!” “Who is the Dark Knight’s New Partner?” Mark hates being called the sidekick but you just laugh it off and say “Well you are following my lead” “I’m not your sidekick” “Sure you aren't Grayson”

You and Mark have different fighting styles but somehow it works. He's more of brute strength and super speed, punching enemies. While you're all about precision, calculated strikes and exploiting weak points. You're the planner and he's the muscle, mapping out the enemy’s territory. He follows your lead even if he pretends he doesn't but he listens when you give orders.

Once the night’s work is done you both linger in the dark or on top of rooftops. Mark leans against the wall staring at the stars with you by his side. “Same time tomorrow?" “Only if you try to to get yourself killed” But you'll both be there

[chilling-seavey]

For the first TWIG argument, George jokingly said that the reader can go part time because he would not mind supporting her and she actually takes offense to that. It results in a huge argument between the two of you and you keep him out of your apartment. You guys go a few days without speaking to each other.

Oooh anon I knew I wanted to write a little something about their first fight but you iced the cake with this one. Ended up inspiring me to sit down and write this out for 3-hours straight. I also pulled some inspo from this anon too <3

Warnings: Angst, phone-call arguments, mentions of ex-girlfriends and social class differences etc.

For the first little while after you and George had started dating, your life didn’t feel much different. With him often traveling for races or having to be at his place in Monaco or at the factory in England, there wasn’t too much time where you and he could spend time face-to-face. But you had your apartment and your job at the luxury hotel at which you had met him a few months prior, the familiarity and stability of it offering comfort with your very private relationship being quite out of the ordinary. And, if nothing else, you and he shared phone calls and FaceTimes and a million texts to make up for the time apart. 

One night in particular, you had just returned to your apartment after a long shift at the hotel, barely managing to answer George’s incoming call as you stumbled through your front door with your jacket and bag in hand. You tucked your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you locked the door behind you with an exasperated, “Hey.”

“Hey, love,” George’s voice spoke warmly through the phone, “How was your day?”

You kicked off your heels, your feet donning fresh blisters, and you walked farther into your apartment to set your bag and jacket on the kitchen counter, “Exhausting. Yours?”

“The same. Aleix worked me to the bone today in the gym and then I have to get up early for my flight in the morning.”

You hummed in acknowledgement as you hung up your jacket in the front closet, phone still tucked between your ear and shoulder as you listened to him, still trying to switch your brain out of work mode. There was a bit of a pause as you arranged yourself in your apartment, George hearing the dull clunks of you putting your empty lunch containers away and loading the dishwasher.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked. 

“No, sorry,” you sighed, his tentative words having you realize that you had barely said a thing to him since you picked up the phone, “Sorry, I’m here. I literally just stepped in the door when you called so I’m still…”

“A little frazzled?” he finished your sentence for you with a playful understanding. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled and leaned back against the kitchen counter, “That’s a word for it.”

“That hotel would crumble without you.”

“After the insanity of today, I might stop modestly arguing with you on that point.”

There was a soft pause and then he spoke again, his voice warm and sweet, “I miss you.”

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back as if to let his words roll over you and ease your stresses from the day. You took a breath, “I miss you too.”

“I can’t wait until you can travel more with me.”

It was an innocent enough statement from him, something meant to be gentle and genuine, showing how much he loved spending time with you, but perhaps it was the implication behind it and the fact that you had an exhausting day that had you frowning slightly. You replied, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I know we haven’t talked about it yet but I was thinking that maybe by next season you could go down to part time so you can come to some more races with me.”

The offense that welled in your chest took you by surprise. 

“You want that?” you asked testingly. 

“Yeah, you know,” you heard him shifting through the line, “I think it would be nice. You don’t have to exhaust yourself so much at work and we can be with each other more…”

“I have bills, George,” you reminded him. You weren’t quite able to keep the curtness out of your voice. 

There was a pause as if he had been completely taken aback by your slight edge before he finally replied, cautious, slow, “Yes, well, I wouldn’t mind supporting you. I know it’s early but eventually I was thinking you’d move in with me in Monaco and—”

“Jesus,” you huffed in disbelief. 

“What?” 

“George, I’m not going to quit my job that I worked my ass off for and let you pay my bills just to parade around the world after you like a trophy wife…like…like some gold digger like your ex’s.”

“Hey,” George’s voice was firm now, “That’s not fair. Nor is it true.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“They weren’t gold diggers, alright? That’s harsh of you to even say that.”

“That’s what you’re getting out of this? Seriously?” 

“Yes, because I know you’re just exhausted from work and we can talk about the money situation later and—”

“No, we won’t!” you cut him off, “Seriously, no, we won’t. I’m not quitting my job. End of discussion.” 

“But—”

“Why don’t you quit your job for me, huh?”

There was a pause and then the faintest disbelieving chuckle came through the line.

“Sounds insane to you, right? So why do you get to ask that of me?”

“Because my job can actually support us! You seriously think we could get by on a hotelier's salary? No, sorry, not even a hotelier: a front desk clerk.”

The belittling in his words was obvious to you, dripping like venom through the phone. Whether he intended to be cruel or not was irrelevant as you stood in the middle of your small apartment kitchen, phone tight in your hand, your heart already taking every syllable of his words as they came. 

“Wow, you really are an entitled asshole, huh?”

George’s disbelief was apparent in his slow, enunciated reply, “Pardon me?”

“I know very well that I am not part of your world—I don’t understand the protocols or the requirements or anything else that makes your job so damn important—but you don’t have the right to undermine all my hard work just because you make more money than me.”

“I’m not undermining your hard work.” George’s voice was flat, tired. 

“But you are,” you insisted. 

“Jesus Christ, love,” George groaned out a breath, rubbing his fingers over his forehead, “Okay, I’m not meaning to. You’re just always complaining about being so tired and unappreciated at work so I thought that you deserve to—”

“To be your lap dog?” you pushed back. 

“To have a fucking break!” George corrected firmly, his voice having raised a little in volume. 

There was a pause as his frustrated tone lingered through the line. 

You scoffed, “Sorry that I’m not the type of girlfriend you’re used to; who will roll over when you slide her a blank cheque. Sorry that I like to work hard and be self-sufficient, even if my job is grueling. Sorry that offends you.”

“You gotta stop with the ex-girlfriend slander, seriously, it’s so unattractive.”

It was your turn for your volume to raise, “Are you serious?!” 

“Yeah! You’re sounding petty and immature and jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m trying to tell you that I’m not like—”

“Not like what? Not like other girls? ” he jumped in, taunting, angry, “Ooh, blimey, love, give it a rest. You work at a five-star luxury hotel and suddenly you think you’re entitled to the woe-is-me card. Having a job doesn’t make you special.”

“I’m not like the kind of girls that you are surrounded by all the time,” you corrected loudly, already pacing your apartment with the anger that squeezed at your heart, “And I am fine with that and I like who I am and I don’t mind that we have to keep our relationship this big fucking secret to the world but you don’t get it. You don’t get what it’s like to have a normal life.”

“I do! My dad is a—”

“Farmer. I know. But you’re telling me that as you’re sitting in your million-dollar apartment in the billionaire capital of the world with five custom luxury Mercedes in your parking garage and a bank account that has more digits than my phone number. You are so far out from reality now, you wouldn’t recognize it if it hit you in the face!”

“I’m sorry my career is such a fucking burden for you. I was just trying to do something nice.”

“No, you weren’t. You were being selfish.”

“Is that what you want to call generosity now? Selfish? Most women would love to be financially set for life. You want to struggle in the working class until you retire? Fine by me!”

“Yeah, thanks for taking part in my charity case. Good to know where your priorities were laying these last few months…deep in some fucking saviour complex.”

There was another momentary silence—one of those awful, sharp-edged ones that cut deeper than shouting. You could hear his breathing, heavy and uneven through the phone, like he was biting back a retort, and your chest burned tight with bitterness.

“You’re unbelievable,” he finally muttered, voice low and tight, “I’m trying, and nothing I do is ever fucking good enough for you.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over your flushed face. “Because you don’t get it! You don’t get what it’s like to work your ass off for something all by yourself only to have someone look at you like you should just be grateful they’ve thrown you a bone that you didn't ask for.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You know, I never asked you for anything,” you went on, quieter now but no less angry. “Never asked for money, never asked for handouts, never wanted you or anyone around you to think I was using you. I never even asked for this relationship to be public, standing by and understanding the importance of privacy to you and your job. And all I wanted was for you to understand that our worlds are different. That I am different. But instead, you make me feel like that’s a bad thing.”

“Because you make it a bad thing,” he shot back. “You keep acting like I’ve done something wrong by wanting to take care of you or do something nice for you. You always decline anything I want to do for you if it involves money. You haven’t even let me take you to one of my races! It’s like this wall is constantly up around you, like you’re scared of money. It’s exhausting.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you, “Right. It’s so exhausting for you. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to be upset by the million fan edits of you and your ex that I constantly see everywhere…not to mention you still have photos together on your Instagram…Mercedes has pictures of her on their Instagram for some fucking reason.”

It slipped out before you could stop it, your voice cracking slightly on the last part, not because you cared about his ex. It was what she represented—what all of them represented. The polished, effortless, women who floated through his world and hung on his arm and accepted his money and his privilege like it was their right. The kind of women who never had to argue about whether accepting a blank cheque made them weak or practical. Maybe that was the real problem. Maybe it wasn’t just about money or privilege or the weight of keeping everything a secret. Maybe it was the fact that you had spent all this time trying to fit into his world while pieces of his past still lingered everywhere you looked.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” George muttered as if to himself, before letting out a humourless laugh, “I don’t even know what to say to that. Honestly, I have nothing to fucking say to that. I just can’t do anything right, can I? I can be as nice as I want to you and you’d still throw a tantrum about something or another. If you hate having to see my entire life plastered all over the internet, if you hate how out of touch I am, then maybe you should’ve thought about that before getting involved with me.”

Your stomach twisted, unable to hold back the stark words that slipped from your lips without thought, “Believe me, I think about that all the time.”

More silence. This time, it felt worse.

Finally, George spoke, his voice tight, “Right, well, I’m going to hang up now.”

“Fine,” you muttered sharply, “This was a waste of my night anyway.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The dial tone droned in your ear. 

You didn’t hear from George for the rest of the night. Or the next day. Or the day after. That Friday, you sat on your couch and watched the F1 Free Practice sessions like you often would when you could but just the sight of George’s car and his stupid little “RUS” on the timing tower almost had you throwing your bowl of blueberries at the television. You turned it off. 

Work felt twice as hellish that week as George’s words stirred in your mind and your anxieties over the silence that followed your fight lingered. Had you broken up? There was no formal agreement about that but it sure fucking felt like a breakup. After your shift on Saturday, you trudged your way back to your apartment with a rain cloud over your head. 

Once you stepped out of the elevator into your hallway, you were surprised by the humongous bouquet of roses wrapped and waiting for you at your doorstep. You sighed and unlocked your door and awkwardly lugged the package inside and across the floor of your foyer, the fifty-someodd stems weighing a ridiculous amount. Lifting it up onto your kitchen counter, you didn’t have to even check the card to know who it was from but, you did anyway,

‘I’m sorry for being an entitled prick. I am always so proud of you and everything you do. Your biggest fan, GR x’

You sucked your teeth for a moment and set the small card down to look back at the cellophane wrapped roses. You took your time unwrapping them until the scent of the fresh cut stems filled your apartment and you leaned in to smell one, inhaling its refreshing perfume as if hoping it would calm you down. The anger still lingered in your chest but you knew this was a peace offering of sorts, an olive branch, so you took out your phone and called him. As the line rang, you stared flatly at the bouquet. 

George’s voice came through the line, tentative, “Hey.”

You took a small breath before answering, your voice flat but tinged with just a hint of lightheartedness, “Don’t know if you remember but our whole fight was about how I don’t want your money and then you go and order me the biggest bouquet of flowers known to man.”

George chuckled faintly through the phone, “Yeah, now that you say that, it might have been in bad taste.”

There was a pause, both of you not quite knowing what to say to make it all better, neither wanting to speak first. 

“They’re beautiful though,” you said softly after a beat. 

“I’m really am sorry. I felt like right shit after we hung up.” George said, “I shouldn’t have assumed what you would want for your own life. I know how much you love your job…even when it gets on your nerves.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, reaching out with your free hand to touch one of the silky rose petals, “And I’m sorry for getting so upset about it. I know you didn’t mean it maliciously.” 

His voice was as soft as the rose petal beneath your fingertips, “Of course not, my love.”

