#*melts from abundance of fluff*

[meidiary]

( 📁 ) THINGS THEY DO WHEN THEY'RE CRUSHING ON YOU !

synopsis: the strawhats think they're so subtle with their 'nonchalant` acts of love towards you... 😒 they're not

character: sanji, zoro & luffy

warning: pure tooth rotting fluffy fluff & nicknames

mei's note: guess who's back from her hibernation 👋😔.. but on the bright side- l do have loads planned hihhih <3

SANJI thinks he's so very casual when displaying his crushing feelings. but in reality it is the complete opposite, considering:

♡ the stolen glances of you during meals with all the strawhats, where he doesn't even eat anything, instead being totally engrossed in your cute laughs derived from usopp's unfunny jokes. the way your fingers gently hold your fork always piques his interest. he studies your facial expressions when you taste the food he prepared for everyone, to figure out whether you enjoy it. if you did enjoy the meal, expect to see it thrice as much as usual..

♡ the lingering touches you receive from sanji anytime he has the chance, which, on a side note, never cease to make your cheeks burn;

he needs to get past you to grab some plates => his hands, almost instinctively, gently grab your waist before he lowers his head, asking you "if you don't mind, darling-". one of his hands remains on the sides of your waist even when you've moved aside to let him pass. "thank you," he whispers in your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand. you awkwardly giggle, not finding an appropriate answer.

luffy was letting his 6-year-old child mentality take over; jumping around on deck and bothering the other strawhats trying to get accustomed to the sun shining so early in the morning. he didn't see you walking out of your shared room with nami before accidentally bumping into you, causing you to trip => sanji is there before you could even process the situation. one of his arms tightly holding your legs. In contrast, his other arm was wrapped around your waist, pushing you onto him. "luffy, you little-!" sanji realizes he still has you in bridal style when he cuts himself off, "are you alright, sweetheart? you're not hurt, are you?" he could've sworn your soft smile melted his heart right then and there, even the other strawhats noticed how absolutely smitten this man is for you.

♡ the abundant patience sanji offers you is one of a kind. you won't find him smiling, oh so softly, at any strawhat's mistakes except yours. it's only you that he's so careful with, so gentle and soft-spoken. treating you as if you were a fragile vase, that one wrong move would break you.

"sweetheart- that's not how you cut a carrot," sanji chuckles, witnessing how you, somehow, accidentally mushed the carrot with the knife instead of cutting it. usopp lets out a cackle as he sees the mush which has derived from your cutting skills.

"only you could mess up cutting a carrot!" sanji glares at usopp, making him cover his mouth, trying to sniffle the laugh. he slowly walks out of the kitchen, slightly scared sanji might throw him overboard.

"let's try something else, yeah?" the blond-haired cook smiles at you.

he stands behind you, holding both your hands with his, before grabbing the knife with your right hand and holding a new carrot with your left one. like a puppet master, he controls the motions of your hands, and after a bit, you find the carrots all sliced up. "see? knew could do it," sanji caresses your hands with his.

"sanji..?" you mutter, leaning against his chest.

he looks down at you and hums, waiting for you to say whatever was on you mind. "can we eat now?"

you receive a chuckle from sanji as he nods. "of course darling, we can eat now. thanks a lot for helping me," he sends you a smile before grabbing the plates.

ZORO knows he's being way too obvious with you, but he frankly just doesn't care enough. everyone and their mother knows he has a crush on you tolerates you more than other people because of:

♡ how protective he is of you. this man won't let a fly harm you, let alone actual enemies during fights. he'd rather come back with some more scars than let them lay a finger on you. hence why you find yourself in the current situation.

zoro's sat down whilst hearing both you and nami lash out on him. a sigh leaves his mouth.

"why are you so stubborn?!" you cry out, eyes red and watery from the sheer fear of almost having lost him.

nami shakes her head, dumbfounded. "you could've fucking died, zoro. has that thought ever crossed your small fucking mind, huh?!"

"I was fine zoro.. I would've made it.. you- you didnt have to-" you utter before cutting yourself off, lip wobbling with tears-stained cheeks. "just.. don't ever do that again, 'kay?" you stand inbetween his widespread legs, your hands meet both sides of his face, pulling it to meet your eyes. "please.."

as if on que, his eyes soften and his furrowed eyebrows loosen immediately. he lets out yet another sigh, but this time, one of defeat. "alright." zoro's heart aches at the sight of those tears on your pretty face. it aches even more knowing he was the cause of them.

the strawhats are astonished, flabbergasted and, on top of that, even a bit annoyed at how easily zoro folded. at that very moment sanji, nami and usopp shared collective eyecontact, they knew how down bad he was. and now they have yet another thing to bully him about..

♡ his over-the-top jealousy has you and everyone within a 100m radius of you in a chokehold. no one dares to as much as look your way anymore. zoro made sure of that. if someone even breathes too hard near you, this man will be on his way to knock him out.

♡ the fact that he has his hands on you 24/7, always seems so obvious and nonchalant to him. he doesn't even think twice about it anymore. his arm around your shoulders, his hand spread on your back, him shamelessly holding your waist with one of his hands while the other is occupied holding some bags.

his arm is wrapped around your waist as you two stand in line. you had gotten the task to do the groceries with zoro, but once you say a smelled a sweet, floraly fragrance, both you and zoro knew this 'short' and 'easy' task would take much longer than planned.

"i'll be super quick, zoro, I promise!" you giggle as you look up at him reassuring. "mhm, ya said that last time, too, remember? ended up taking a whole day, and somehow I had to carry all those bags for ya," zoro raises his brows at you playfully, knowing very well he'd hold all the bags in the world for you if you'd want him to.

"yeah~ i know.. thank you," you smile at him, receiving an eye roll from him. "yeah, yeah, now hurry up and get movin'." you move along to catch up with the que, missing the way he smiles as you so absolutely adored.

LUFFY himself doesn't realize he treats you differently from the other strawhats. most of the things he does because of his little crush on you usually don't even register in him. but to the strawhats, it's so obvious he likes you due to:

♡ him attentively listening to you whenever you speak, never fails to shock the other strawhats. they could go hours on end, scolding luffy for whatever possible thing he had done, and there would be a good chance he wouldn't even bat an eye. but when you do it- that's when he gets serious.

"luffy! stop fucking around and get serious!" nami yells out, trying to get his attention. "LUFFY!"

luffy keeps peeling the banana in his hand, not paying all too much attention to what nami is on about. it's not that he doesn't care! it's just that this yelling gets repetitive, so he doesn't really pay attention to all the small quarrels every now and then. he's listening to what she's saying, he really is! he just doesn't want to enter the argument.

but then his eyes shoot up from his half-peeled banana. you were talking to him. " 'luf, what we're trying to get at is that you were acting very reckless, and you got us really worried about you, y'know.." you cross your arms over each other before making eye contact with the raven-haired captain.

"sorry," luffy mutters wholeheartedly, looking you in the eyes. his previous grin disappeared after he heard you speak to him. "i'll try not to anymore, 'kay?" he opens the banana completely and points it your way, wanting you to take a bite.

you smile and head over to the spot he's seated in and take a piece of the fruit before leaning against the back of the seat. "sorry I scared you, sunshine..." luffy mutters, soft enough for only you to hear. "really didn't mean to.."

you let out a small sigh of relief. " 'ts alright 'luf! just promise you'll be more careful from now on.. please," you lean against the side of his body as you rise your head, looking at the beautiful night view from the boat.

"i promise I'll try, sunshine, I really will." and with that, his usual toothy smile is back.

nami rolls her eyes, scoffing, as she munches on some of the pastry sanji had prepared earlier. sanji nudges zoro to witness the scene unfolding before their eyes. usopp sniffles his laugh with his hand, hiding behind zoro.

they could all agree on the fact that you were his soft spot.

