hi can i request a short fic where reader and sabrina are having a lazy day like it’s raining and watching movies and stuff together and reader has tattoos and sabrina loves to traces them and while they’re cuddling on the sofa sabrina asks some of the meanings of the tats or just something along those lines ( masc reader please)
a/n - changed my theme, don’t forget me <3
The rain hadn’t stopped since late last night, and honestly, you were grateful for it.
Heavy sheets tapped the windows like a lullaby, rolling thunder in the distance more comforting than menacing. The sky outside was a steely grey, casting the living room in the kind of muted light that makes everything feel soft and still. The kind of day that made plans feel impossible and staying in feel like the only right choice.
You were stretched across the couch, legs long and bare in your grey sweats, with a soft throw blanket slung over both you and the small girl lying on top of you. Sabrina was curled into your chest, chin propped up just enough to see the screen, her fingers tracing idle patterns along your forearm—again.
It wasn’t the first time today, or this week.
She was obsessed with your tattoos.
Every single time you were in a tank top or anything short-sleeved, her fingers would automatically find them. Even in the middle of conversations, her fingertips would ghost over the ink like she was trying to memorize the shape of them all.
“You’re not watching the movie,” you murmured, brushing your lips lightly over the top of her head.
“I’m multitasking,” she replied, voice soft and raspy from sleep. “I can trace and listen. I’m very talented, you know.”
You chuckled, your hand slowly running up and down her spine under the blanket.
“I’m starting to think you love the tattoos more than you love me.”
She made a small, offended sound in her throat and popped her head up to look at you.
“You take that back,” she said, eyes wide and playful, her blonde hair a little messy from the way she’d been laying.
“That slander. I love you. The tattoos are just a bonus.”
“A bonus?” you teased, raising a brow. “Is that all I am to you? A hot canvas?”
She leaned forward and kissed the corner of your mouth. “A very hot canvas.”
Your arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, and you kissed the tip of her nose just to watch her scrunch it.
Sabrina settled back down on your chest, her fingers returning to the ink on your upper arm—a script tattoo written in a looping, handwritten scrawl.
She was silent for a few beats, just tracing the letters, before she asked softly, “Can I ask what this one means?”
You didn’t have to look to know which one she meant. It was one of the first tattoos you ever got, and it always seemed to be the one she came back to.
“It’s my mom’s handwriting,” you said after a moment. “From a note she left me before I left for college. Says, ‘Be brave, and call me if you get lonely.’”
Sabrina’s fingers stilled. Then she whispered, “That’s so sweet.”
You shrugged a little, suddenly aware of how personal it sounded out loud.
“She used to tuck notes into everything. Backpacks, coat pockets. I didn’t even notice this one until I was unpacking my dorm. I was having a rough time adjusting—y’know, quiet and homesick. Then I found it folded in a sock.”
Sabrina was quiet again for a few seconds, the rain still tapping rhythmically on the windows. Her hand moved to the next tattoo—an outline of a delicate flower just under your bicep.
You smiled a little. “Wildflower. It was my sister’s favorite before she passed.”
Her fingers pressed gently against the petals. “She’d be proud of you,” she said quietly.
You didn’t answer right away, just let your hand drift up to her back again, fingers splayed over the soft cotton of her oversized hoodie—your hoodie, technically, but it always looked better on her.
“I hope so,” you finally murmured.
Sabrina pressed a kiss to your chest, right over your heartbeat.
She didn’t pry or push. That was one of the things you loved most about her. She could be curious, but she was never demanding. Always gentle. Always knowing when to ask and when to just be with you.
“Do you ever think about getting more?” she asked after a few quiet minutes, her fingers now tracing the edges of a geometric design on your forearm.
You grinned lazily. “You mean besides the one you keep begging me to get?”
Her head popped up again. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t beg. I made a very compelling pitch.”
“Oh right,” you laughed. “The matching heart on the ribcage one.”