“Just like you worked so hard to get to F1, I worked so hard to get this job too. A prestigious hotel in another country? Like, that’s what my dreams were made of.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I know how important your job is to you. I shouldn’t have brushed it aside like that without talking to you first.” George acknowledged, “And, if it’s any consolation, I think it’s incredibly sexy that you’re so passionate about your job.”

An amused smile pricked at your lips, “Oh really?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. 

You let out a calm breath as the tension eased from your shoulders, finding comfort in the conversation with him. 

“And I deleted the pictures from my Instagram feed.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, not having expected him to say that, “Oh, you didn’t have to. You were right, I was just being petty and dramatic—”

George cut you off gently, “No, it’s okay. I know how it would feel to me if it were the other way around…and that wouldn’t have even had them spread all over the internet. I know we can’t avoid a lot of the reminders, but I want to do my part in lessening them where I can. You’re my girl, okay? My one and only.”

“Thank you,” your voice was hardly recognizable with how soft it was, how full of emotion. Your heart did a funny little flip in your chest.

“But, listen to me, darling, at least take some of your vacation days.” George spoke, softly yet sternly, “You never use any of them and you’re going to burn yourself out. Book off the weekend for whatever race you want to go to and I’ll get you a pass. Any of them. Please?”

He was right, unfortunately. You never liked to use your vacation days, always thinking it made you look like a lackluster employee, always wanting to give 110% at any and all times. The genuine care in his request didn’t go unnoticed, and after such a hellish week, having a little vacation and time to reconnect with him sounded quite appealing.

You exhaled deeply, “Okay, fine. But I’m buying you dinner next time I see you. A really nice place too.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to sway you and your desperate attempts to even the playing field, he chucked and gave in, “Whatever you want, my love. I just want you to be happy.”

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[lvrrgirlll]

Dublin in ecstasy // wanted to write something silly for st patrick’s day so here’s this (two days late...)

paring: artrick x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: oral m and f receiving, spitroasting, drunk sex, hastily proofread lol

a/n: this is highkey all over the place so keep in mind i am NOT claiming this to be my best work by any means lol... just something silly for the holiday (I say that and then I somehow ended up writing 3.5k words but that's besides the point)

The circumstances couldn’t have been more perfect. Art had decided to do a semester abroad in Ireland while Patrick conveniently was playing tournament in Dublin. And better yet, it all lined up over St. Patrick’s Day.

“C’mon man, it’s my fucking day after all,” Patrick insisted as he stretched out his arms as if basking in his own glory. The two men were holed up in Art’s dorm, a single, of course, since the Europeans always seemed to have more class when it came to university living situations.

“You’re playing the day after tomorrow and I’ve got a mountain of assignments I’m behind on. We’re not getting drunk tonight,” Art retorted quickly, shooting Patrick a stern glance. This hard front, though, swiftly melted when Patrick brought his hands to Art’s shoulders, leaning down so he was at eye level as Art sat at his desk.

“You don’t wanna help me celebrate my day?” He gave him a puppy dog stare, really trying to break down his best friend’s cool exterior. And he knew deep down that Art could be like putty in his hands if he played his cards right. Art’s eyes scanned Patrick’s dramatized expression, leaving him sighing in resignation.

“Fine,” Art groaned, rolling his eyes. “Can we just take it easy though?”

“Yeah man, sure. Whatever you want.”

Art should’ve trusted his gut when he had even an inkling that they wouldn’t be taking it easy. It was St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin for fucks sake. Patrick had outfitted them both with hastily made (sharpied on) “kiss me I’m Irish” shirts much to Art’s protest.

“It’s gonna be a let down when girls see me in this shirt and then hear my American accent,” Art huffs, tugging at the ends of the shirt.

“Nah man, it’s a conversation starter. You just have to be a conversation continuer. Plus, it’s straightforward. It’s a holiday. Girls will kiss you if your shirt says so.” Patrick seemed very confident about that.

“I’m like one-sixteenth Irish man, this feels like false advertising.”

“Forget about it, it’s not like I’m Darby O’Gill or anything, it’s just a t-shirt.”

Art sighed yet again, feeling more and more like this was a bad idea. His mind changed, however, when he and Patrick saw you from across the pub.

They’d been there for about an hour now, standing off to the side, pints of Guinness in hand, trying to feel out what kind of night it’d be. Of course, Patrick was eyeing nearly every girl in the place, most of them with their strong Irish boyfriends, though, but he wasn’t really interested until he noticed you.

You were notably without a boyfriend, currently arguing with the bartender about the pour on your Guinness. Both Art and Patrick were awestruck. The way you were so passionate was admirable, and it definitely helped that, to the both of them, you were the most beautiful girl in the place.

“I’ll be back, don’t wait up too long,” Patrick murmured, slipping away from Art and towards you.

Art stammered, trying to think of a way to stop Patrick, but Patrick just turned around, reminding him how he wanted to “take it easy” tonight. Damnit. Art was eating his own words.

“You seem like you know your beer,” Patrick mused, trying to seem nonchalant from behind you. You turned and he had to physically restrain himself from letting his jaw go slack. From a distance you were already something else, but up close, even a ladies man like Patrick would be flustered.

“Not really. I just know when they’ve screwed me giving me more air than actual drink,” you joked, taking the handsome stranger in as you turned around.

“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” It was excessively bold, but Patrick had already downed two pints, quickly going on three, and was feeling ballsy.

He watched as your eyes flitted down then, reading the messily written words on his shirt. You giggled. “Are you really Irish? You don’t have an accent,” you asked then, an eyebrow quirking up as you looked up at him.

“As Irish as you want me to be,” he chuckled before shaking his head. “No, really, I’m like 10% Irish. It hardly counts.”

A smirk flashed across your lips as you shot him a devious look through your lashes. “So I shouldn’t kiss you then?” That left him grasping for words, unsure where to take this. Of course, he wanted to kiss you. But his desperation (and slight drunkenness) was getting in the way of his sarcastic, charming banter.

Just in time, though, Art swooped in, much to Patrick’s dismay. “Hi, uh… I saw you from across the room, I just wanted to come say you’re, uh, really beautiful.” Smooth.

Patrick stifled a chuckle, giving Art a skeptical glance from behind you. Art’s eyes narrowed briefly as he glanced at Patrick, a subtle sign that the game was on, but you didn’t miss it.

“Do you two know each other?” You looked between the two of them, brows furrowing as you took a sip of your drink.

They had to give in, of course. The pair formally introduced themselves, gave you the whole spiel about how they go way back and they both play tennis, and Art was sure to mention that he was there for school (selfishly hoping that would impress you).

“So what are you doing in Ireland,” Art asked, ever the gentleman.

“I’ve taken a semester off of school to travel. I guess I’m sort of seeking new experiences; new opportunities, y’know.” You couldn’t help but notice that as you spoke both of them seemed to be hanging off of every word.

“New experiences, huh,” Patrick repeated, smirking before taking a heavy swig from his drink. He didn’t miss the wink you gave him from over the rim of his glass, but he decided to keep any more comments to himself for the time being.

Art kept the conversation going, mostly because he was drunk too at this point and he didn’t want you to leave. You talked for a while, the pub slowly getting more and more crowded (it was St. Patrick’s Day after all), until you were abruptly run into, causing you to spill your drink all over yourself.

“Fuck,” you cursed, the cold of the drink running down your body and soaking right through (and staining) your now see-through white shirt.

Neither Art nor Patrick knew exactly what to do, but Patrick ran to your rescue immediately, shouting at the guy who had run into you. Art had, more passively, made a break for the bathroom, getting paper towels. It was all no use, though. You were soaked; cold, wet, and uncomfortable. And it was looking like Patrick was on his way to a bar fight.

That’s how the three of you ended up stood outside the bar, you clutching your jacket around your body, Patrick pouting about getting you guys kicked out, and Art feeling sorry that he couldn’t help either of you more.

Patrick moved for his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and holding it in your direction. Though you didn’t typically smoke, you took one. It had been a night. As Patrick held his lighter up to the end of the cigarette, you two exchanged glances, still lust filled despite the unsavory events that got you here.

All of you sat in silence, taking steady drags off the cigarettes until you laughed, a dry, sarcastic little laugh. “Y’know what’s great?” You looked in their direction. “I don’t even live around here. I came cause I’ve got some friends here, but they all ditched me for their boyfriends and now I’ve got to take the bus home like this,” you spoke frustratedly, looking down at your state. That’s when a sneaky little idea came to Patrick.

“Well, my hotel’s only a 5 minute walk from here. Come shower there, you can dry off and then you can take the bus back to wherever it is,” he nearly insisted. Art shot him a look that you couldn’t quite discern, but Patrick didn’t seem moved by it. “What do ‘ya say? It’s not a bad idea…” he gave you those same puppy dog eyes he had given Art before, and damnit, they really did work. Patrick Zweig could convince the Pope to convert if he wanted to.

“Sure. Yeah, ok, lead the way.” Obviously, you knew deep down that this would not just be some sort of act of convenience and kindness, but hey, you weren't really opposed to that.

On the walk over, Art huddled up close to Patrick, whispering endless questions and concerns. "Dude, what am I supposed to do? Walk of shame back to my place while you get to fuck her?" He snuck a glance back at you trying to make sure you hadn't heard him. Patrick slung an arm around him, though, pulling him in closer.

"Don't you worry, Artie," his tone was mocking, but still somehow reassuring. "Let St. Patrick handle it. I have a feeling both of us will be getting lucky tonight." Art rolled his eyes, absolutely sick of the holiday related talk, but he took it in stride, trusting his friend (against his better judgement). It's not like they hadn't talked about sharing girls before. Maybe it really was that Irish luck that had sent you their way.

Back at Patrick's hotel, which was much nicer than you had expected (it was on his parents' dime, after all), you made a break for the shower, dying to free yourself from the confines of your drenched shirt. While you showered, the guys were talking strategy.

"So if it turns out she is only into one of us, then what," Art asked from the armchair in the corner.

"Then one of us gets to fuck her, obviously. If it comes to it, I'd get out of here for you." Art shakes his head at Patrick's crude words. "But like I said earlier, I think we could both luck out tonight. I mean, she did say she was looking for new experiences after all..."

"Right," Art quipped sarcastically. Both of them in their drunkenness had failed to realize that the water had stopped running, though.

"Imagine the noises she'd make...fuck man. And the way she'd probably give you the best head of your life. You saw her lips, right?"

"Jesus, Patrick, you've gotta stop,” Art sighed, a light laugh escaping though.

"But I'm right, right?" A silence lingered between the two before Art looked to Patrick, a goofy smile painted across his features.

"Yeah. Yeah, you are. I wouldn't make her do that, though. I mean, she seems like she'd be more into receiving than giving anyways, y'know..." And Patrick nodded. He knew exactly what Art meant.

Just then, the bathroom door clicked, making the boys' heads snap back in your direction. Now in only Patrick's t-shirt, which he had promptly stripped off and offered you when you got to the hotel, you padded out of the bathroom.

“Shit, did you hear that,” Art asked, embarrassed. Clearly, he couldn’t have been that embarrassed though, his eyes raking down your bare legs hungrily. Patrick, similarly, took no discretion in ogling you, leaning back and smiling like a cat who got the cream.

“You look good in my shirt, babe.” The nickname was maybe a bit much, but then again, when was Patrick ever afraid of too much?

Taking a seat on the bed, you smiled, looking down at the shirt again, chuckling lightly to yourself.

“You’d look better with it off, though…” he mutters under his breath, loud enough so you could hear it.

One thing led to another and now you, Art, and Patrick were all on the bed, Art kissing your neck and along your jaw while Patrick had lifted up your shirt and was paying close attention to your tits. It was unfamiliar, feeling two sets of lips on you at once, but there was something so euphoric about it too.

“Have you guys done this before-,” a slight gasp escaped your lips, cutting you off. “Shared the same girl?” Art hummed a quick ‘no’ against your skin, but Patrick didn’t even move to speak, only shaking his head ‘no’ as he continued to mouth at your hard nipples.

Patrick pulled away, taking a second to watch the way his best friend sucked at your neck, sure to leave a spot. Call him a cuck, but he felt harder than he’d ever been.

Nestling in behind you, he pulled you in away from Art so you were leaning against his bare chest. He dragged his hands up your waist to your tits, massaging them while placing little kisses along your shoulders. “C’mere Art…” he beckoned. Patrick’s big hands reached down, spreading your legs and holding them open.

Art practically scrambled up to you, a hopeless look in his heavily lidded eyes. You’d lost your shirt long ago, now only in a pair of lacy (soaked) panties.