♡ his usual grin being replaced with a soft smile whenever you speak is another thing that luffy never realizes. yet the others do.

you'd speak about the most mundane chores or moments you've experienced. albeit it being some of the most tedious things known to man, he'd listen so thoughtfully. as if anticipating a shocking ending, yet there in reality, he wasn't anticipating anything like that. he genuinely just lived your voice.

the way you pronounce the words. the small differences in pronunciation between you and others always bring a small to his face, he finds it absolutely adorable. the specific words you use to describe something never cease to make him smile ear to ear.

plus points if you're talking about something you're passionate about. he'd be so overwhelmed with how endearing you look speaking about your hobbies and loves. the small smile on your pretty face, growing wider and your tone getting giddier.

in conclusion, this man loves to listen to you yap about anything, to be honest.

my other one piece fics

mei's note pt.2 : also if you've seen this post before it was finished (bc someone accidentally published it before it was done) no you didn't...

[gloomwitchwrites]

Missed Hints

King Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, light angst, humor, pregnancy, suggestive themes, fade to black, established relationship

Word Count: 1.8k

With the pregnancy confirmed, you decide to drop little hints until Thorin makes the connections.

A/N: for @protosslady

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“You’re pregnant, your majesty.”

Those two little words are enough to make time freeze. You are cold, a bit hesitant, and completely unbelieving of what you’re hearing.

“Are you sure?” you ask slowly, needing to know if you’ve heard her correctly.

The midwife, Lena, smiles broadly. “As sure as the sun rises in the morning. I’ve been doing this for close to thirty summers now. Rarely am I ever wrong.”

Lena’s assistant, Petal, matches Lena’s smile with one of her own. It is radiant and sunny, a stark difference from your sudden anxiousness. “This is wonderful news,” she exclaims. “King Thorin will be so pleased.”

“Indeed,” agrees Lena. “And so will the people when it’s formally announced.”

Both women sigh at the same time, but you are not nearly as excited as they are.

You and Thorin did try for a child many times in the beginning of your marriage. It was enthusiastic—and constant—but nothing ever came of it. While it bothered you, Thorin never seemed to care. He told you that all he wanted was you and that anything else was a bonus.

That is still true. Thorin loves you.

But Thorin is being pulled in a different direction. Erebor needs attention, and Thorin throws himself into service attempting to tackle every obstacle and difficulty on his own. Most nights, he comes to bed late—usually when you’re already asleep. When you wake, he is usually gone, off to take care of his abundant duties. They are piling up, becoming a burden. Thorin does too much, and while you admire him for his dedication, you miss him.

To know that you’re pregnant is a surprise. It’s not that you and Thorin haven’t been intimate, it’s just that it hasn’t been nearly as frequent as in the past. While Thorin is gone, you have your own duties and responsibilities. When the two of you do have quiet time together, intimacy is brief but passionate and almost always followed by the two of you falling asleep in each other’s arms.

“How far along?” you ask, trying to place exactly when it might have taken.

When your cycle never came, you didn’t think much of it. That happens sometimes. But then didn’t occur during the next expected timeframe. With its absence came irritability and random bouts of sudden crying you couldn’t explain. Certain foods smelt odd, and while you weren’t emptying the contents of your stomach, constant nausea made it difficult to complete daily tasks. You knew then that something was different. And now the midwife has confirmed it.

But even with an answer, you’re not sure how you feel.

“I’d place you at about ten weeks. Perhaps eleven,” answers Lena with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“That far?” you squeak, wincing immediately with how upset you sound.

Lena and Petal’s smiles start to diminish. Their enthusiasm melts away, replaced with furrowed brows and soft lines of concern.

“Is everything all right? You look a bit faint?” Lena places her hand on your shoulder.

“Yes,” you reply, though it sounds like you’re gasping for air. “Surprised is all.”

Their smiles return but it’s subdued.

This is supposed to be a happy occasion. A child means an heir, and it also gives the people hope for the future. Much of Erebor is still in pieces from Smaug’s habitation. That doesn’t even begin to include all the damage and death from the battle. Dale, which was once abandoned and forgotten, is starting to see life again as well. The races of Men are returning to it, hoping to rekindle its long-extinguished flame.

A royal child is a symbol of hope. It’s a moment of celebration for everyone.

“I think a bit of rest for the remainder of the day will do you some good,” says Lena softly. “We will prepare some ointments that you can use to relieve any aches or pains. Bloating is likely, and as the body makes room for the little one, you’ll have some discomfort.” Lena taps her bottom lip and then turns to Petal. “We’ll need to prepare some liquid supplements to take with meals.”

“Of course,” nods Petal. She begins packing up their supplies.

Lena squeezes your shoulder before letting go. “I’ll come check on you in a few days. Bring a few things with me. We’ll talk more then, preferably with the father present.”

“Yes,” you reply, absently rubbing your belly. “That would be best.”

The two women bow and depart quickly, leaving you alone in the royal bedchambers. The room is quiet and your breathing sounds too loud in such a large space. With hands clasped, you twist them over and over again in agitation, needing to move but unsure of how to quell the anxiousness. It’s stubborn like the deep roots of a tree that refuse to give up the dirt.

How are you to tell Thorin? How do you approach this when you rarely see him. It’s just one more thing to burden him with. Perhaps, if you dropped a few hints? Covertly toss the pregnancy in his direction and see if he picks it up?

You know deep in your gut that you shouldn’t worry over this. Thorin will be happy. He will be.

You spend the rest of the day as Lena instructs. Reclining, resting, and reading. Thorin is supposed to return tonight for evening meal. Whenever he promises an early arrival, Thorin means it. Rarely does he make promises he cannot keep.

As dinner is brought in, and the table is set, Thorin walks through the door. There is a bit of soot on his cheek like he’s been in the mines, and his cheeks are slightly flushed. When he notices you, he beams, and there is so much love there that you simply want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“My love,” he says, moving toward you swiftly. The embrace nearly sweeps you off your feet. He plants a kiss on your forehead and draws back.

“You’re filthy,” you laugh, looking him over. Thorin has been in the mines.

Thorin shrugs sheepishly. “I had to help dig. Structural issues.”

“Wash your hands at least,” you playfully tease.

“Not interested in eating a bit of dirt?” he asks with a laugh.

“Go,” you giggle, pushing away from him.

Thorin disappears and you take a seat at the table. He reappears a few minutes later, face and hands clean. The clothes he wore before are also gone, replaced with simple, fresh attire. He takes a seat next to you, gaze darting over the spread.

“I’m starving,” you begin because it’s true even though you’ve been consistently snacking all day. “It’s like I’m eating for two.”

First hint dropped.

Thorin laughs, and the sound is sweet like honey cake. “I promise, love. You couldn’t eat for me. My appetite is insatiable.” When Thorin says insatiable, he pointedly glances at you with a heated stare.

You perfectly understand his meaning.

You attempt a different angle. “I’ve also been having the oddest cravings,” you say, starting to load your plate.

“What do you mean?” asks Thorin before he pops a chunk of bread into his mouth.

“Different foods. Things I’d never eat together otherwise.” It is common knowledge that pregnant women will often crave highly specific foods and food combinations.

But Thorin doesn’t appear to pick up on the hint. He frowns, then shrugs, continuing to eat without making a comment.

Sighing, you pick up one the freshly made rolls. “I think these buns need a bit more time in the oven.” You stare hard at Thorin, mentally sending message after message. “What do you think?”

Thorin glances up at you then down at his own plate that has five of them. “I think they’re perfect but if you’d like them more done, I’ll let the kitchen know in the morning.”

“Thorin,” you say flatly.

“Yes, my love?” His head slightly tilts, and his gaze becomes pointed. He’s starting to pick up on your agitation. You don’t mean to be cross, but you were hoping that he’d figure it out so you wouldn’t have to tell him outright.

Setting the roll down on your plate, you promptly divert the conversation to a different hint. “We’ve never talked about where we’d put the nursery.”

Thorin’s brow rises toward his hairline. “I didn’t think you wanted to discuss that until we crossed that hurdle?”

Does he hear himself? Does he understand the context of what’s coming out of his mouth?

“You’re right, Thorin. I didn’t want to discuss it until we needed to.” You repeat his words back to him, slightly leaning toward him as you speak to emphasize the point.

Still, it brushes right over his head.

“Some of the advisory council members have brought up financial concerns. Rebuilding Erebor is important but the needs of the people are pressing. Food. Proper housing.” Thorin begins slicing into the chunk of roast on his plate.

Maybe you are going to have to say it outright.