“It’s romantic!” she insisted. “And painful, which means it counts.”
You leaned in, brushing your nose against hers. “Tell you what… You get the heart first, and I’ll follow.”
Sabrina narrowed her eyes. “You’d let me go through all that pain alone?”
“You’re the one who pitched it,” you shrugged, smirking.
She rolled her eyes dramatically and settled back down, this time pulling the blanket tighter around both of you.
The rain outside got a little heavier, and the thunder grumbled again, soft and low. On the TV, some random comfort movie played, half-forgotten. It was more background noise than entertainment now.
Her hand moved lower to your inner wrist, fingers ghosting over a tiny minimalist compass inked in black.
“This one’s always been one of my favorites,” she said softly.
“Mmhm,” she hummed. “What’s it for?”
You hesitated for a moment, then said, “It’s a reminder to stay on course. I got it after a really dark time. I’d been… losing myself, kind of spiraling. So I needed something that said, ‘hey, keep going. North is still there.’”
Her fingers wrapped around your wrist delicately, like she was holding more than just your skin. Like she was holding the moment that birthed that tattoo.
“I’m glad you kept going,” she whispered.
You turned your head and kissed the crown of hers. “Me too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have met this tiny gremlin who’s always stealing my hoodies and tracing my ink like I’m an ancient map.”
She let out a muffled laugh and nuzzled into your chest. “You love it.”
You could feel her smile against you, the quiet kind of contentment that didn’t need words. The weight of her was warm and grounding, and everything about the moment felt sacred in a subtle way—like something you’d look back on in ten years and still feel the echo of.
A beat passed before she said, “I think you should get one for us.”
You looked down at her. “A tattoo?”
She nodded without lifting her head.
“Okay,” you said, easy. “What kind?”
She tilted her chin, meeting your eyes. “Something that’s just ours. Like a little thing no one else would even notice.”
“Like a secret?” you asked.
You smiled and rubbed your thumb over her lower back.
“Then we should get it on our hands. Something small. A symbol or a letter. Something only we’d know to look for.”
Sabrina’s eyes softened. “You’d really do that?”
“Of course. If it means something to you, it means something to me.”
She grinned wide, eyes glittering even in the dim rainy light, and pulled herself up to kiss you—slow and sweet. You cradled her face with one hand as she leaned into it, her lips gentle against yours, tasting like warmth and sugar and lazy Sunday mornings.
When you pulled back, her smile lingered.
“I love you,” she said softly.
You smirked. “Is that because of the tattoos or despite them?”
“Because, obviously,” she teased. “But also because you’re warm, and you smell good, and you laugh when you think no one’s listening. And because you remember your sister’s favorite flower.”
Your throat tightened unexpectedly. You looked away for a second to steady yourself.
“Hey,” she said gently, fingers curling under your chin to guide your eyes back. “It’s okay.”
“I just… I didn’t know how much I needed a day like this.”
You pulled her even closer until she was practically molded into you, legs tangled, blanket snug. The world could’ve ended outside and you probably wouldn’t have noticed.
After a long, soft silence, Sabrina murmured, “Do you think I’d suit a tattoo?”
You smiled. “Yeah, but only a tiny one. Something cute and subtle.”
She grinned. “Like a little star?”
“Or a little knife,” you deadpanned. “To match the chaos.”
She smacked your arm lightly, laughing. “Rude.”
She looked up again, her head resting on your chest like it belonged there— it does. “Do you ever regret any of them?”
You shook your head. “Not a single one. They’re like a roadmap. Every mark’s a story. Even the sad ones remind me that I lived through it.”
Sabrina’s smile softened. “That’s kind of beautiful.”
“You’re kind of beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes but blushed anyway, hiding her face in your neck.
You exhaled slowly, your body sinking deeper into the cushions and into her.
And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about anything else. Not tomorrow, not worries, not your phone buzzing on the coffee table. Just her, in your arms, while the rain kept falling like a lullaby meant just for the two of you.