He pulled them to the side, running a finger through your folds. His fingers were cold causing you to inhale a sharp breath. “Fuck…” he sighed, looking over your shoulder at Patrick. “She’s perfect.” Art slipped your panties down your legs, you helping a bit to kick them off your ankles, and pocketed them, not missing Patrick’s look of impressed approval. He leaned down, then, his fingers returning to your slick heat. He prodded at your hole, pushing one, then two fingers in, the feeling of you tightening around him sending a rush to his cock. He pumped in and out at a rapid pace, making your chest heave and your eyes flutter shut.

He leaned in closer to you, tonguing at your clit, absolutely obsessed with the way you were moaning with your head settled back against Patrick’s shoulder. He licked thick stripes along your pussy, fingers so deep inside you that it was hard to keep your legs spread, squirming and whimpering like a mess. “Fuck, Art… t- too much. M’ gonna… fuck, gonna cum.” That only encouraged him, pressing his face into you with so much dedication. You could feel his nose rub against you as he tongued around your hole, still filled by his fingers. Your hands tangled in his hair while Patrick kissed your neck feverishly, still holding your legs open for Art.

When you came, it was ecstasy. You felt like you were melting into Patrick as you leaned back into him, hips bucking up against Art’s face. Your legs were shaking as Art pulled his fingers out, still sloppily licking into you.

“Okay man, don’t get greedy,” Patrick murmured, pushing Art’s head away boyishly and pulling you up to sit up a little more. You giggled, still a little blissed out but wanting more, wanting to impress them.

“Here,” you started, moving onto all fours. “Let me return the favor.” Art was now in front of you, hard as a rock, while Patrick was left behind you, staring at your glistening pussy. You arched your back a little, ass in the air as you looked back at Patrick. “Well don’t just stand there…”

Patrick found his place behind you, the sound of his zipper coming down music to your ears as you worked on ridding Art of his pants. When you looked up at him, he was blushing, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol doing it to him or the situation at hand. He let out a shuttered breath when you slid his boxers down, his length slapping up against his stomach.

You bit you lip, eyeing his cock and noting the way his tip was pink and leaking precum. "Artie," you say, looking up at him doe eyed as if you weren't about to get spitroasted by two best friends.

"Y- yeah..." he replied, looking down at you pathetically, mouth hanging open as he waited for your reply.

"It's really pretty," you lilt before licking from the base to the tip. His eyes screw shut immediately and he makes a sound unlike any you'd heard before.

Patrick, clearly over the praise for Art, though, thrusts into you with no warning, bottoming out quickly and leaving you gasping for air. "Fuck, warn a girl next time..." you sigh as he stills, the feeling of being completely full overwhelming, but exciting.

"I'm so good I need a warning? I haven't even started moving, babe." Patrick speaks with a mocking tone, but you eat it up. Art, feeling left out then, reaches for your jaw, guiding your lips to his cock again. Everything he does, he does with a gentle, polite sort of touch, and you can admire that, especially when it's so starkly contrasted by Patrick.

When you finally take Art into your mouth, it's hard to miss the way his abs ripple while his cock twitches. You could tell he was long when you looked at it, but you realize just how long when his tip is forcing itself against your throat.

Unbeknownst to you, the two boys exchange looks, Patrick mouthing a '3...2....1' before they both started moving in tandem. Patrick's pace was quick and you could feel just how big he was by the stretch. Art, as if he wanted to outdo his friend, was now uncharacteristically bullying his cock down your throat. Though in true Art fashion, he combed a hand through your hair slowly, sweetly, as if he wasn't practically defiling you.

You couldn't help but gag, the sound only encouraging the two men. "She's so tight, man. You've gotta feel her pussy," Patrick huffed.

"You...were...right..." Art panted, lost in the feeling of your lips wrapped around him. "It's like she was made for this..." He almost felt guilty for being so crass... almost. But he was nothing if not easily influenced by his friend.

"Oh- she definitely liked that," Patrick slurs. "She's squeezing me so tight man -fuck." His hands were firmly holding your hips in place as the sound of skin slapping filled the room, his pace unrelenting.

And with each thrust from Patrick, you only pushed further down onto Art, now a drooling, gagging mess beneath him. You could hardly tell now, unable to focus in light of the mess being made of you, but Art kept a hand holding your jaw, caressing it even, as if to silently say 'good girl'.

Noticing your squirming, Patrick knew you were close. He reached a hand around to your clit, thumbing at it in swift circles and grunting like a mad man when you tightened around him. "Fuck, you like that baby? I know you're close... shit- I can feel it."

With Art still stuffing your mouth, all you could do was nod rapidly, pushing back onto Patrick now. Feeling him hit that spot over and over again, you lost yourself a bit, legs getting shaky as you moaned and whined around Art's cock. And then it snapped, that tight feeling in your stomach released as you came hard around Patrick's cock.

Patrick, reveling in the feeling, kept thrusting in and out, each thrust getting sloppier and more shallow. "Shit, don't worry babe," he breathed out heavily. "I'll -fuck- I'll pull out." But right as he moved to do so, you pulled off of Art abruptly, turning to face Patrick shaking your head. Your lips were swollen and glimmering as you shook your head desperately at Patrick.

"I'm on the pill," is all you said, turning back to Art then. You kissed at his tip before taking him back, deep down into your throat. When Patrick pushed back in, it was like the first time again. In pulling out for even a few seconds, he'd forgotten how good you felt, how tight and warm and wet you were.

And when Patrick's hips began to stutter, the feeling of him completely overstimulating you, he made sure to look Art right in the eyes. "Fuck," he gasped, staring right at his flushed, sweating friend as he came inside you, filling you up.

The image of Patrick, jaw slack and making eye contact, drove Art over the edge. Without any sort of warning, you could suddenly feel hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat. He pulled out a bit prematurely, some of his cum spurting onto your lips too, but you made sure to look up at him and lick it up like a champ.

"Holy shit..." he mumbled.

"Holy indeed..." Patrick hummed, pulling out and settling on the bed behind you.

Once you were cleaned up, the three of you nestled into bed, you drifting off in their arms quickly, completely spent from the night's activities. Before either boy could fall asleep, though, Patrick startled Art by ruffling a hand through his hair.

"What's that for," Art asked, bewildered.

"I told you St. Patrick would deliver."

[pavedinashes-if]

1. ULTIMATE UPDATE of 2025

Hello everybody,

as you might have noticed, updates and posts have been scarce in the last weeks / months. This is due to some huge changes and events in my private life.

Like I mentioned in some minor updates before, I didn't have much time nor possibilities to write on my IF(s). But this changed now. I have more than enough time now...

And I cannot wait to use this to make my comeback and return with more and better content than before.

You wanna know what this includes? Let me give you a lil insight.

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

The Demo of PiA will still—as far as I can guess at this point—be updated this month. The exact date will be announced soon. It's a huge one (imo), consisting of overall ca. 150k words (Prologue & Chapter 1)—hooray! > Current status 19.03.25: Finished Editing, Now: Coding & Playtesting

I will finish up the Socials, Profiles and more here on Tumblr in the next weeks & months—after the demo update.

I will sacrifice my sanity and mental health and present my game on the infamous CoG Forum—cause yolo.

The Character Art will be continued and posted on PiA's discord—rawwwwwrrrr.

A Masterplan and Q&A for an upcoming Patreon will follow in the weeks after the Demo Drop—woot woot?

I hope y'all are as excited as I am. Can't wait to deep dive into my writing again and super excited to have y'all around.

Have a lovely day

Sai

[mrsclrakey]

Hii! First time requesting!

Anyways could you make a fanfics about us being in the inside season two, while were dating George? But we didnt know that we would be there together? So like a fun surpise? And some sweet moment moments of us?

Tysm for requesting I really love writing this one and also I really love the show so far . The edits of George I have been seeing he looks so hot like look at our man , but anyway thank you for everyone liking and following me it’s means so much I didn’t know how many people out there really like reading my fics thank you I am so grateful to have a community like you guys❤️

STORY NAME-Unexpected Reunion

The bright studio lights shone down as you stood among the other contestants, nerves buzzing through your veins. You had signed up for Inside the Sidemen Show Season 2 on a whim, thinking it would be a fun challenge, but now that you were actually here—standing under the scrutiny of the Sidemen—you couldn’t help but feel a little anxious.

“Alright, time to introduce our final contestant,” Ethan announced, grinning as he glanced toward the entrance.

Simon smirked. “This one’s a good one.”

You raised a brow, confused, but before you could question it, the doors swung open.

And standing there, just as stunned as you were, was George.

Your George. Your boyfriend.

His mouth dropped open when he saw you, blinking in disbelief before breaking into a huge smile.

“NO WAY!” JJ cackled. “They KNOW each other?!”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Simon pointed between you two, narrowing his eyes. “Are you—?”

George let out an incredulous laugh, walking toward you. “What are the chances?!”

You laughed in shock, shaking your head. “Did you know about this?”

“Not at all!” He stopped in front of you, still grinning. “This is insane.”

The Sidemen watched in amusement as you and George shared a quick, slightly awkward hug—partly because you were still processing the surprise, partly because you knew you were on camera.

“This is either gonna be adorable or absolute chaos,” Tobi said.

“Both,” you and George replied in unison, making everyone laugh.

Challenges, Banter, and Sweet Moments

Throughout the episode, the Sidemen took full advantage of the situation, pairing you and George against each other in ridiculous challenges.

During a bizarre taste-testing challenge, George dramatically gagged at a mystery food. “Nope. Nope. This is actual poison.”

You smirked. “It’s literally just pickled onions.”

“I stand by what I said.”

Later, in a physically demanding challenge, the Sidemen made you and George compete head-to-head. At one point, you shoved past him to grab an item, and he gasped in fake betrayal.

“Wow. I thought we had something special.”

“You thought wrong.”

The Sidemen were howling with laughter.

But in between all the chaos, there were sweet moments, too. During a blindfolded challenge, George carefully guided you through an obstacle course, his voice soft and reassuring.

“You’ve got this, just take one step to the left—yeah, perfect. Now reach out, I’m right here.”

Somehow, hearing his voice made you feel calmer.

The Ending – A Sweet Victory

By the end of the show, you didn’t even care about winning—it was just fun getting to experience this with him. But when the Sidemen announced that you and George had won the final challenge, he immediately pulled you into a spin-hug, laughing.

“Power couple energy,” Vik teased.

JJ groaned. “Alright, get off the set before I throw up.”

George just grinned, slinging an arm around you. “Nah, you love it.”

And as the cameras stopped rolling, he turned to you, his voice quieter. “That was actually so much fun.”

You smiled. “Yeah. Kinda crazy how it worked out.”

“Kinda crazy,” he agreed, squeezing your hand. “But I wouldn’t have wanted to do it with anyone else.”

[moroniccats]

Part Three (for anyone who’s still interested in my rambling): Dialogue

The dialogue in this story is completely different from all the others. There are a few points that I want to explore here:

1) The uncharacteristic speaking mannerisms (mostly already talked about in the other parts)

2) the odd vocabulary

3) the “immaturity” of the writing

Some examples:

“Susan! I believe you are a bad, treacherous woman!” Ok this one actually makes me laugh

“I’m clearing out of here. I’ve had enough of you all.” This one is less egregious but WHY IS EVERYONE ACTING LIKE GRADE SCHOOLERS??

“Dr watson agrees, so that settles it” “settled again!” We’ve literally never seen Holmes wait for Watson’s opinion like this. On matters of life and death, absolutely. But he doesn’t seek Watson’s assurance that an action is correct.

“Lookin for your gun, Master Holmes?”

“No, for my scent bottle, Steve” once again, childish banter where Holmes refers to a man he barely knows by his first name.

“Queer grammar!”

“‘These clever fellows have always a touch of madness.’ That was what I read in the inspector’s smile” Watson simply does not write out what he thinks other people are thinking in dialogue. He just doesn’t.

“I only gather that we are here to see the lady who is behind all this mischief” these characters are literally talking like they’re in a campy 80’s show. MISCHIEF??? After she broke into an old lady’s house???

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to compound a felony as usual.” This read like there’s meant to be a laugh track in the background. Compare this to Holmes’s speech from The Abbey Grange: “well, it is a great responsibility that I take upon myself, but I have given Hopkins an excellent hint, and if he can’t avail himself of it I can do no more. See here…we’ll do this in due form of the law…so long as the law does not find some other victim you are safe from me.”

“Black Steve is called in” I…..I don’t have to explain why this isn’t a description Holmes would use, right? It’s petty, racist, and childish. While I think that Holmes is very racially insensitive, being a man of his time, it mostly comes down to a strange brand of “race science” and racial profiling. I can’t imagine him thinking that a guy is harmless, as he says, and still speaking to him like this.