Licking your lips, you ignore Thorin’s change in conversation. “I did receive a few inquiries about baby clothes. Offers to knit a few items,” you shrug.

“That’s kind of them,” says Thorin slowly. “But why—” he pauses, “you’re not—"

Thorin’s features suddenly shift, becoming almost unreadable. His jovial expression is gone, replaced with a stern consideration.

Are you going to have to shout it at the top of your lungs?

Thorin’s lips part. Promptly shuts. Opens again. “Are you…” he begins but does not finish.

You start to nod, urging him on.

Finally, like light igniting in the dark, Thorin’s face transforms into one of shock, then pure joy.

“Truly?”

“Found out just this morning.”

Thorin abruptly stands, pushing himself and his chair away from the table. He is moving toward you, grasping your hands, bringing them to his mouth to kiss your fingers.

“Why not say anything?” he asks.

“I did,” you laugh. “Many times.”

Thorin momentarily frowns before his mouth turns up into a soft smile. “Clever.”

“You’ve been busy and I was unsure of how to tell you.”

Thorin’s thumbs rub little circles over your knuckles. “You can always tell me anything. Whatever is happening. Whatever is on your mind. I wish to hear it.” He kisses the tops of your hands. “Especially something like this.”

“Are you happy?” you ask, voice cracking at the end.

“Happiest I’ve ever been.”

Thorin pulls you up from your chair, his large, muscled arm sliding behind your waist. He drags you to him, his eyelids lowering seductively, all gentleness leaving him to be replaced with desire.

“Are you up for a bit of celebrating?” he asks.

“What kind of celebrating?”

“The kind that landed us here.”

“Thorin,” you gasp, lightly slapping his chest. He snatches your wrist, kisses the pulse point there.

“The food can wait,” and his voice ends on a soft growl.

“Thorin,” you repeat, this time with a rasp to your tone.

He seizes it, draws you even closer. “The food can wait?”

You nod. “It can wait.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @mrsdurin @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

[whatifitwasgttho]

Soft, Flirty & Fluff

Giant/Tiny Prompts

“There you are..” Whispers that still rumble your core as your trembling form is picked up by gentle, steady fingers— curling around you. Theres nothing but affection in the giants voice.

Giants with elegant, sleek hands and subtle clawed nails carefully plucking up a human between two fingers on their back and their thumb to their torso.

“Awh.. don’t tell me you’re afraid~? I’d never hurt someone as cute as you.”

A giants eyes clouded with affection, a distinctive blush on their features. Their eyes are half-open; focused solely on the tiny.

Giants being teasing when sleepy, gently cooing things like “Waking up a monster like me at this hour~? How brave.” or “Aww.. what will I ever do with you?” Their voice is more velvety, the gentle, sleepy rumble thats followed by soft giggles or a yawn. (even better if the giant has fangs)

Gentle giants that ask before kissing their tiny. Even if the tiny knows if they really wanted, anything the tiny said wouldn’t matter. The mutual respect and love.. throwing away the obvious power imbalances.. i love..

“Whats that look for? Sweetheart, im not going to eat you~! how could i ever do such a thing..”

Loving giants that pepper their tiny love in kisses— lips enveloping their torso and whatever else. The slight squirming of the tiny trying to get comfortable while so obviously giddy, and the giant pulling away as their love is either awe struck or sleepy now. (for girls, the tiny having maybe an accidental lipstick mark or two)

Looming over a tiny with a flirty smile, fawning over how cute they are— curling your hands around them or leaning in to scan their features.

Holding a tiny carefully— getting lost in the moment and beginning to massage their back, shoulders and arms with a thumb, patting their hair until they eventually have fallen asleep.

“You’re safe.” While holding a tiny so close, either comforting them from a memory or nightmare.

Giants kissing tinies on their tummy, its a vulnerable place that protects vital organs— so an abundance of trust would be needed. But goodness, would the gentle contact melt them..

Giants waking a tiny up, not bothering to fish them out of their comfort— instead picking them up, comforters, pillows and all.

Giants that purr

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ Morning Cuddles and Croissants

tw: none, short fluff with a cuddly Neuvi

Imagine a morning with Neuvillette; your beloved sleeping soundly beside you, and his arms wrapped around your waist. His face nestles to the crook of your shoulders, shielding his eyes from the morning sunlight peeking through the white curtains. It’s the start of a new day, and Neuvillette has to rise for work, but how can he even think of work when you’re so sweetly dozing beside him, your form embodied to be embraced by his arms? Even at night, if you toss and turn while asleep, the Hydro dragon's arms would instinctively pursue to fill the empty space in bed and pull your sleeping self back to him. In this manner, he makes sure you won't fall off the bed, and you keep him warm and at ease when you both cuddle - it's a win-win! 

Imagine Neuvillette inhaling softly, and slowly sitting up in bed. He'd stretch his shoulders, and emit a simple yawn. Well, a simple yawn for him, but whenever he opens his mouth to do so, you are greeted with the sight of his draconic teeth and serpentine tongue. Like a sleepy dragon, he was waking up from his slumber and checking in on his hoards of treasure within his nest. That treasure, of course, being you, and the hypothetical nest is the comfortable bed with the abundance of pillows you share.  “Hm… Good morning, dear,” - he murmurs to you, while he rubs the sleep off his eyes. He spots you turning, hiding yourself further into the covers and pillows.  “... Too early for it to be morning.” - you mumbled back. Anything just to have a couple of minutes of blissful sleep. Your beloved chuckles and plops his bigger form around you as if you were a plushie. The sight of you being so comfy is making his heart melt. “Come now, did you not sleep well enough? Do you want some more rest?”  “Mmmgh…” - you would mumble something lazily, face still plopped to the pillows while Neuvillette tenderly caressed your messy hair. Whatever pillow you were hugging or sleeping on was now abandoned as you instead turned to press yourself against Neuvillette’s chest. “Hm, soft…”

Imagine Neuvillette's lack of dispute when you press your cheek right against his broad chest, using him as if he were your favorite pillow (which he knew he was). He'd wrap his arms around your figure and smile as you mumbled sweet ‘Good morning’ and ‘Just five more minutes, Neuvi.’ “Alright, how about this offer? If you get up with me, I'll warm up some croissant au chocolat for us. Would you like that?” - the man asked, knowing well your reaction would be of instant interest. And indeed, your eyes opened up with glee, lustering happily in the soft morning sunlight. However, that didn't dissuade you from fully unwrapping yourself from his body.  “Quaso… Mm, yes please.”  “Then I shall take that as a yes,” - Neuvillette announced proudly, and with swift movements picked you up along with him while you remained happily latched onto his taller figure. Your head propped on his shoulders, and a sleepy smile graced your features at the mere thought of freshly baked pastries. 

Imagine this being one of the many tender mornings you two share. Your devoted Hydro Dragon always loved embracing you, in your soft and comfortable sleepwear, and his lips showering you with small pecks across the face. It wasn't the usual morning, if it weren't for your tight cuddles, and his sweet kisses that covered every part of your face and trailed to the crook of your shoulders. Thus, Neuvillette happily carried you to the kitchen, like a dragon happily taking his treasure along with him in his lair.  “Coffee, tea, or milk with your croissant, dear?”

[midnighvtm4ss]

A scenario I often imagine is Arthur drawing you while you show him your favorite music. Him simply worshiping your body, making you his muse and capturing it in his journal forever ♡⁠˖

thank you so much for your request !

You’re my first request im super super excited !! I hope you like it and that I met your expectations even though it’s a quick read <3

highhonor!arthur morgan x f!reader

warnings: maybe a bit suggestive but mostly fluff, wrote this on my notes app so grammar errors for sure sorry :(

wc: 1.2k

“Wanna put some music on f’me sweetheart ?”

The deep rumble of Arthur’s voice muffled in the crook of your neck broke the silent shared bubble of intimacy that surrounded both your naked bodies.

His hands holding you close to him, tracing abstract shapes on your back as you both came down from your highs, a very well-deserved peace after the events of the past month.

The mood around your fellow camp members was slowly starting to get better after escaping the cold claws of Colter’s harsh climate, which trapped the gang in an endless white desert of snow for several weeks with little to no food and an abundance of regret regarding the failed robbery and the miraculous escape from Blackwater.

Although the evening air was still a bit chilly in Horseshoe Overlook camp, being only the early start of spring, one could sense hope warming all your hearts, melting away some of the sorrow and disappointment that the failed robbery and the loss of young Jenny and the Callander brothers left you.

Dutch, more than anyone else, clinging to this glimmer of hope, trying to keep everyone’s faith in the gang.

The wind whistling through the flaps of your and Arthur’s shared tent made a shiver run up your naked body as you made your way from your shared cot where you two were laying, to Dutch’s gramophone, which was opposite the bed, kindly lent to Arthur for a few days.

A small thin cloud of dust and dirt rose up from where your hands flipped through Dutch’s records, eyes scanning meticulously trying to find some of your favourite ones.

Behind you, you could hear the shifting sound of the thick cotton sheets as Arthur moved into a sitting position, his eyes automatically glued to your seductive form like a moth to a flame.

“A ha ! Here it is” you softly exclaimed as you finally found the record you were looking for, the one that never failed to put your mind at ease whenever Dutch would play it around camp.

Sliding it out of the wooden box, careful not to scratch it, you put it on.

As the soft melody of ��The Flower Duet’ filled the rather small space of your tent you started to sway to the rhythm of the song.

“Sous le dôme épais, où le blanc jasmin à la rose s'assemble”

Turning back to look at Arthur, you found him already looking at you, his aqua irises mixing with yours for a second before quickly looking down his lap and scribbling in his worn leather journal, his face relaxed and a small hint of a smile making its way into his chapped lips.

“What you writing in there ?” you asked softly, body still swaying to the sweet rhythm of your favorite song, a shy smile creeping up your face.

“Nothin’, just some quick…” he took a moment to finish his sentence as he looked back at you, eyes flying to catch every single inch and detail of you.

How the light from the small lamp on the night table made your skin glow and your curves even more defined with the contrast from the darkness of the night sky outside, your french braids, all untidy from the intimacy shared before, shifting with every move you made.

In this moment in his eyes, you were the definition of a goddess, his poor mortal heart struggling to keep an even pace near you.

“…thoughts.” he exhaled the last word, licking his chapped lips before flipping through some pages of his journal seemingly filled with various sketches.

“Ah! Glissons en suivant doucement glissons, de son flot charmant”

As a comfortable silence fell between the two of you with only the soft melodic sound floating in the air and the scraping of Arthur’s pencil on paper you continue to sway, your mind floating away carried by the suave voice of the singer, unaware that the man sitting on your bed is engraving this peaceful and intimate moment forever on paper for his eyes and his heart only to see.

“Dans l'onde frémissante, d’une main nonchalante, gagnons le bord”

His eyes were bright and focused on how to draw your mesmerizing face, afraid of not portraying your unworldly beauty right on paper, so focused that he was slightly surprised when your soft arms wrapped around his torso as you climbed back to your cot, planting a small kiss on his bearded cheek making his heart skip a few beats.

As you rested your head on his shoulder you looked down on his lap expecting to find a doodle or a quick thought scribbled away in his perfect cursive handwriting, but instead, your eyes were met with a full sketched page of you dancing near the gramophone.

With cheeks of a deep red and wide eyes, you looked at Arthur, trying to say something but failing as your heart filled with even more adoration for the not so cold hearted outlaw beside you.

“Sous le dôme épais où le blanc jasmin, ah !Descendons, ensemble!”

Your relationship with Arthur was relatively new, barely six months, and in those six months of relationship you would often catch Arthur sitting somewhere quiet and isolated with his journal, sometimes writing stuff down or sometimes moving his pencil in quick strokes which you guessed were doodles of stuff he would see every day, but you would have never guessed how talented he was in his art.

“Well it ain’t much of a picture” he murmured, a faint, almost imperceptible blush covering the apple of his cheeks, feeling self conscious of his skills under your attentive gaze.

“Oh you silly man, it’s beautiful, Arthur” you quickly reprimanded him with an awestruck tone, your index finger gently caressing the drawing careful not to put much pressure and smudge the graphite version of you.

“Can I see more of your drawings ?” you asked him, meeting his unsure gaze which was already on you, with your hopeful lovesick one. After a quick internal struggle, he fully put his journal in your hands, giving you full permission to explore this new side of him.

As you flipped through the pages you started to see fewer drawings of plants, animals and views and more drawings of you, from portraits to full body.

He carefully captured in each drawing every single detail of you, your beauty stuck graphite to paper, making you look like a lady every painter would fight for the opportunity to draw.

With each passing page, you also noticed how some drawings featured you in more intimate moments, some when you were asleep or braiding your hair, but one in particular made you stop your flipping, heart racing as a deep blush rushed to your whole face.

On a rather empty page, on the left bottom corner there was a drawing of you naked, splayed on the bed, your expression one of pleasure with your hands seemingly caressing your body.

You stared at the drawing for a full five seconds before Arthur noticed what you were looking at and snatched closed his journal in embarrassment his eyes avoiding yours.

“Well, that’s for another time sweetheart.”

[i-love-ptv]

Linger ୨ ꩜ ୧

Soft!Boyfriend!Rafe Cameron x Fem![Implied]Black!Girlfriend!Reader

Based on the prompt: “Hey…Someone messaged you.” “Oh, who’s it from? My password is (…)”

wc: 993

sugary sweet fluff, but also angst cause we’re talking abt Rafe’s past mostly.

black reader is specified because her being Tiana for Halloween is mentioned! :] (ignore it if you like, I just think it’s cute!

An: Made this to get y’all into the fall spirit ;) Guys I fear Rafe is rlly my #1

Another random prompt from Pinterest cause it’s funnnn

Please please PLEASE send fall/halloween reqs! Check my masterlist if you wanna see the characters I write for!

Feedback is always appreciated cuties xx

He’s watching you from a few feet away, his arms are crossed over her chest, and his elbows are resting on the counter he’s leaning on.

Actually, he’s slouching, his lanky legs are stretched out in your pathway, making you have to step over them whenever you have to move.

The sweet scent of pumpkin and cinnamon from your pumpkin muffins fills the air, it reminds Rafe of what fall used to be like, when his mother was still around.

Most people link pumpkins to fall, simply because of their abundance during the cooler months; and Rafe does too, in a way.

When he was younger, he remembers how his mom would take his little sisters, his father, and him to the pumpkin patch every year.

They would all have their respective wheelbarrows, Rafe would end up putting Wheezie’s tiny pumpkin next to his, since she always laid in her mother’s arms.

His mother would make dozens of pumpkin recipes throughout the months of October and November: pumpkin muffins, she made this pumpkin stew that Rafe enjoyed, pumpkin pie, and the list goes on.

It was like a breath of fresh air for Rafe, his family was all together, and everything was normal.

Oh, how he wishes things were normal now.

At this point in his life, Rafe truly only wants simplicity. And you provided that for him.

Which is why, he can’t help but take account of the similarities that you and his mother share.

You both were extremely kind, sometimes a little too kind; though, this doesn’t mean that the two of you weren’t self-assured and confident.

“Ray?”

Rafe’s eyes widened, he hadn’t noticed that you were talking to him. “Hm?”

“I asked if you wanted to try a little bit of this before I put it in the oven.”

You’re looking at him through your doe eyes, like he hung the stars and the moon, and itmakes the boy’s heart practically melt.

“Don’t health experts advise you to not consume raw batter?” Rafe smirks at you.

You pout at this, swiftly turning back around to put the remaining batter in the last muffin cup.

Rafe chuckles and quickly grabs your waist from behind, his head leaning down to your shoulder while he leaves kisses to your cheek.

“No, no! I’ll try it baby, I was just joking with you!”

You giggle at the feeling of his pillow-soft kisses, and you bring your whisk to his lips.

His tongue peaks out slightly, and when he tastes the batter, he hums in delight.

“I switched things up a bit this time, do you think it’s good?” You ask softly.

“It’s the best.” Rafe murmurs, not wanting to speak loudly over your newly made playlist, which is now flowing through your speaker.

He was such a fool for you.

“Okay, okay, now scooch, I need these done so Wheezie and her friends can take them before they go trick-or-treating.”

“Yes ma’am.

As you’re putting your muffins in the oven, you hear a ‘ding’ resonate from behind you.