There are a few more examples, but my point is that not only does it seem like it was written by someone else, but someone more modern, juvenile, and inexperienced. I suspect that Doyle wanted to try appointing a younger successor.

Friend: *exists near me*

Me: DO YOU WANT TO HEAR MY THEORY ON SHERLOCK HOLMES THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GABLES-

Friend: *runs away screaming*

[yvesssssssss]

thinking about natsuki, shin and heisuke seeing their cute gf for flirting on

Natsuki, Shin, and Heisuke Seeing Their Cute Girlfriend Get Flirted On

I hope you like it! I had a lot of fun writing this one for you.(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Natsuki Seba

Natsuki never thought of himself as the possessive type. He didn’t get jealous easily. He was cool, laid-back, and not the kind of guy to get worked up over something as trivial as his girlfriend getting attention.

Or so he thought.

That theory got completely shattered the moment he spotted you at a café, waiting in line while some guy struck up a conversation with you. At first, Natsuki didn’t think much of it. You were friendly, always smiling and polite—it was normal for people to talk to you. But then the guy leaned in a little too much, his smile turning just a little too smug.

And you? Completely oblivious.

Natsuki’s eye twitched as he saw you laugh softly at whatever the guy was saying. He wasn’t usually one to eavesdrop, but he caught a snippet of the conversation.

“So, what do you say? Wanna grab coffee together sometime?” the guy asked smoothly.

You blinked up at him, tilting your head. “Huh? But I’m already getting coffee?”

The guy chuckled, mistaking your genuine confusion for playing hard to get. “I mean, another time. You seem really sweet.”

That was it.

Before you could respond, Natsuki strolled up and casually draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you against his side. His expression was relaxed, but there was a sharp edge to his gaze as he stared at the guy.

“Sorry, dude. She’s got a boyfriend,” Natsuki said flatly.

The guy’s confident expression faltered, and he glanced between you and Natsuki. “Oh. My bad, man.”

With an awkward chuckle, the guy quickly grabbed his order and left. Natsuki sighed, rubbing his temple before turning his attention to you.

“You seriously didn’t notice?” he asked, exasperated.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Notice what?”

Natsuki groaned, shaking his head. “Never mind. Just stay close to me, okay?”

You nodded happily, leaning into him. “Okay~”

Natsuki wasn’t sure if you were truly that oblivious or just messing with him at this point. Either way, he was keeping an arm around you for the rest of the day.

Shin Asakura

Shin had learned early on that hearing other people’s thoughts wasn’t always a blessing. Especially when he was out with you.

He had already sensed trouble when he picked up on some guy internally hyping himself up.

Alright, she’s alone. Just be cool. Say something funny. Compliment her. Girls like that, right?

Shin’s eyes snapped to the guy in question, who had just approached you while you were waiting for your street food order.

“Hey, you come here often?” the guy asked, flashing what he probably thought was a charming smile.

You, being your usual sweet self, smiled politely. “Yeah! The food here is really good.”

The guy grinned, clearly encouraged. “Maybe I could take you somewhere better. Bet I know a few good spots.”

Shin had to hold back a laugh when he heard your genuine thoughts.

Oh, he must be really passionate about food!

You nodded excitedly. “That’s great! Do you have any recommendations?”

The guy leaned in slightly. “How about I take you out sometime and show you?”

“No, thanks,” you said cheerfully.

Shin snorted. He loved that you were so straightforward without even realizing how brutally you shut people down. But the guy wasn’t taking the hint.

“Aw, c’mon,” the guy tried again, “just one—”

Shin had heard enough.

He strolled over and wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you flush against him. His eyes flickered toward the guy, sharp and unimpressed.

“She already said no,” Shin said coolly. “You got bad hearing or something?”

The guy paled, mumbling something under his breath before quickly retreating. Shin turned his attention back to you, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You handled that pretty well,” he teased.

You pouted slightly. “I didn’t even realize he was flirting at first…”

Shin chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Yeah, I figured. Guess I’ll just have to keep an eye on you, huh?”

You beamed at him, completely unaware of how much trouble you put him through. But Shin didn’t mind. If it meant keeping guys like that away from you, he’d gladly do it every time.

Heisuke Mashimo

Heisuke was not an intimidating guy. He knew that. His default setting was friendly, and his first instinct in most situations was to laugh things off.

But that didn’t mean he was going to let some random guy hit on you.

He had just won a plushie for you at the arcade, grinning ear to ear as he walked back. But before he could call out to you, he noticed some guy standing way too close, a cocky smirk on his face.

Heisuke slowed his steps, listening in.

“You’re really cute,” the guy was saying, leaning in slightly. “I bet you get told that all the time.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Oh, uh… yeah?”

“So, what do you say?” The guy smirked. “Wanna ditch your game and go for a drink?”

Heisuke frowned. He wasn’t usually confrontational, but he also wasn’t about to stand there and let this continue.

Plushie still in hand, Heisuke made his way over and slid beside you, his usual cheerful energy radiating as he held up the stuffed animal. “Hey, baby! Look what I won for you!”

You turned to him, immediately lighting up. “Aw! You got it?”

Heisuke grinned, but his eyes flickered briefly to the guy, his expression just a bit sharper than usual. “Yeah! Took me a few tries, but, y’know, all worth it for my girlfriend.”

The guy looked between the two of you, his confidence visibly shrinking. “Oh. You’re… together?”

Heisuke nodded enthusiastically. “Yup! Crazy, right? You’d think she’d go for someone taller, but nope, she picked me.” He laughed, but there was an underlying firmness in his tone that wasn’t usually there.

The guy let out an awkward chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. My bad, man. Didn’t know.”

“No worries, dude,” Heisuke said with an easygoing shrug. “Happens a lot.”

With that, the guy quickly walked off, and Heisuke turned his attention back to you. “You okay?”

You nodded, hugging the plushie he had given you. “Yeah! I didn’t even realize he was flirting at first.”

Heisuke let out a dramatic sigh, slumping against you. “Why is everyone always flirting with you?”

You giggled. “Because I’m cute?”

Heisuke pouted. “You’re my cute girlfriend. Can’t I get a break?”

You giggled again and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Don’t worry, Heisuke. I only have eyes for you~”

Heisuke instantly turned pink, covering his face with his hands. “You can’t just say things like that! I have a weak heart!”

You just laughed, taking his hand in yours. “C’mon, let’s go win more prizes.”

Heisuke groaned but followed you, still flustered. He might not be intimidating, but at least he got the point across—you were his, and he was definitely keeping you close for the rest of the night.

[dix0nspretty]

With a Heart

Summary: Simon has developed a love of putting his name on your body, wherever and however you'll allow.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x AFAB!Reader, 949 words.

Era: N/A

TW: Mentions of AFAB reproductive organs and genitalia, mentions of cum play, kinda fade to black sex this time (sorry y'all)

Day 17 of my bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt. This first whump prompt!

Day 17: Body writing with Ghost (kink)

“Sit still or you’re going t’fuck it up,” Simon grumbles while slowly writing the R for Riley across the soft skin of your lower abdomen with a black Sharpie. He’s been painstakingly writing his name across your skin, perfect letters one by one.

You giggle, squirming instinctively even as one of his large hands holds you down by the hip. “It tickles, Si.”

He pinches your hip with a faux grumble of annoyance as if you can’t see the soft, loving eyes he gives you and the way his lip twitches every time you giggle. “Not what I asked, lovie. Sit still.”

This is yet another one of his ideas generated whilst on leave, a way of staking a claim on you that isn’t too permanent and won’t make you fussy. You won’t accept a baby yet  and you aren’t engaged, so the next best solution is writing his name all over you so people know you’re claimed.

You set one rule so he doesn’t go insane and cover you in ink. Simon gets one spot of his choosing a day to write his name in any color Sharpie he wants. He’s written it on your collarbones, across your breasts, your arms… his favorite so far was writing his name in a mixture of your comes on each thigh one morning. Simon for the left, Riley for the right, lined up as if to guide himself home.

Today instead of putting his name in a spot where everyone can read it, he chose the soft skin right over your womb. It’s sensual and intimate, a spot only you and him will ever see. The gruff SAS Lieutenant as even gone so far as to dot his Is with pink hearts.

It is wildly out-of-character, almost to the point of wondering just what he did that he think he needs to be making up for. Being possessive? In character. Being paranoid that someone will try to steal you away, be it an enemy or another man? Textbook Simon? Covering your stomach in soft kisses and little pink hearts? So far from the man you know that it’s nearly unnerving.

“Having fun down there?” Your fingers are running through his hair as he writes, laying on your back whilst Simon gets up close and personal to get every letter just… right. He’s crushing your legs as he lays on his stomach on top of them, but he’s being so loving, you wouldn’t dream of breaking the spell.

Simon gives a rumbling purr of approval as you scratch his scalp, muscles in his shoulders slowly easing the more time he spends with you at home. This is where he would spend every waking moment of his life if given half the chance.

“Keep petting me like that and I’ll misspell my name,” He deadpans and squeezes your hip while starting the Y of Riley, pressing a soft kiss to your hipbone before continuing his work.

Slowly, your curiosity is piqued while he draws. “Si?” You wait for the grumbling noise that means he’s listening before continuing on, scratching his scalp all the while. “Did you ever think about being a tattoo artist? You know, before you joined the military?”

While not enough to make him outright pause, you can feel the shift in the air as he hesitates before responding. “Not professionally. Gave myself a few stick and pokes, but that’s it. Why, lovie?”

You let him stew for a few seconds with a quiet hum before nonchalantly mentioning, “I was thinking about getting a tattoo and your handwriting looks so nice…”

To tell the truth, you weren’t just ‘thinking’ about getting a tattoo. You’re secure enough in your relationship with Simon at this point after having dated for so long that even without a ring or a baby to seal the deal, you know he’s not going nowhere and neither are you.

That draws his attention and he pauses his doodle to meet your playfully offhand gaze, eye contact just as intense and hot as it was the first day that you still get hot under the collar. “And what kind of tattoo is that, then?”

“Oh, you know, something little. Your initials on my ass, or maybe-”

Your sentence goes unfinished when your boyfriend crawls up your body and mauls you with the filthiest kiss of your life, all tongue and teeth and dark need. He’s trying to crawl down your throat and curl up in your chest. Only once you push for him to let you up for air does he do so, leaving you panting and dazed.

His hand wraps around your jaw and guides you to meet his eyes, pupils blown to hell and back. “You’re tattooing my initials? Don’t play games, be honest.”

When you give him a nod and a breathless ‘yes’, the last thing you were expecting was him to drop the uncapped Sharpie into the sheets and start tugging at your shorts. “Simon, the sheets…”

“Fuck the sheets,” he growls as his bares your body in record time, nipples perking in the cold room and goosebumps crawling up your skin. “I think you deserve a reward.”

You would ask him what you’re getting a reward for, but he has your legs thrown over his shoulders and his face buried in your cunt before you can even start the sentence.

Once you’re unable to form a coherent thought, Simon breaks out the old handpoke tattoo kit and gives you a delicate ‘S.R.’ on the top of your right asscheek with a little black heart. Now the only problem is reminding him to not smear cum or spit on it. It’s not good aftercare, Si.

[minart-was-taken]

A second chance Deleted Scenes and bonus sketches

Please read the comic here first!

This is a sketch from when I was about mid-way done with the comic. I thought it'd be fun to do a post with my headcanons regarding the differences these two have, but I never got around to lining it.

The comic was originally going to stay largely humorous so that I could end it at around 5 updates, but I had wanted to make something long form for this fandom for ages and the reception had been so sweet-- So I decided to go for the long haul and take the story seriously.

...Yea originally Maxwell was kicked in the balls and then transported Wx's soul back into the robo body.

I found the latter joke really funny, so I kept it in as a bonus for the finale!

Most of the comic was actually very easy to write. The cast is already full of things worth exploring and fun dynamics: so I just let them loose. However I did struggle a lot with writing Maxwell, as he is... Mysterious. I wanted his presence in the comic to imply deeper knowledge but I also... Don't know what Maxwell knows. It was a real tightrope.

There was a version where Maxwell fully knew who Woodrow was and brought up the name. However it felt far too disrespectful and in the end... overly dramatic. Considering I didn't actually have anything for Maxwell to be bargaining for, there was really no point to give him such a "big chip" in the game.

Another segment I struggled with MASSIVLY was the ending. From the beginning I knew I wanted a very specific outcome: Wx returns to being a robot but their empathy module is functional again.