Rafe looks next to him, seeing your phone light up; the picture of you two together, faces squished against one another looking back at him.

“Hey…Someone messaged you.”

You respond without looking, focused on your task in front of you. “Oh, who’s it from? My password is your birth month and day.”

Rafe feels like his heart is about to pound out of his chest.

He feels as though he shouldn’t be trusted with this. In fact, Rafe doesn’t even know how to feel as of right now.

He’s been with girls before, ones that would leave their phones face down against any and every surface it rested upon.

He remembers having an argument with an ex years ago, simply because he took a glance at her phone when she got a text.

“Stop being so fucking insecure,” is what she had said to him.

It’s so different, hearing you say what you did.

He’s so used to everything being so toxic, borderline hateful.

But you, you make him feel so different. He can’t seem to put his finger on it at the moment, especially while you’re looking over your shoulder at him so sweetly.”

“Rafe? What does it say honey?” You ask expectantly.

He then fumbles when picking up your phone, your cute phone charm that he bought clacking against your phone case.

You were right, your password was March 24th.

His birthday.

He looks at your notification center and sees a text from his sister Sarah.

Sar-Bear 🫀🎀🌍

‘Does this make me look slutty?

Topper says it does, and idk 😕’ (5:28pm)

[1 Attachment]

Your teeth catch you lip before you respond, “awee, that’s so fucking mean. Tell her I said she looks great, and she’s gonna be the best Lottie.”

That’s right, Rafe remembers you and Sarah decided to have matching costumes this year.

You’re going as Tiana, and she’s going as Lottie from The Princess and The Frog.

You came home that day, nearly bouncing in your spot as you told him the plan you came up with for Halloween.

You had begged Rafe to be a frog, you even found a frog onesie on amazon! But, Rafe insisted on just letting you and Sarah match.

Rafe has already decided that next year, he’ll match with you, cause you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

—He just hopes you won't have him wear anything silly.

Rafe sends the text and sets your phone down. He feels giddy inside.

He knows it’s something small, something that most don’t look twice at.

But Rafe feels like a child on Christmas morning.

He feels your arms wrap around his front, and you snuggle your face in his chest; but not before leaving a kiss onto his heart.

Rafe finally realizes what this is for him: this is real.

And this is a breath of fresh air.

—-

Do you have to let it linger?

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | baby special

Yoongi spends time with your daughter 💜

→ Pairing: mechanic!Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: roadtrip!au, non idol!au, established relationship, mechanic!Yoongi, dad!Yoongi, married!au → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack and so much fucking fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 3.5k → Warnings (explicit): this is just pure fluff, so nothing smutty in this one! But there’s mention of pussy, if that is a warning? I swear, it’s just funny, sweet and lovely 🥹 it's written completely in Yoongi's pov, just because... you'll see 💜 → Author’s note(1): the last extra for friendcation that I’ve planned 🥳 I don’t think I’ll write more for this series/couple so please consider this officially completed (but you never know, lol). But I really don’t know what more I could add to this. I hope you enjoy this one too! 💜 And thank you all so fucking much; thank you for reading, commenting, reviewing, reblogging—everything means so much to me, you truly don’t know. Knowing what you think, and that you like reading my stories matters a lot to me, and essentially that is what keeps me going (especially when I’m struggling). So thank you 🫂 → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist |

The gentle patter of tiny feet echoes through his dreams, a soft cadence pulling him from the depths of sleep. Not fully awake, yet not entirely asleep, he hovers on the fragile edge of consciousness. The sound of those footsteps—familiar, beloved—grows louder, closer, until a tender warmth touches his cheek.

“Daddy! Daddy! Wakey, wakey!” Mee-Yon’s voice bursts with joy, her excitement bubbling over as she bounces on the balls of her feet, her laughter a melody that could rouse the sun itself. 

He groans, stretching the stiffness from his body as the couch protests beneath him. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and there she is—his daughter, beaming down at him with a grin so pure it melts away any lingering weariness. How could he be upset when faced with such a sight? That tiny, radiant face is too full of life, too full of love.

“Hm?” he groans again, as Mee-Yon’s tiny fingers press against his cheeks, her eyes wide and insistent, sparkling with the boundless energy only a three-year-old could possess. She bounces still, a little ball of endless enthusiasm, and he marvels at how so much vigor can be contained in such a small body.

“Uncle Minnie is here,” she announces, her voice dropping just slightly, though no less vibrant, as if she’s sharing a grand secret. Her eyes shine with excitement, practically glittering—no, bursting with rainbows, if only this were a cartoon. And in this moment, he thinks, maybe he’s been watching too many cartoons lately, breathing in too much of that magic.

“He is?” he murmurs, running a hand through his dark hair, now cropped shorter than usual—a change he knows you’ll notice. He remembers how you prefer it longer, but for now, this is how it is.

“Mhm,” Mee-Yon confirms with a dramatic little stance, hands on her hips. That flair for the dramatic—definitely not something she got from him. Him, dramatic? Never.

He chuckles, gently patting her head, his fingers tracing through her soft hair that hasn’t yet been tamed into the neat bun she usually wears. Should he tie it up? He hesitates, knowing she’ll just pull it out moments after he’s finished.

Looking up, he sees Jimin standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his face as he watches Mee-Yon with an adoration so profound it almost makes the room glow. Jimin, the ever-dedicated godfather, has taken his role to heart, showering her with a love so abundant it spills over, warming the whole house. He spoils her endlessly, and though he’d never admit it, he’s grateful for it. It’s nice. It’s more than nice. It’s love, in its purest form.

“MINNIE!” Mee-Yon cries out, spinning on her heel to race toward Jimin, arms flung wide. He scoops her up effortlessly, lifting her high into the air, the room filling with the sound of her gleeful giggles and his playful airplane noises. As his arms tire, he lowers her gently to the ground, and she wraps herself around his legs, claiming him with a possessive “Mine.”

Jimin grins, glancing over at him. “I see she’s as possessive as you,” he teases, and Yoongi responds with a playful scoff, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. But deep down, his heart swells, knowing these moments—these precious, fleeting moments—are what make everything worthwhile.

He rises from the couch, stretching the remnants of sleep from his limbs, and finally, the sweet, intoxicating aroma of dinner weaves its way to him, causing his stomach to rumble in anticipation. The scent is warm, rich, filled with love, and it beckons him forward like a siren’s call.

As he moves past Mee-Yon and Jimin, their laughter like a soft melody in the background, he follows the trail of that delicious fragrance into the kitchen. There you are, immersed in the ritual of cooking, your focus entirely on the simmering pans before you. You’re making dinner—far more than necessary, as always, though tonight it’s just you, Yoongi, Jimin, and little Mee-Yon. But since becoming a mother, you’ve taken to preparing meals that last for days, an act of foresight that saves time and allows for more precious moments together. He loves this about you, this quiet efficiency that carves out more space for family, more time to bask in the warmth of togetherness.

You haven’t noticed him yet, lost in the rhythm of your work, the soft sizzle of the stove and the gentle clatter of utensils. He knows better than to startle you, aware of the way you lose yourself in the dance of cooking. So he deliberately makes his steps audible, the floor creaking underfoot as he approaches. “Smells nice,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble as he slides his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Yoon,” you sigh, your voice dripping with affection as you lean into him, and he presses a tender kiss to the curve of your ear. He can feel you melt under his touch, the way your body instinctively relaxes into his, a soft giggle escaping your lips—music to his ears. He lives for these sounds, the small, intimate noises you make, even the ones in your sleep that pull him from his dreams but awaken something else within him, something that fills him with love and desire.

His fingers trace gentle patterns on your skin, lifting the edge of your blouse to feel the warmth of you beneath his hands. His calloused fingers draw circles, savoring the softness of your flesh. You moan softly, your body swaying slightly as if moved by an invisible melody, a song only the two of you can hear. His hands drift lower, brushing your hip, pausing as if savoring the moment.

“Dinner! Dinner!” Mee-Yon’s excited shout rings out behind you, shattering the tender moment with her boundless energy. He can’t help but chuckle as he turns to see her cradled in Jimin’s arms, her little face glowing with joy.

“You know she can walk, right?” he teases, grinning at the pair of them.

“Yeah, but this is more fun,” Jimin replies, bouncing her gently, drawing out another round of her infectious laughter.

“You’re spoiling her too much,” you chide playfully, turning off the stove and casting Jimin a mock death stare, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I have to stay her favorite uncle,” Jimin retorts with a carefree shrug, his smile widening as he carries Mee-Yon over to the table, already set and waiting. Mee-Yon giggles, sticking her tongue out at you, and in that moment, the room is filled with warmth—a perfect snapshot of love, laughter, and family.

Yoongi can’t help but smile, knowing that none of your other friends stand a chance at becoming Mee-Yon’s favorite—not with the way Jimin spoils her, showering her with endless affection. There’s something special between them, an unspoken bond that binds them closer than the rest. Mee-Yon seems to naturally gravitate toward Jimin, drawn to his playful spirit and gentle heart.

Of course, she enjoys the company of the others too. She adores playing with Seokjin’s kids and his wife, their home a haven of laughter and warmth. Jungkook, with his eternal boyishness, is always ready to dive into whatever adventure Mee-Yon dreams up, his energy a perfect match for her wild imagination. She lights up when Namjoon reads her stories, his deep voice weaving tales that captivate her young mind. Once, when Namjoon’s girlfriend was over, her belly round with the promise of new life, Mee-Yon innocently asked how babies were made. Yoongi was relieved not to be on the receiving end of that question, watching with a mix of amusement and sympathy as Namjoon fumbled for the right words—balancing truth with tact.

Then there’s Taehyung, who spoils her with gifts from his travels as a photographer, bringing the world to her in the form of exotic trinkets and stories that transport her to far-off lands. Each friend brings something unique into Mee-Yon’s life, and while they all have their place in her heart, it’s Jimin who holds the brightest spot.

“Dinner’s ready,” you call out, wiping the sheen of sweat from your brow, a testament to the steam rising from the pots on the stove. The meal is a labor of love, and as you all gather around the table, it’s no surprise that Mee-Yon instinctively takes her place next to Jimin.

The first bite is met with murmurs of approval. “It’s so good,” Jimin exclaims, and Yoongi nods in agreement, his eyes catching the soft blush that spreads across your cheeks. He knows how you are with compliments, especially about cooking—something you usually leave to him. But tonight, you’ve outdone yourself, and it’s clear that your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

Then, out of nowhere, Mee-Yon’s small voice cuts through the comfortable silence like a bolt of lightning. “Vagina!” she shouts, slamming her tiny hands on the table for emphasis. “Vagina!” 

All eyes snap to her in stunned disbelief, the room frozen in a moment that feels suspended in time. Yoongi isn’t sure if he heard his daughter correctly, but as she repeats the word with gleeful abandon, there’s no mistaking it. Your gaze darts frantically between Jimin and Yoongi, as if deciding who to unleash your wrath upon. Fortunately, Jimin ends up as the target.

“What the fuck did you teach my daughter?” you demand, your voice trembling with incredulity and a hint of anger. Yoongi, relieved not to be in the line of fire, watches as Jimin blinks back at you, utterly bewildered.

“What?” Jimin stammers, shaking his head in denial. “I didn’t teach her that! She must have picked it up at daycare,” he says, his tone calm but defensive, trying to deflect the blame.

Yoongi, ever the realist, can’t help but let a remark slip, one that’s more truth than tact. “Just be glad she didn’t say pussy.”

You sigh, a mix of exasperation and reluctant acceptance, realizing that he has a point. Better to let it go, not to give Mee-Yon’s newfound vocabulary too much attention. After all, the more focus you put on it, the more she’ll repeat it, and there’s no need to make a spectacle out of a word that, to her, is just another part of the world she’s discovering.

“Pussy! Pussy! Pussy!” Mee-Yon’s voice rings out with glee, her innocent delight filling the room as she proudly chants the forbidden word. Your stern gaze snaps to Yoongi, and in that instant, he knows he’s made fucked up. The realization hits him like a wave, and the weight of it is evident in his sheepish expression. “You taught her to say pussy. Why would you do that, Yoon?” you groan, frustration lacing your voice, a trace of self-doubt creeping in as you wonder if this makes you a bad mother. But Yoongi knows better—shit happens, and he reckons this isn’t the worst thing she could have picked up. After all, with the amount of time she spends with Jimin and Jungkook, he’s surprised this is the first explicit word to slip out.

“Peeing from my pussy!” she sing-songs with abandon, and you all groan in unison, only for the tension to break as laughter bubbles up, impossible to hold back. It’s bad, he knows it, but it’s also undeniably funny and, in a way, just a little bit cute. 

Mee-Yon soon loses interest in the word, her attention drifting as she begins to babble a stream of playful nonsense, her laughter joining yours in a chorus that fills the house with warmth. As the evening settles into a comfortable rhythm, Yoongi helps clean up while Jimin entertains Mee-Yon in the living room, the sound of their laughter echoing through the walls. He silently hopes Jimin isn’t teaching her any new vocabulary, knowing full well that the daycare likely isn’t to blame for this latest outburst.

Later, Jimin takes on the task of putting Mee-Yon to bed—a routine she seems to prefer whenever he’s around. Neither you nor Yoongi mind, as it offers you a rare moment of peace, a chance to sit together in quiet companionship while Jimin’s gentle voice carries through the door, reading her a bedtime story. When he emerges, his face softened by a tender smile, he bids you both goodnight and slips away into the night. It’s late, and Yoongi can’t help but curse the fatigue that overtook him earlier, leaving him to doze off on the couch. 

He’s been working more than usual lately, picking up the slack as you scale back your hours, determined to keep your finances steady. He doesn’t mind, knowing this is just a season of life, a phase that will pass. There may come a time when you’ll work more hours again, and he can step back. What he truly appreciates is the flexibility you both have in your work—his garage at home, a sanctuary where he can manage his own time, and your ability to work from home, offering you a reprieve from the relentless stress of your marketing job and the demands of your boss.

Tonight, though, you’re both too exhausted to stay up, even though the allure of a new K-drama tugs at your thoughts. Yoongi knows better—you’ll both likely fall asleep on the couch, and while it’s sleep, it’s not the restful kind. Better to retreat to the comfort of your bed, where real rest awaits.

So that’s what you do, slipping into a simple nighttime routine, brushing teeth, and taking care of your skin before crawling under the covers. Yoongi loves these moments, spooning you for the warmth and comfort it brings, not just for the obvious reasons but for the pure joy of being close to you. He nestles into your neck, breathing in your natural, sweet, and earthy scent—a fragrance that grounds him, that makes everything else fade away.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he’s jolted awake by Mee-Yon’s piercing scream. His heart races, the familiar surge of fear gripping him—always worried that something terrible has happened. But as he listens, he realizes it’s likely another night terror. With swift, practiced movements, he’s out of bed and crossing the short distance to her room, just opposite yours. 

The room is bathed in the soft glow of a unicorn night lamp, casting gentle shadows on the walls. The rest is cloaked in darkness, except for the faint hum of white noise playing in the background, a melody that usually soothes her into sleep and keeps her there through the night. But not tonight. Her screams persist, shrill and heart-wrenching, as he approaches her bed. She’s calling for you, her mother, her small body trembling in the dim light.

“Mom! Mom! Mommy!” Mee-Yon’s cries pierce the quiet night, her voice tinged with distress as her tiny body thrashes beneath the sheets. Her eyes remain tightly shut, yet it’s as if she’s caught in a battle with unseen phantoms, lost in the throes of a bad dream. Yoongi’s heart aches at the sight, a deep, primal need to protect his daughter surging within him. 

“Mee-Yon,” he whispers, his voice soft as a lullaby, “it’s okay, sweetheart.” But his words are like echoes in a canyon, powerless against the storm of her nightmare. She continues to scream, panic tightening her small frame, and Yoongi feels a pang of helplessness. He hates seeing her like this, hates that there’s nothing he can do but wait it out, knowing it’s just a part of her growth, an inevitable phase that will pass. Yet that knowledge doesn’t ease the knot in his chest.