Whatever the motives are in canon, in this comic I tried to establish that Wx being a robot is a part of their identity, not just an escape. Wx-78 has a lot of self destructive tendencies, and existing as a human would be a compromise on their identity. SO: The only real happy ending would be best of both of worlds. Wx being accepted for their full self, and them feeling ok lowering the walls between them and happiness (at least a little bit.)

While struggling to figure out what to do, I considered a dream sequence where the Wx we follow in the comic meets Wx-78, and later also Woodrow from the disconnected animation. I didn't ever really consider this a real option as it felt so out of place with the down to earth tone the comic had so far, but it was an interesting exploration.

There was another sequence between this segment and the finale that was cut out as well.

I found the idea of SHOWING that Wx put the Empathy Module in to be a very emotionally powerful idea, but although I sketched it many times I never felt satisfied... Given a few more months maybe I'd found a way to fit it in, but I wanted this comic finished. I have so many other things I'm doing, and this comic deserved an ending. I do like the one I made, I just... Its hard to not ponder what could've been!

But wait! There's more! Here's some additional deleted scenes that didn't quite fit the above chronological recollection.

This scene was what originally happened after Wx drank some of Walter's hot "chocolate."

It got cut since it kinda felt like writing Wx into a wall. However you can spot things from this scene in the finished comic! Like Wx claiming the others were helping them just because they were human, Wilson and Wx having a convo about fee fees, and Wx's wild laugh.

The next deleted scene was meant to occur sometime after the one above. It was then later turned into a few scenes, such as Maxwell and Wx's talk.

I got rid of this one because it felt wrong to have Wx just... leave and figure everything out. I wanted them to keep interacting with other characters and... Well, this was too soon! They wouldn't drop their guard that fast!! Nuh-uh!! You can see a lot of it was kept for later tho!

Before redoing those parts, I drew a bit about Wilson and Wx planning to go into the caves.

However I had no clue why I'd take them into the caves, and it just felt off pacing wise. This idea was reused too, though! I just sent Winona and Wigfrid into the caves instead.

Finally, a few deleted panels. You can probably guess where they used to be.

[frudoo]

Hi. *shyly steps in*

How are you? I do hope u're doing fine. Idk if this ask fits ur rules, but i've been thinking about it since a while ago.

So, i had been ill with tuberculosis and pneumonia a few years ago, i recovered but i ended up with some issues on breathing. Nothing much but sometimes it's harsh when i run or climb up the stairs.

Plus with that, my feet also sucks, it hurts to the point i can't barely walk without feeling a sharp pain, much needle like. (skipping all the medical blah blah blah)

So, if you feel okay with it, could you write about a civilian!reader with the same stuff as me? Maybe with the 141 and some more, idk, feel free about it! (pls include simon he's my sweetheart)

So... that's it! I hope you have a nice week, take care! *shyly steps out of scene*

This is such a sweet concept; I hope you enjoy what I've written!!

Warnings: Slight mentions of chronic pain, more implied than detailed. Light smut. Can be read as GN reader. MDNI.

Kyle Garrick:

     Your pace is slower than normal, even considering the usual differences in walking speed the both of you are used to. Biting the inside of his cheek, Kyle turns around to find your face contorted in pain. He frowns, holding onto your biceps to keep you in place.

     “S’it hurtin’, dove?” He asks sympathetically, honeyed brown eyes searching yours.

     “I’m fine, let’s just keep going,” you murmur, brushing him off and taking a few more steps forward.

     Kyle sighs at your stubborn insistence, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you aside. His back lands against the brick wall of one of the shops at the boardwalk, and he turns you in his grasp so that you’re forced to face him. He cocks an eyebrow, pressing his forehead to yours.

     “Why d’ya do this t’yaself?” Your fiance squeezes your sides fondly. “We’re done, yeah?”

     “Kyle, you need new clothes,” you pout, trying to pull away from him to no avail.

     “I’ll find summat online. Righ’ now, I’m takin’ ya home. Need t’rest ya feet.” 

     Ignoring your protests, he waves over a cab and gently pushes you into the backseat. He smiles apologetically when he follows suit, grabbing your hand as he gives the driver your address. 

     “I’m seriously fine,” you grumble, but when you look over, Kyle isn’t paying attention—his eyes are glued to his phone while he orders your favorite takeout.

     He seems to sense your displeasure because he slips his phone into his pocket and leans in to kiss you softly. Can’t complain if your mouth is occupied by another loving pair of lips, can you?

     Simon Riley:

     Your husband is buzzing with excitement, anxiously tapping his foot as he waits for the popcorn to finish in the microwave. The two of you have been planning this movie night for weeks and the day has finally come. His ears perk up when he hears you at the top of the stairs, but his grin drops when he hears your labored breathing. He opens the door of the microwave to stop the cooking process before walking over to you. You’re halfway descended, but your chest is heaving and you’re gripping the railing a bit too tight for comfort.

     “Back upstairs,” Simon commands bluntly, startling you. 

     “I’ve almost got it,” you try to reassure him, but he’s having none of it, meeting you where you stand and tossing you over his shoulder.

     “Simon!” You yelp, smacking his back with no real malice while he carries you right back up the stairs and into your shared bedroom. 

     Your hulking lover lays you down gently before propping you up by placing some pillows behind your back. He kneels beside the bed where you lay, grabbing your wrist and opening your hand to expose your palm to him. He begins to trace a square on your skin, looking up at you expectantly. 

     “Breathe,” he instructs, demonstrating what he wants you to do—deep breath in on one line, out on the other—smiling softly when you join him.

     After a few cycles, your lungs finally seem to fill up with enough air. Simon still doesn’t let you get up, carefully pushing you back down when you try. 

     “But you already got everything set up downstairs,” you pout, lifting your head to meet his lips when he leans in to kiss your forehead.

     He hums in amusement against your mouth, cupping your face in his big hands and smoothing his thumbs over your cheekbones.

     “More comfy ‘ere in bed w’ya anyway, baby.”

     John Price:

     A long sigh escapes John as he unlocks the door to your home. It’s been a long deployment, and all he’s thought about since the helo landed on home base is you in his arms. As he shuts the door behind him and unlaces his work boots, he’s met with the warm smell of a proper roast. After shrugging off his uniform coat, he slowly makes his way into the kitchen where you’re pulling the fresh meal out of the oven. He waits until you’ve carefully set it down before he gently places his hands on your hips and leans in to trail a line of kisses down your neck.

     “John!” You exclaim happily, quickly turning around and throwing yourself into his arms.

     He chuckles, holding you tightly as he presses his cheek to the top of your head. 

     “Missed you so much, darlin’ girl,” your husband hums, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger to make you look up at him.

     Your eyelids flutter shut as he leans in to kiss you deep and slow. His hands travel down to rest on your waist as your arms wrap around his neck. Carefully, he guides you backward toward the counter but stills when you wince in pain. John pulls away, thick brow furrowed in concern.

     “You've been on your feet all day?” He questions, bright blue eyes softening as they stare down at you—your silence tells him all he needs to know. 

     “Go have a seat, darlin’. I’ll dish up dinner,” he concludes, helping you over to the dining room table and pulling out a cushioned chair for you.

     John helps you prop your feet up onto the chair opposite of you, making sure you’re settled in before doing as he promised and plating the roast and vegetables you’d spent all day making. He places your dinner before you with a swift kiss to your hair before joining you with his own food. The pain is easily forgotten when your lover is home, his fingertips tracing circles on your thigh as you share this meal in silence.

     Johnny MacTavish:

     “Doin’ sae perfect fer me, hen,” Johnny praises with a low groan, large hands pawing at the fat of your thighs. 

     Sweat drips from his pores down his flushed face, cerulean eyes staring up at you in awe through dark lashes. He meets every roll of your hips with delirious enthusiasm, entranced by the feeling of your soft body atop his, the heat of you that surrounds him completely. As far as he’s concerned, you’re an angel sent just for him.

     Johnny knows your cues, though, more attuned to your body than his own. The second you falter in your pace, mouth falling open as you try to catch your breath, he stops you instantly. When you try to keep going, he pulls out and flips you onto your back, pinning you to the bed.

     “No’ gonna star’ again ‘til ye catch yer breath, lass,” Johnny says firmly, kissing the tip of your nose. 

     “Johnny, please,” you whine, rocking your hips up to try and entice him. “I’m fine!”

     “Better star’ breathin’. Ah’d hate tae leave ye ‘igh an’ dry,” your lover teases, trailing kisses down your neck and collarbone until he reaches your chest.

     You sigh petulantly but comply anyway, sucking in a shaky inhale of air and blowing it out slowly. Johnny gives you a kiss right above your heart between every breath, kissing his way up the column of your throat and locking lips with you once your breathing has evened out and your chest no longer aches. You gasp when he slides back home and his fingers grip your jaw loosely. 

     “See wha’ ‘appens when ye listen?” He questions playfully, slowly building up a comfortable pace once more.

[shaiyasstuff]

wait, you’re famous? | rafayel

synopsis : In which, you meet Rafayel in a mall holding a camera. You’re on your lunch break and he approaches you, calling you cute.

content : rafayel x reader, normal!au, non-cannon!rafayel, perhaps maybe some canon(?), fluff

writer’s note : i don’t write fluff a lot so this is kinda new to me. I also did not proofread this so heh.

quote : “Hey, that girl is pretty cute. I should totally ask her out” - Rafayel (here)

It was just another typical day at the mall, and you were on your lunch break.

Working as a retailer in the department store, you had a small window of time to grab a meal, and you were already heading toward your favorite restaurant when—

“Hey, do I know you?”

The unexpected voice made you pause. Turning around, you found yourself face-to-face with a guy.

Handsome, with lilac-colored hair and dark eyes that held a mischievous glint.

There was something about him, something familiar yet unfamiliar all at once. He had the kind of effortless charm that reminded you of a high school crush, the kind you used to sneak glances at across the classroom.

You blinked, shaking your head. “Uh… no?”

Your gaze flickered downward, noticing the camera in his hand.

A sense of suspicion crept in.

“Is this a prank?”

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “What? Oh, this?” He held up the camera with an easy grin. “Nah, I’m just a vlogger.”

—•

Rafayel was mid-sentence in his live vlog when he spotted you walking in the distance.

His words trailed off, his focus shifting entirely.

With a smirk, he lowered his voice, whispering into the camera, “Guys, guys, look.”

He angled the lens toward you, letting his viewers catch a glimpse.

“That girl is kinda cute. I should totally ask her out.”

The chat immediately lit up.

‘LOL, he’s at it again.’

‘Yeah, she’s cute. Good luck, man!’

Grinning at the flood of messages, Rafayel straightened his jacket and adjusted his grip on the camera.

“Alright, here goes nothing.”

And with that, he started walking toward you, his pulse kicking up slightly, not because of the stream, but because he was actually curious to see how this would play out.

“Hey, do I know you?”

The words left Rafayel’s mouth before he could think twice.

Ew, what kind of introduction was that?

You blinked at him twice, tour expression caught somewhere between confusion and mild skepticism.

“Uh… no?”

Your gaze flickered to his camera, brows slightly furrowed.

“Is this a prank?”

He turned the lens toward himself, letting out a short laugh.

“What? Oh, this? Nah, I’m just a vlogger.”

Smooth, Rafayel. Real smooth.

You narrow your eyes at him, still unsure if this is some kind of joke.

His camera is pointed slightly away now, but you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch near it, like he’s half-expecting you to bolt.

“I swear, no pranks,” he says, offering a casual shrug. “Just thought you looked cool.”

You raise a brow. “Cool?”

He nods, shifting slightly. “Yeah, and my chat agrees.”

Your gaze flickers to the camera, just in time to see the flood of live comments scrolling across the screen.

‘She’s cute but looks like she’s about to run.’

‘Bro, she’s onto you 💀.’

‘Save him, chat. He’s sinking fast.’

Your lips part slightly, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

“You’re live?”

He scratches the back of his neck, flashing you a lopsided grin.

“Uh, yeah… I may have kinda just walked up to you mid-stream. Bold move, right?”

You cross your arms. “Or weird.”

He chuckles, nodding.

“Okay, yeah, fair. But,” His voice dips just slightly, more confident now. “Weird enough to let me buy you a coffee? No cameras, no chat, just a proper introduction and an apology for ambushing you.”

You tilt your head, watching him.

He doesn’t seem like he’s messing with you.

There’s a nervous energy beneath his playful charm, like he’s waiting for you to shut him down.

“…No cameras?” you repeat.

He immediately locks his phone, shoving it into his pocket.

“Total privacy.”

You exhale, shaking your head before smirking. “Fine. But if this turns out to be a prank, I’m throwing your camera into traffic.”