He places a gentle hand on her stomach, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her frantic breaths. “Mee-Yon,” he calls out again, a bit more urgently, but she’s still far away, lost in the dark corners of her dream. Then, suddenly, she stirs, her tiny body moving in fits and starts until she sits up, her eyes still closed, arms reaching skyward as if begging to be held. 

“Mommy,” she whimpers, her voice a broken cry, and Yoongi’s heart twists in response. “It’s Dad,” he says softly, reaching for her, lifting her delicate frame into his arms. “I’m here. It’s okay.” 

“Daddy,” she murmurs, still caught between sleep and waking, her small arms wrapping tightly around his neck. For a moment, Yoongi just stands there, holding her close, unsure of what to do but knowing he can’t leave her alone. He knows the experts say it’s not ideal for her to sleep in their bed, but sometimes, practicality takes a back seat to love and the desperate need for rest. Nothing has ever gone wrong before, but there’s always a flicker of fear that lingers in the back of his mind, the thought that one of them might roll over her in their sleep. Thankfully, that has never happened, and they are super careful.

With gentle care, he carries her into your bedroom, placing her tenderly between the two of you. He tucks the duvet around her, ensuring she’s warm and secure, then arranges her favorite bunny plushie—Jungkook’s sweet gift—beside her. The tension in her small body slowly ebbs away, replaced by the soft, rhythmic sounds of her breathing as she finally begins to relax. Mee-Yon snuggles closer to him, her little form instinctively seeking his warmth, and Yoongi wraps an arm around her, holding her protectively, careful not to press too hard. Her heartbeat, still quick but steadying, pulses against his chest, and with that comforting rhythm, he drifts into sleep.

His dreams are light and whimsical—cotton candy clouds, pink skies, and the sensation of soaring on the back of a white and blue pegasus. But his slumber is interrupted by the sharp prod of a tiny foot to his face. With a groan, he tries to nudge the offending limb away, slowly opening his eyes to find Mee-Yon sprawled across the bed, her feet in his face and her small hands clutching your waist. Despite the rude awakening, Yoongi can’t be mad—how could he be, when his daughter is so undeniably adorable?

You catch his gaze, your hand gently caressing Mee-Yon’s back, and without a word, you communicate a world of emotion. Words aren’t needed between the two of you anymore; the years have woven a deep understanding, a silent language spoken through glances and touches. He reads you like a well-loved book, its spine softened by countless readings, and in your eyes, he sees the depth of your love for him and your daughter, the way you cherish these fleeting moments of family life.

As Mee-Yon stirs awake, she wraps her arms around both of you, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. Yoongi’s heart swells with joy, savoring this precious moment he wishes could last forever. Life with a three-year-old is a rollercoaster, equal parts delightful and exhausting. Yoongi’s patience, his temper, and his love are tested daily, but he wouldn’t trade this for anything. Mee-Yon has a knack for pushing his limits, as all children do, keeping him on his toes with her boundless energy and curiosity.

But it’s these moments he treasures the most—the time spent together as a family, whether on picnics, trips to the zoo, or simple walks in nature. Teaching Mee-Yon to ride a bike, watching her little legs pedal with determination, fills him with pride. He loves witnessing her growth, her wit, and her ever-present cuteness. There’s never enough time to soak it all in.

On a crisp autumn day, Yoongi finds himself in the garage, working on a customer’s car, with Mee-Yon by his side. She loves being there with him, her curiosity as vast as the sky, her eyes wide with wonder at the sight of tools and car parts. He explains everything to her, pointing out the coils, tubes, and wheels that make the car run. His hands are stained with oil, but Mee-Yon doesn’t mind; she grabs his hand, her own tiny fingers getting smudged as she points at something.

“What’s this, Dad?” she asks, her voice full of earnest curiosity.

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s the battery,” he explains, “the heart that keeps the car alive.”

She hums thoughtfully, turning her hand over to inspect the oily smudges. “Dirty,” she declares, but there’s no disgust, only fascination.

“Yeah, that’s oil,” he says, reaching for an old rag to wipe her hands, though it doesn’t do much to clean them. Maybe it’s time for some new rags in the garage.

“Like paint,” she giggles, her fingers now exploring every surface under the hood, leaving tiny handprints on every rube and rusty surface.

Yoongi chuckles, unable to resist her infectious joy. “Daddy?” she calls, looking up at him with a bright, mischievous smile.

He kneels down to her level, ruffling her hair with a fond laugh. She giggles and cups his cheeks with her small, oily hands. “Love you, Daddy. You my best friend.”

He doesn’t care that his face is now smudged with oil; he just pulls her into a warm embrace, holding her close. “I love you too, Mee-Yon,” he murmurs, his heart full to bursting.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for joining me on this wild ride that friendcation has been! And can you believe it’s been over a year since I first published this??? It’s so crazy. I’m so happy that so many people love it, and still read it. Truly, it means the world to me 🫂✨

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |3: A Show of Trust|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 6.9k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series Installment List & Summary

a/n: Nothing like an injured, soaking wet black suit Matt... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @sleepysleepymom

The voices on the television show you'd been watching gradually began to blur together into a soft hum as your lazy Saturday night wore on late into the evening. Heavy rain pelted against your apartment windows, the night surprisingly just warm enough for it instead of the snow the city had been getting in abundance. You hoped most of the snow would be melted by tomorrow with how much it had been raining today, already tired of winter and ready for spring despite it still only being January.

The sound of heavy droplets rhythmically battering against the glass windows of your apartment only began to further lull you into a relaxed state on your couch, cozy and warm beneath your blankets. Eventually your eyelids began to feel heavy, inevitably beginning to slowly lower until they dropped closed. A few times you caught yourself beginning to doze off on your couch and your eyes flew back open, your body giving a slight jolt along the cushions. Though gradually they began to drop shut once more until you fell into a light sleep.

It was at the sound of loud, frantic pounding that you woke with a startle on your couch. Your eyelids flew open, your heart racing in your chest at the abrupt, harsh noise that had disturbed your peaceful night. You laid there on the cushions disoriented, wondering how long you’d fallen asleep for and what time it currently was as you squinted at your television. 

Another series of rapid banging had a gasp slipping out of you, your body sitting bolt upright on the couch. Your head spun in the direction of the noise only to spot the Devil once again standing on your fire escape. Except unlike the previous time he’d stopped by a few days ago, he was bent in half with an arm wrapped across his abdomen, clutching his side. From the faint light of your television screen illuminating him out on the fire escape, you could see the painful twist of his mouth.

He’d gotten hurt tonight. There was no denying it with the way he was carrying himself like that.

Throwing the blankets off of yourself in a rush, you rose to your feet, turning off the television before darting straight to the window. Your hands moving quickly, you undid the locks before pushing it up. Droplets of freezing rain immediately pelted you in the face and you tried to blink them from your lashes.

“Why the hell are you out in this?” you asked him, shouting loud enough to be heard over the rain as you stepped to the side. “Get in here!”

The Devil didn’t utter a single cocky remark this time to your surprise. Instead, he began to climb through the opening of your window as you headed over to the nearby lightswitch, flipping it on so you both could see better. At the sound of him emitting a hiss of pain between his teeth, you spun back around just in time to watch him drop to your worn wooden floors in a sopping wet heap.

“Shit!” you cursed.

In a hurry you sprinted back over, pausing only briefly to quickly slam your window shut, blocking the rain back out of your apartment once more. Then you dropped to your knees roughly, the fabric of your sweatpants absorbing some of the water that had already begun to puddle around him. The Devil continued to lie on his side, his mouth hanging open as loud, ragged breaths left him. You cringed at the sight of him lying there, suddenly feeling panicked and helpless.

“What happened?” you asked him. “Are you okay? Do you need a hospital or a–a doctor?”

“No,” he grunted out instantly. “No hospitals.”

You grimaced, your hands darting out to help him only to hover over his body where he lay in a heap before you. Eyes flying wildly around him, you did your best to search for any sign of injury, but you couldn’t seem to spot anything besides his soaking wet clothes now clinging to him even tighter than when they were dry. You couldn’t seem to spot any bleeding, either–there at least wasn’t any blood on your floor–but with how damp his clothes were and how dark the fabric was, it was impossible to know for sure.

“Well I don’t know how much medical knowledge you think I have,” you told him with a nervous laugh, “but it only extends to things I can fix with a bandaid. And I’m guessing that’s not what’s– shit !”