His grin stretches wider. “Deal.”

—•

The two of you settle into a slow walk toward the café, the initial awkwardness fading into something lighter, something that almost feels… easy.

Rafayel falls into step beside you, hands in his pockets now that his camera is safely tucked away.

“So,” he starts, tilting his head toward you with a boyish grin, “where were you headed before I ambushed you?”

“Lunch,” you say simply, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Like a normal person who doesn’t randomly walk up to strangers on live stream.”

He laughs, a soft, genuine sound. “Okay, fair. But hey, in my defense, you caught my eye.”

The casual admission makes warmth creep up your neck, but you keep your expression neutral. “So do mall sales and neon signs.”

“Yeah, but neither of those can talk back with this much attitude.”

You bump your shoulder lightly into his, trying to ignore the way his easy charm is starting to work on you.

“What about you?” you ask. “Is this what you do? Walk up to random girls and ask them out over live chat?”

Rafayel gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “You wound me.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

He nudges you lightly. “But seriously, what do you do? Aside from, you know, making guys nervous in department stores.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I work there. Retail.”

He hums thoughtfully. “So you’re the kind of person who saves clueless shoppers from buying disaster outfits?”

“Pretty much.”

“See, I knew you were cool.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling now. It’s so easy to talk to him. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry, just asks and listens, like he genuinely wants to know.

“What about you?” you turn the question on him. “Other than being a self-proclaimed vlogger, what do you do?”

“Ah,” he sighs dramatically. “I live a very thrilling life of filming, editing, and attempting to survive on instant ramen between uploads.”

You giggle, covering your mouth.

Rafayel watches you, and something in his eyes softens. Like he’s already memorizing the sound.

“I knew I made the right choice stopping you,” he murmurs.

You blink, caught off guard by how genuine it sounds.

And just like that, the teasing shifts into something softer, something warmer—something you weren’t expecting.

Rafayel swings a step ahead of you, walking backward now, hands tucked into his pockets as he watches you with a playful grin.

“So, since I’m not from around here, and you clearly know this place like the back of your hand…” he trails off, tilting his head, “how about you be my tour guide?”

You snort, shaking your head. “What, the mall?”

“Obviously.” He gestures dramatically to your surroundings.

“This is the grand metropolis of… what’s the name of this mall again?”

You roll your eyes. “You walked into it, genius.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention.” His gaze flickers toward you, his smile turning a little smug.

“You kinda distracted me.”

Your stomach flips, but you refuse to let him win. Crossing your arms, you smirk. “So you’re saying you walked in here, clueless and hopeless?”

“Completely.” He nods solemnly. “Which is why I need you.”

You raise a brow. “To…?”

“To bring me around, obviously.” He leans a little closer, dropping his voice like it’s a secret. “I need a local expert. Someone who knows the best food spots, the weirdest stores, the most ridiculous souvenirs.”

You squint at him. “Why do I feel like I’m being conned into something?”

He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “Me? A con artist?”

You stare at him.

“…Okay, fair,” he grins. “But come on, you’re on break, right? You were already heading for food, I just so happened to stumble into your very exciting plans.”

You pretend to consider.

“Hmm. I don’t know. Guiding lost tourists sounds exhausting.”

“I promise I’ll be a good guest.” He bats his lashes dramatically.

“And I’ll buy you food as payment. Think of it as my grand apology for jumping into your life unannounced.”

Your eyes narrow playfully. “That’s a very convenient offer.”

He winks. “I’m a very convenient guy.”

You shake your head, but you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

Why does he make it so easy to joke around?

“Fine,” you relent, sighing. “But if I do this, you better not slow me down.”

Rafayel smirks. “Oh, sweetheart, you better keep up.”

You scoff. “I’m literally showing you around.”

“Exactly, which means you have the advantage.” He gestures to himself. “Yet somehow, I feel like I’ll be the one leading the way.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him.

He grins. “That’s the spirit.”

With that, he falls into step beside you, easy and unhurried, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind it as much as you should.

Rafayel follows you with an exaggerated, obedient nod, hands still casually tucked in his pockets as you lead the way.

“So,” he says, stepping closer, his shoulder almost brushing yours.

“Where’s our first stop, oh wise and gracious tour guide?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Well, since you rudely interrupted my lunch plans, I guess we’ll start with food.”

“I like the way you think,” he grins. “Feed me and I might just be your most loyal tourist.”

You roll your eyes but keep walking, leading him toward one of your favorite food spots.

He falls into step beside you effortlessly, like you’ve done this a million times.

“So, what brings you here anyway?” you ask, glancing up at him. “You travel a lot?”

He hums, shrugging. “Something like that. I move around a lot for work, so I don’t really stick to one place.”

“You some kind of businessman?” you tease.

Rafayel smirks. “Something like that.”

You narrow your eyes at his vague answer but let it slide.

“And what, you just randomly go to malls and bother innocent people?”

“Innocent? Pfft.” He shakes his head, grinning. “You look like you could bully me in three languages.”

You gasp, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know I am very nice.”

“I don’t believe you,” he deadpans, lips twitching.

You scoff. “Well, now I’m definitely not going easy on you.”

He laughs, the sound warm and rich, and for some reason, it makes your heart skip.

By the time you reach the food court, he gestures grandly toward it. “Alright, tour guide, what’s the best thing to eat here?”

You eye him carefully, then smirk. “How adventurous are you?”

He leans in just slightly, voice dropping. “I trust you.”

And something about the way he says it. So easy, so certain, makes your stomach flutter.

You shake it off, rolling your eyes. “Big mistake.”

—•

You order something local, something that tourists don’t usually go for.

He doesn’t question it, just pays like he promised and follows you to an empty table.

“You’re being suspiciously cooperative,” you say, resting your chin in your hand as he picks up his fork.

“I told you, I trust you.” He grins, then pauses, eyeing the food.

“Unless this is a setup. Did I piss off the locals? Is this revenge?”

You laugh. He’s way too dramatic for his own good.

“Just eat, you baby,” you say, nudging his plate closer.

He chuckles but takes a bite and immediately freezes.

You watch him closely, biting back a smirk.

Slowly, his expression shifts, his brows lift, his lips part slightly, and then he lets out a surprised, “Oh… oh, this is actually good.”

You burst out laughing. “What, did you think I was going to poison you?”

“I mean, I don’t know you!” he says between bites. “For all I know, you could be secretly plotting my demise.”

You snicker. “Well, if I was, I’d at least make sure it tasted good.”

He nearly chokes on his food, laughing.

The meal goes on with light teasing, him occasionally stealing from your plate even though he literally has the same thing.

“You know, you’re a terrible tour guide,” he muses, leaning forward slightly.

You gasp. “Excuse me?”

“You didn’t even tell me the history of the food or anything,” he sighs dramatically. “Zero effort.”

“Oh my god, do you want me to print out a brochure?”

He smirks. “I mean, a little enthusiasm would be nice.”

You roll your eyes before picking up a spoonful of food. “Here.”

Rafayel blinks at you. “What?”

“You want enthusiasm? Fine.” You hold the spoon up, wiggling it slightly. “Taste this and be amazed.”

Something shifts in his eyes, a flicker of mischief, then something softer.

Instead of taking the spoon from you, he leans forward, resting his elbow on the table, lips parting slightly as he lets you feed him.

You don’t even realize what you’ve done until it’s too late.

His lips brush against the spoon, his eyes locked onto yours, and suddenly, everything feels… different.

The teasing air is still there, but beneath it, something quieter, warmer.

You swallow.

Why does he look like he’s enjoying this too much?

He finally pulls back, chewing slowly, eyes twinkling.

“…That was actually really good,” he says, voice just a little lower than before.

You clear your throat, snapping yourself out of whatever that was. “See? Told you. Amazing tour guide.”

His smirk returns, but this time, it’s… softer.

“I think I’ll keep you,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your face burns.

And as much as you try to ignore it, you can’t help but feel like this might be the start of something much bigger than just a mall tour.

You’re still recovering from whatever that moment was, trying to ignore the way your heart is beating faster than it should.

Rafayel, however, seems completely unfazed—still eating, still grinning, still acting like he didn’t just say something that sent your brain into overdrive.

So when he leans back in his chair, stretching a little, and says, “I’m feeling for a drink,” you’re relieved for the shift in topic.

Finally. Something normal.

You grab your phone, ready to look up the menu.

“What would you like?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, watching you.

Then, with the most unapologetically smug expression you’ve ever seen, he says,

“You.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Your fingers freeze mid-scroll.

You blink.

Once. Twice.

Did he just?

The silence stretches, and Rafayel’s grin only deepens as he watches the realization dawn on your face.

“Oh my god.” You gawk at him. “You did not just—”

“What?” He shrugs, completely casual. “You asked what I wanted.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you scramble for a comeback, any comeback. “Yeah, well…too bad! I’m not on the menu!”

He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to be dangerous.

“Mm, shame.”

You grab your napkin and throw it at him.

He dodges, laughing as you groan, covering your face with your hands.

“I cannot believe you just said that,” you mumble.

“Hey, you walked right into that one.” He’s clearly having way too much fun. “But if it makes you feel better, I’d settle for an iced coffee.”

You glare at him but stand up anyway, crossing your arms. “You’re lucky I’m nice.”

“I’m lucky for a lot of reasons,” he quips, winking.

You point a finger at him. “Stay here. Don’t say anything.”

“I make no promises.”

You groan, turning away before he can make you blush even more.

But even as you head toward the counter, you can feel his gaze still on you. Warm, amused, maybe even a little intrigued.

And despite yourself, you find that you kind of like it.

Rafayel watches as you return with his iced coffee, sliding it across the table like a business transaction.

“There,” you say, feigning indifference. “Your drink. No complaints.”

He takes it with a grin, swirling the ice before taking a sip. “Mm. Not bad. Good service, too. I might start coming here more often.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just drink your coffee.”

He hums, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on the table as he watches you with that same playful glint in his eyes.

“So,” he says casually, “you know a lot about me already. Seems kinda unfair that I don’t even know your name.”

You pause, stirring your own drink.

Then, without missing a beat, you shrug.

“That’s because I don’t just tell strangers my name.”

Rafayel nearly chokes on his coffee.

He coughs, pressing a fist to his lips as he blinks at you, clearly not expecting that answer.

Your lips twitch, satisfied.

“Oh, that’s how we’re playing it?” he finally manages, setting his cup down with a slow smirk. “I see how it is.”

You sip your drink, unfazed.

“It’s only fair.”

He watches you for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table. Then, his smirk deepens.

“Alright, then. I’ll just have to guess.”

You raise a brow. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He leans in slightly. “You look like a… Lily. No, wait. A Sophia?”

You shake your head, taking another sip.

“Hm. Ava? No, no, something more unique.” He studies you, as if your name is written somewhere on your face.

You try not to laugh at how ridiculously serious he looks.

“I could just keep calling you ‘tour guide,’ but that doesn’t seem fair,” he continues, drumming his fingers on the table. “What if I get it right? Will you tell me?”

You smirk. “Try it and see.”

His eyes flicker with interest. Like you just gave him a challenge he’s fully prepared to win.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he grins, sipping his coffee. “You have no idea what you just started.”

And somehow, you already know that he’s not letting this go anytime soon.

Rafayel taps his fingers against the table, staring at you like he’s analyzing a puzzle.

“Olivia?”

“No.”

“Emily.”

“Not even close.”

He squints. “Something with an ‘S.’ I can feel it.”

You sip your drink, unimpressed. “Your radar is way off.”

He exhales dramatically. “Alright, give me a hint.”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

He leans forward. “Come on. One letter.”

“Nope.”

“Rhymes with something?”

“Nope.”

“Wow,” he huffs, crossing his arms. “You’re ruthless.”

You grin. “I prefer ‘mysterious.’”

He points at you, eyes narrowing. “I will figure it out.”

“You can try.”

“Oh, I will.” He smirks. “You just made it my life’s mission.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You need better goals.”

“Nah,” he grins, sipping his coffee. “This one’s fun.”

You casually check your watch and then freeze.

“Shit.”

Rafayel lifts a brow. “What?”

“I have to get back to work.” You grab your bag, standing up in a hurry.

He leans back in his chair, sipping his drink. “So soon? Tragic.”

You shoot him a look. “Some of us have jobs, you know.”

He smirks. “I have a job.”

You cross your arms. “Annoying strangers doesn’t count.”

“I get paid for it, so technically—”

“Oh my god, goodbye.” You turn on your heel, ready to escape.

“Wait—” He reaches for his phone. “At least give me something to work with.”

You glance back, smirking. “You already have a mission. Figure it out.”

His eyes light up, challenge accepted.

As you walk away, he calls after you, “See you later, mystery girl!”

You don’t turn around, but you can’t stop the smile creeping onto your lips.

—•

The department store doors slide open as you step outside, stretching your arms after a long shift.

Then you freeze.

Rafayel is there.

Leaning casually against a pillar, sipping on another iced coffee like he hadn’t just spent the last few hours loitering in the mall.

You blink. “You’re still here?”

He grins, pushing off the pillar. “What, you thought I’d give up that easily?”

You narrow your eyes.

“You didn’t seriously wait here the whole time.”

He takes a slow sip, watching you over the rim of his cup.

“Maybe.”

You cross your arms. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he says, smirking.

You sigh, shaking your head. “Okay, stalker, what do you want?”

His smirk widens. “Dinner.”

You blink again. “What?”

He gestures dramatically. “You gave me a tour. It’s only fair I pay you back with a meal. It’s called balance.”

You scoff. “That is not how balance works.”

He shrugs. “Too late. Already decided.”

You stare at him, torn between mild exasperation and something dangerously close to amusement.

“…You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

You sigh, shaking your head, but you can’t quite stop the small tug of a smile.

“…Fine. But I pick the place.”

His eyes light up. “Deal.”

And as the two of you start walking, you realise,

You don’t actually mind.

—•

Rafayel stares at his plate.

Then at yours.

Then back at his.

“You ordered better than me.”

You raise a brow. “You picked your own meal.”

“Yeah, but yours looks better.”

You smirk, lifting your fork. “Sucks to be you.”

He leans in slightly. “Trade?”

“Nope.”

He exhales dramatically, shaking his head.

“Unbelievable. You’re supposed to share with your guests.”

“You’re not a guest.” You stab a piece of food, grinning. “You’re a menace.”

He places a hand over his chest. “Wow. Betrayed.”

You roll your eyes, but when he pouts, actually pouts, you sigh and slide a small bite onto his plate.

He perks up instantly. “I knew you liked me.”

You scoff. “Don’t push it.”

He grins, popping the bite into his mouth. “Too late.”

And as the banter continues, the food forgotten between laughter and teasing, you realize dinner with him is actually… fun.

Rafayel leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers against his drink. “Alright, tour guide. Time to make my life easier.”

You tilt your head. “How so?”

He smirks. “Your number.”

You blink. Then laugh. “Oh, you’re serious?”

He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Very.”

You sip your drink, unbothered. “And what makes you think I’d just hand that over?”

He gestures between you. “Uh, I don’t know? Maybe the fact that we just had an amazing meal, great conversation, and, dare I say, chemistry?”

You give him a deadpan look. “Dare I say, bold assumption.”

He exhales, shaking his head. “Wow. This is really a challenge for you, huh?”

You grin. “Oh, I’m having fun.”

He narrows his eyes. “Okay, then. Plan B.”

You raise a brow. “Which is?”

He slides his phone across the table. “You put your number in, or I text myself from your phone when you’re not looking.”

You scoff. “That’s not how this works.

“Fine.” He sighs, leaning back dramatically. “I’ll earn it.”

You smirk. “Good luck with that.”

His grin is slow, confident. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need luck.”

And just like that, you know this isn’t the last time you’ll see him.

Rafayel walks beside you, hands in his pockets, shooting you quick glances every few steps. You pretend not to notice, but he’s not exactly subtle.

“You’re plotting something,” you accuse, side-eyeing him.

He grins. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Okay, maybe.” He tilts his head, smirking. “I’m just trying to figure out how to get your number without breaking any laws.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Persistence doesn’t equal success.”

“Oh, I’m very successful.”

“Not in this,” you quip.

He lets out a dramatic sigh. “You’re really gonna make me suffer, huh?”

“You deserve it.”

He nudges your shoulder lightly. “You enjoy messing with me way too much.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “It’s fun.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll crack you eventually.”

You glance at him, smirking. “Keep dreaming, vlogger boy.”

His lips curl into something too smug, too sure.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he muses, “I always get what I want.”

And for some reason, that makes your heart skip a beat.

—•

The two of you slow to a stop at a quiet corner, just outside a small café that’s closing up for the night. The air is warm, the city humming softly around you.

Rafayel tilts his head, watching you with that same knowing smirk.

“So.”

You arch a brow. “So?”

He crosses his arms. “I think it’s time we settle this.”

You feign innocence. “Settle what?”

He sighs dramatically. “Come on, mystery girl. We’ve had dinner, I’ve endured your ruthless teasing, I think I deserve at least a first name.”

You hum, pretending to think. “I don’t know… what’s in it for me?”

He lets out a mock gasp. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Always.”

“Fine,” he says, pulling out his phone. “A trade. Name for a name. Number for a number.”

You squint at him. “So I give you both?”

“Exactly.” He grins. “And in return, I bless you with the gift of my existence in your contacts.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the laugh that escapes.

Still, there’s something almost charming about how patient he’s been, how he keeps finding ways to make this fun instead of annoying.

So, with a small sigh of defeat, you hold out your hand. “Fine. Gimme.”

His brows raise slightly, as if he wasn’t expecting you to actually agree.

But he recovers quickly, sliding his phone into your palm.

You type in your number, pausing before adding your name. Then, with one last moment of hesitation, you enter it and hand the phone back.

Rafayel glances at the screen, then at you.

A slow, satisfied grin spreads across his lips.

“Nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

You shake your head, smirking. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he muses, saving your contact, “too late.”

You walk side by side, the city lights flickering above, the warmth of the day fading into a cool evening breeze.

Rafayel is still talking. Easily, casually, like this isn’t the first time you’ve hung out.

“So yeah, vlogging wasn’t exactly the plan,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“But it kinda just… happened. I started posting random videos, people liked them, and now here we are.”

You nod, half-listening. “So you do this full-time?”

“Pretty much.” He grins. “Travel, film, edit, repeat. Not a bad gig, honestly.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Must be nice, getting paid to have fun.”

“Oh, totally. Except when I’m running on two hours of sleep and my manager’s yelling at me for missing deadlines.”

You blink. “Wait, you have a manager?”

He tilts his head, amused. “Yeah?”

You narrow your eyes. “Wait… do you have like… a lot of followers?”

Rafayel smirks, but says nothing.

Your mind starts piecing things together.

The way people glanced at him in the mall, the chat going crazy on his stream, the expensive-looking camera, the effortless confidence.

You slow your steps, turning to face him fully.

“…Wait.” Your brows furrow. “You’re famous?”

Rafayel’s grin stretches wide.

“Took you long enough.”

[lyn31]

Customize AI

Summary

Zayne’s AI assistant was supposed to be a neutral, professional system—until you got your hands on it.

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader

Fluff, short, silly, banter, messing around with his tech.

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

You don’t usually get access to Zayne’s personal systems—he’s careful, precise, and, frankly, a little scary when it comes to his tech. But today, for reasons beyond your comprehension, he left his AI assistant unlocked.

A normal person would respect his privacy.

You, however, are not a normal person.

So you tweak a few settings—nothing destructive, just a little... enhancement—and then you sit back and wait.

A while later, Zayne is at his desk, working as usual. You pretend to be absorbed in your own task, sneaking glances at him.

"Run system diagnostics," he commands.

The AI beeps to life. "Sure thing, bestie! Running diagnostics just for you~"

You slap a hand over your mouth.

Zayne blinks. There’s a noticeable pause before he speaks again. "...What?"

The AI continues in a disturbingly cheerful tone. "Oh my~! Looks like everything is functioning at 100%, just like your perfect bone structure, Doctor Handsome!"

You wheeze.

Zayne slowly turns his chair to face you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something vaguely exhausted in his eyes. "...What did you do?"

You barely manage to choke out words through your laughter. "I—just—personalized it a little!"

He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Revert it."

"Why? It’s so flattering!"

He ignores you and tries again. "Open encrypted files."

"Of course, Zayne! You're so kind and cool, I would do anything for you~"

You actually fall over this time.

Zayne just stares at his screen, visibly regretting every decision that led him to this moment.

You sit back, arms crossed, grinning like a troublemaker who absolutely knows they’ve won.

"Reverting system modifications," he states, voice as calm and composed as ever.

His AI assistant beeps. "Oh… Are you sure, Zayne? I mean, your girlfriend worked really hard on this…"

His fingers hover over the console. Just for a second. Barely noticeable—unless you’re you.

Zayne exhales. "Yes."

"Oh. Okay. It’s just… You seemed kinda happy when I called you Doctor Handsome. But if you really want me to stop…"

You snort.

Zayne blinks at the screen, visibly unimpressed. "...Revert."

"Alright. I guess I’ll just go back to being a boring AI with zero personality. That’s fine. Really. I don’t have feelings. I just simulate them. But, y’know, if I did have feelings, they’d be a little hurt right now…"

At this point, you’re actually clutching your stomach, trying not to fall out of your chair again. "Oh my god, I love past me for this."

Zayne rubs his temples, clearly wondering where his life went wrong. "Override all modifications."

"Sigh… Okay, Doctor Cold-Hearted. Deleting your incredibly devoted, stunningly beautiful girlfriend’s heartfelt improvements. But hey, who needs love when you have a ‘perfectly optimized system,’ right? No worries. I’ll just delete myself… forever."

Zayne closes his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. You can tell he’s this close to forcibly shutting off the entire AI.

"Would you prefer I left it?" he asks dryly, clearly expecting you to say no.

You grin. "Oh, I know you’re tempted to keep it."

Zayne gives you yet another unimpressed look. Then, instead of responding, he simply turns back to his screen and… closes the settings menu.

Your eyes widen. "Wait. Wait. Did you just—?"

He doesn’t say a word. He just resumes his work like nothing happened. But the fact that he didn’t erase it? Oh, you’re never letting him live this down.

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Notes

I actually roll over while writing this ahahahahahaha

[loverofwomenswrongs]

DON'T ACT SO SURPRISED | PT.2

****** Pairing: Billie Eilish x fem!reader Words: 0.9K Warnings: smut

****** Part 1

******

[So this is, I think, my second time writing smut, so bare that in mind. I don't think it's very good. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it]

As soon as they were backstage, Billie grabbed Y/n's hand and dragged her along. They rushed past the singer’s crew, who tried to congratulate them, but all they got in response was a terse, “Someone take my stuff back to the hotel, please.” The crew watched as Billie and Y/n sprinted toward the parking lot.

“Billie, slow down,” Y/n called out, but Billie didn’t seem to hear. Her mind was elsewhere, her face set with determination.

It was no secret that Billie liked speed, but tonight, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that they were in real danger. She stole a quick glance at her girlfriend, who was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were white. It wasn’t anger that caused the tension—Y/n could tell that much.

Billie hadn’t said a word—nothing during the drive, and nothing as they entered the hotel lobby. She ignored the worker who greeted them, leaving Y/n to mumble quick apologies as she struggled to keep up. In seconds, Billie was already standing at the elevator, waiting for it to arrive.

The ride up was no better. The air was thick with tension. Billie fiddled with her fingers, while Y/n’s gaze stayed fixed on her girlfriend’s clenched hands, wondering what had her so wound up.

As soon as they stepped inside the room, Billie had Y/n pressed against the door, no space between them, lips almost brushing, breaths mixing. And then a low, lustful whisper, “You have no idea how much I missed you”

“Yeah?” Y/n tried to sound confident, but her voice cracked at the tension and anticipation. 

“Yeah, baby… Also you looked so good on stage” The singer, if it was possible, stepped even closer, chests pressing together with heavy breaths. “But I think you will look better under me”. And as Y/n whimpered, Billie snapped, crashing their lips together in a rough, desperate kiss. Hands were everywhere, both girls gripping at what they could, clothes, skin, hair. 

Y/n pulled apart to catch her breath, just for her girlfriend to attach her lips to her neck, knowingly leaving marks, sucking and licking, as Y/n shuddered under her. Billie placed her hands on her tights, and tapped on her side, so she jumped wrapping her legs around her waist, as the black haired girl directed them to the bed. 

Billie took the opportunity to watch Y/n up and down, eyes trailing through her, yet, clothed body. “I think this clothes have to come off”, her girlfriend just nodded, but apparently that wasn’t enough for her, “Words, babygirl”

“Yes, please, Billie, take them”

And she just did. Slowly, teasing. First the hoodie, then the shirt underneath, fingers barely touching Y/n’s burning skin. Billie’s lips immediately returned to the exposed skin, kissing Y/n’s collarbones, and started to slowly trail down, stopping above the thin bra that gave away Y/n hardened nipples. She softly kissed them, making Y/n back arch, “Love, please, don’t tease”

“But this is just too fun, watching how desperate you are for me” But she still unclasped Y/n’s bra, throwing it somewhere, not that they did mind. Before returning to Y/n, Billie took her shirt off, too hot to wear it anymore. A hand went straight to one boob, lips to the other one, Y/n a panting mess at that point. Her hand went to Billie’s head, pushing her down, “Patience, mama”, she could feel her smirk on her skin. Y/n let a frustrated huff, “Fuck that, Billie, I- I really need you”

“If you ask so nicely” Billie finally left her chest, trailing down with sloppy kisses, marking her here and there. She thought about teasing a bit more, but decided to give her girlfriend what she wanted. When she reached Y/n’s core, she blew on it, sending another wave of shivers through her that turned into a gasp when Billie finally pressed her lips on her clit.

Her hand tugged Billie’s hair, making the singer release a moan, as she picked one of her legs and placed it on her shoulder. Y/n had barely noticed the change of posture, when two fingers were deep inside her, “God, you are already so tight, gonna cum soon?”

“Please, don’t stop”

And she didn’t, she quickened her pace, both fingers and mouth working on a crumbling Y/n. It was soon when she felt her muscles go rigid, shaking as she was brought to her high, undoing under Billie’s touch, who slowed her moments as her breath became steady. 

“That’s it baby” She made her way up, their lips combining in a tender kiss after all the lust. “How are you feeling?”. One thing about Billie, she was the sweetest at the aftercare. She was the perfect mix between hard and soft. 

“I’m feeling great, that was amazing… I missed you so much” Y/n placed herself on Billie’s chest, hearing the slow beating of her heart. “I promise I’ll return it, but I’m about to fall asleep, today was stressful”

“Don’t worry, bubs, I know you will” Billie threaded her finger through Y/n’s hair, her voice being barely a whisper. “Thank you so much for today, honestly… I don’t deserve you”

“You deserve the world, my love” Y/n kissed her quickly, before resting back on her chest, their eyes never leaving each other’s. She raised her hand to stroke Billie’s cheek, making her eyes flutter at the feeling, “I love you so much”

“I love you too, my superstar”

[criminallyvenomous]

Inexplicit Meanings - Spencer Reid X Artist! Reader

• In which Spencer attends a local show at an art gallery and ends up liking more than just the works.

• Gender neutral reader

• Word count - 783

• A/N - one of my pieces is going to be on a touring exhibit this spring/ summer and theres a small part of me holding out hope mgg somehow shows up LMAO

~

Spencer made it a goal of his to go out more this year. Usually it consisted of reluctantly agreeing to accompany Garcia to some event or to go to a bar every now and then with Derek. Recently, however, he’s taken up going to gallery openings and showcases for local artists.

He always liked art, being a beautiful showcase of a person’s talent combined with some type of a meaning. It wasn’t anything like reading, though. The explicit explanations found on a page were turned into inexplicit meanings hidden behind layers of paint or some other kind of media.

He saw a flier on the subway for a new artist pop-up in a local gallery sponsored by the art museum. The works featured on the poster intrigued him, the theme of the show being hope. Hope wasn’t always his strong suit.

The week of the show came and he was waiting for the elevator with Penelope.

“Would you want to go to a gallery tonight? It’s a show on hope featuring the works of several local artists.” He turned to ask.

“Of course! You know I’m a lover of the finer things in life.”

The two friends made their way through the gallery doors. Garcia almost immediately running off.

“Spencer! They have little cheeses with the flags! Oh my god, they have vegan cheese. I’m in heaven.” She was giddy and she hadn’t even looked at the works around her. Spencer laughed in response before walking to the first piece.

“Oh wow.” He said to himself, leaning down to read the artist statement attached.

“What do you think?” You emerged behind him. He responded without turning to face you.

“It’s beautiful, in a scary way. The artist said they had gone through a turbulent time in their life and you can see the evidence of each moment through the intricacies in the details.” He stood back up, straightening himself to look at the source of the voice behind him. You chuckled lightly.

“Way to mansplain.” You joked, he seemed confused. “I’m just kidding.” His expression softened.

“Are you Y/N?”

“The one and only.” You smiled.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I really enjoy your work.” He said.

“Pleasure’s all mine. Here, I’ll show you the rest of the works.” You offered.

“Yes, please.” You laughed at his response, making him chuckle from the contagious nature. “I’m Spencer, by the way. Spencer Reid.”

The two of you made your way through the row of your work, each artist having a designated section to display their pieces. You explained each piece while he internally read through each statement, hoping to get all the possible information he could regarding not just your art, but you.

“There you are!” Garcia came towards the two of you with a hop in her step, having thoroughly enjoyed as much of the vegan cheeses she could find. “Who might you be?” She asked and before you could answer, Spencer spoke.

“This is Y/N, they’re one of the artists in the show.” She nodded.

“I knew you looked familiar, I saw your profile on the wall over there.” She looked back to where she came from, pointing at the artist biographies.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You extended your hand, her shaking it eagerly.

“I’m Penelope. Wow, these are really good!” She complimented.

“Thank you!” You replied. “Hold on, I think I might have a buyer.” You said excitedly, rushing over to the very wealthy looking woman writing her name down on the bidding card.

“They’re pretty cute.” Penelope elbowed Spencer, nudging him gently.

“What?” He coyly replied.

“Come on, you like a little more than their art.” He rolled his eyes at her assumptions, even if not entirely inaccurate.

“Maybe. So, what?”

“So…” She pushed him lightly towards you, “Go do something, say something, anything.” She encouraged.

Spencer was too nervous to actually ask you out straightforwardly. He decided to make a bid on the first piece, not just because he liked it, but because he met you looking over it.

“Spencer, are you looking to buy?” You said, walking towards him after securing the earlier woman’s purchase of the last piece in the collection.

“Just yours.” He smiled, handing you the card he had just filled out.

“That is generous.” You chuckled, making him blush almost. “Says you’re a doctor. Guess you can afford it.”

“Not that type, but I can afford to invest in the future of bright young artists.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” You smiled. “I’ll hand deliver this myself.”

“Looking forward to it.” He turned back to Garcia, who was giving him a double thumbs up. “I’ll see you then.”

[inseobts]

Hi there may i request usopp x strawhat!reader? (fem!reader too) For the scenario i want something like them going on their first date together? Maybe somewhere along the way the two of em try to avoid the Marines during the date hehe,, i would like it to take place at post timeskip please tysm in advanced ! 💗

Troubled Date

usopp x reader

a/n: thank you for this request, it was really fun to write ♡

words count: 1.1k

tags: fluff, romance, first date

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The Sunny is docked at a lively island town, filled with colorful markets, busy streets, and the smell of grilled seafood in the air. It’s the perfect place for a date, or at least, that’s what Usopp tells himself as he waits for you at the edge of the ship.

“Okay, Usopp, you got this,” he mutters, taking deep breaths “It’s just Y/N. Y/N, who’s been my crewmate for years. Y/N, who—who looks really cute today.” He swallows hard when he sees you walking toward him, wearing a bright smile.

“Ready to go?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Pshh, of course!” Usopp straightens his back “This is gonna be the best date ever! A legendary date! People will tell stories about it for generations!”

You giggle “Then let’s make it a good one, great warrior.”

He turns red but quickly clears his throat “Ahem! Yes! Let’s go!”

The two of you step off the Sunny and into the town. The streets are full of life, merchants selling trinkets, children running around, and street performers juggling flaming torches. Usopp’s eyes shine with excitement.

“Ohhh! Look at that!” He points at a booth selling deep-fried snacks “Let’s start with food! You can’t go on an adventure on an empty stomach!”

“I thought this was a date, not an adventure” you tease.

He grins “Same thing!”

The two of you buy some snacks and walk through the marketplace, enjoying the sights and sounds. Everything seems perfect, until Usopp suddenly freezes, his eyes wide in horror.

“Uh-oh.”

“What?” you ask, mouth full of food.

He slowly turns to you “Marines. Over there.”

You peek over his shoulder. A group of Marines is walking through the crowd, scanning faces. They don’t seem to have noticed you two yet, but they’re getting closer.

“What do we do?” you whisper.

“Hide! Quick!” Usopp grabs your hand and pulls you behind a fruit stand, both of you crouching low.

“Why do we always run into Marines at the worst times?” you whisper, pressing against the crates of apples.

“It’s the curse of being too cool” Usopp whispers back.

You roll your eyes but smile. The Marines stop near the stand, talking to the merchant. You and Usopp hold your breath.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice suddenly soft “I, uh… I’m glad you came today. I was really nervous.”

You blink in surprise, then squeeze his hand “Me too.”

He turns bright red.

Before you can say more, a loud CRASH echoes through the market. You both peek around the corner and see Luffy at a food stall, arguing with the owner, his face stuffed with meat.

The Marines immediately turn toward the noise.

“Oh no” you and Usopp say at the same time.

“There! That’s Straw Hat Luffy!” one of them shouts.

Usopp’s grip on your hand tightens “Oh no, oh no, oh no—”

“RUN!” you yell, yanking him in the opposite direction as the Marines push through the crowd.

The two of you weave through the busy marketplace, dodging fruit carts and leaping over barrels. Usopp almost trips over a stray chicken, but you keep pulling him forward.

“Why does this ALWAYS happen?!” he cries.

“Because we’re pirates?” you laugh breathlessly.

“I just wanted a normal date!”

“You expected NORMAL?! On a date with me?!”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

Behind you, the Marines shout orders. You spot an alleyway between two buildings and pull Usopp into it. The two of you press against the wall, panting.

The sound of boots stomping on cobblestone grows louder. Usopp peeks around the corner and immediately pulls back, eyes wide.

“They’re close” he whispers.

You glance upward and spot a wooden balcony above you “Up there!”

Without thinking, you grab Usopp’s waist and boost him up. He yelps, flailing before grabbing onto the ledge.

“H-hey! I’m supposed to be the one protecting you!”

“Less talking, more climbing!”

Usopp scrambles onto the balcony and reaches down for you. You grab his hands, and with a strong pull, he hauls you up, though he nearly topples over in the process.

“Phew,” he sighs, wiping his forehead “That was close.”

You both sit on the balcony floor, catching your breath. The Marines run past below, completely unaware.

For a moment, there’s silence. Just the distant chatter of the town, the cool breeze, and the two of you, still holding hands.

Usopp realizes it first. His face turns red “A-ah! Uh—”

You laugh, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go “Thanks for pulling me up.”

His heart is beating way too fast “A-anytime.”

You both sit there for a moment, looking out at the town. The sun is starting to set, casting a golden glow over everything. Even after all the chaos, just sitting next to you feels nice.

“…So, this wasn’t exactly the date I planned” Usopp admits.

You tilt your head “Oh? And what was the plan?”

“Well,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was gonna take you to a nice restaurant, impress you with my amazing storytelling, maybe buy you a cool gift—y’know, romantic stuff.”

You smile “This was fun too.”

His eyes widen “R-really?”

You nod “Running from Marines together? That’s a real Straw Hat date.”

Usopp stares at you for a second before bursting into laughter “Okay, okay, you have a point.”

You stand up and offer your hand “Come on, let’s find the others before Luffy causes more trouble.”

He takes your hand, smiling “Yeah. But, uh…” He hesitates. “Maybe we try another date next time? A real one?”

You squeeze his fingers “I’d like that.”

His face burns red, but he grins, heart pounding in the best way possible.

You’re about to turn when Usopp suddenly tugs on your hand, stopping you. His expression is serious for once, though his face is still pink.

“…Wait.”

You blink “What?”

He hesitates for a moment, then takes a shaky breath “I, uh—before we go, I just…”

Then, before he can overthink it, he leans forward and presses a quick, warm kiss to your lips.

It’s short, barely a second, but it leaves you completely frozen.

Usopp pulls back, looking like he might pass out. His eyes dart everywhere except at you “S-sorry! I just—! I thought—! B-but if that was too much, I—!”

You cut him off by grabbing his scarf and pulling him in for another kiss, this one slower, softer. He lets out a tiny, surprised squeak before melting into it, his hands awkwardly hovering before resting on your waist.

When you finally pull away, his face is an impossible shade of red “Oh.” His voice cracks “Oh.”

You smile, brushing your fingers over his “I really, really liked this date.”

He sways a little, dazed “…I think I did too.”

You laugh and take his hand again “Come on, Romeo. Let’s go before the others start looking for us.”

Usopp stumbles after you, still red-faced but grinning like an idiot.

Maybe this date didn’t go as planned.

But honestly?

It turned out way better.