The Devil rolled onto his back before you with a loud, pained groan, entirely cutting you off. Eyes wide in panic, your hands still hovered uselessly above him. His breathing was labored as he lay in the growing cold puddle of water he was making on your floor.

“What's wrong?” you asked in a rush. “How can I help?”

“Baseball bat,” he breathed out, voice hoarse. 

You watched as his left hand lowered to his side, his mouth curling into a painful grimace as he gestured along the length of it. He’d gestured to the entire length of his ribcage, where each bone was unmistakable with how skin tight the wet fabric was on him. And while you weren’t a doctor, it appeared like something seemed off in one of the spaces. Had he broken a rib?

"Just–just needed somewhere safe,” he continued, breath still coming in sharp. “To try to heal. Barely–” 

A hiss of pain escaped his lips, his head rolling back along your floor. You began to gnaw on your bottom lip, your heart still hammering away frantically in your chest. Your body was still in a state of panic as you sat there on your soaked knees, not sure how to help the masked man before you.

“Barely made it here,” he finished.

Still nervously gnawing your bottom lip, you shook your head, unsure of how you were supposed to help him. “Why come to me? I’m not a medical professional, Devil!”

An amused huff of laughter broke on yet another wounded noise from him next. Worry only further filled you as you glanced back down at his ribs. Something definitely didn’t seem quite right.

“I can–can heal myself,” he began, voice still strained. “Sort of, at least. I just–just need somewhere quiet to meditate.”

“ Meditate ?” you asked in shock, the word flying out of you. “You’re going to meditate ? I don’t know if you know this, Devil, but yoga is not the answer right now! You need a hospital!”

Something like a smile faintly pulled at the corners of his mouth–the first one you’d seen on him this whole time. Somehow that only worried you further. Had he gotten hit in the head with that baseball bat, too?

“No, not yoga,” he told you. “But that was��was cute.”

Your brows jumped up onto your forehead, your jaw once again dropping. Hands falling back down to your sides, you sat there dumbfounded with this man once more. Who the hell was he?

“I’m sorry, are you flirting with me?” you asked him. “While you’re literally lying in pain on my apartment floor soaking wet from freezing rain? With most likely a broken rib?” You shook your head, beginning to rise back up to your feet. “Okay, I’m calling you an ambulance, you probably have a concussion and there’s–”

Something caught your wrist and you paused from your place halfway risen from the floor. Glancing down, you spotted a black gloved hand holding onto you with just enough strength to catch your attention. Slowly your eyes rose back up to where you figured his were behind the wet black mask. His head had rolled along the floor towards you, a despairing look on the lower half of his face.

“Please,” he pleaded softly. “Don’t. Just–just trust me. Please?”

For a moment you stood there in an awkward sort of crouch, your bottom lip once again caught between your teeth. You scanned him over as he lay there on his back, your eyes inevitably landing on that space where you assumed he’d broken a rib. Flinching, you focused back on his face, his hand still holding your wrist.

“Please,” he tried again. “I just need maybe twenty minutes. Then I’ll head to my place. I know someone who can help me better when I get there.”

“Then why not call them now? Or why not go there instead?” you asked him.

One corner of his lip twisted upward in something like a sheepish smile. “You were closer,” he answered softly. “And I’d rather not risk outing myself by bringing you both together.”

Eyelids falling shut, you pinched the bridge of your nose with your other hand. Gradually you felt him release your wrist as you tried to think through this situation. Everything inside of you was screaming to ignore him and to call an ambulance. If his rib was broken there was no way he was going to just walk out of here in twenty minutes feeling better.

But maybe there was something different about him. Like those other superheroes. Truthfully, you’d always wondered with every news story you’d heard about The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Could there be something special about him? Like an ability to heal himself?

Blowing out a rough breath, you lowered your hand from your face and focused back on him. “You can meditate to heal?” you asked him carefully. “You’re not–not shitting me, are you? Because if you need a hospital I’d rather you go to one and not like, die on my floor or something.”

“I’m not going to die,” he assured you. “I can heal. Not completely, but enough. It’s…a sort of skill I learned a long time ago.”

“Seems like a pretty useful fucking skill,” you muttered to yourself, catching the small smile on his lips. “Okay, well you’ve got to be freezing with those wet clothes. Do you want some blankets?”

“I am incredibly cold actually,” he admitted, that sheepish grin returning. “Fighting the urge to start shivering is becoming quite difficult. But I was actually hoping for a favor if it wouldn’t make you too uncomfortable.”

Your eyes narrowed back at him curiously. “And what favor would that be?” you asked him.

“I need to be able to focus when I meditate,” he told you, grimacing as he spoke. “And let’s just say, for me, that’s hard to do with–with cold, wet clothes on my skin.”

It took you a moment to process what he was saying, your mind initially focused on trying to understand what he had meant by telling you that focusing would be hard for him to do with wet clothes on his skin, as if there was something more to it than discomfort. But then suddenly you caught what he’d meant. Breath catching in your throat, your eyes grew wide. Did he want you to take his clothes off?

“So you…” you began hesitantly, voice trailing off.

“Yeah,” he answered, an awkward chuckle falling out of him before it broke off on a gasp of pain. “But it’s not exactly easy for me to move, so I’d–I’d need some assistance getting the shirt and pants off.”

Swallowing hard, your eyes traveled down from his masked face and back towards his body. His very toned, very attractive body that you’d thought about a few times in a not so appropriate way since his last visit. And here he was, injured and asking you to take his clothes off in your apartment. Licking your lips, you tried to fight the heat that suddenly sparked low in your stomach–this wasn’t the time or place for that.

“If you’re uncomfortable with that, don’t worry about it,” he told you when you’d remained silent. “I understand. I can just–just try to work around it, it’ll just be more difficult.”

Shaking your head slowly, you told him, “No, no I can help. I just wasn’t exactly expecting you to show up injured and wanting to get naked at my place tonight.”

The smile you’d come to know him for returned to his face, the sight of it a minor relief. It eased your panic and fear a little, at least.

“Well I’m not asking you to take off the mask or the boxers,” he pointed out. “So I’m not really getting naked here tonight.”

“So the Devil wears boxers and not briefs?” you teased, hoping to hide your nerves with humor as you settled back down on the wet floor beside him again. “Guess you’ve answered a much-asked question for the masses of Hell’s Kitchen tonight.”

“Boxer briefs, if you want to be technical,” he replied, still grinning slightly. “But you’d have figured that out on your own soon enough, I imagine.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you felt the heat beginning to creep up your neck at his comment. You knew he meant it in the way that you’d find out because you’d be taking his pants off to help him get warm and ‘heal’ with his meditation somehow, but still, you couldn’t help but wonder if it could’ve had another meaning.

“And does that mean you’re part of the masses wondering what I wear under this?” he asked, breaking you from your thoughts.

Cheeks flaming, you laughed a little nervously. “Now I’m really starting to think someone got you in the head with that baseball bat, too,” you replied. Clearing your throat, you tried to switch the topic back to the situation at hand. “So how am I supposed to…manage this, exactly? I imagine moving is painful, but I have a feeling your clothes aren’t going to just come right off with you being this wet.”

A rumbling laugh came from him, the sound mixed with pained groans and gasps as his rib clearly ached and protested the movement. Brows knitting together, you shot his masked face a concerned look.

“You should probably not be laughing right now,” you informed him. “Pretty sure that’s not helping. And it sounds painful.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just,” he began, a wheeze of laughter still coming from him, “in my experience, the opposite has always been true.”

This time your head tilted curiously to the side as you tried to work out what he meant. For a moment you sat there, replaying what you’d just said in your head. And then it hit you and your face flamed even further.

“Oh my God!” you shrieked, fighting the urge to slap his very solid thigh beside you. “It is not the time for this!”

His laughter subsided, but the grin remained on his lips. “I’m sorry, you’re entirely right. I’m not trying to make you more uncomfortable,” he apologized. “I’ll stop and focus. Promise. You’re just cute when you get flustered like that. I truly appreciate your help though, Miss…?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him. “Absolutely not the time for that, either,” you scolded him, doing your best to ignore how he’d once again called you ‘cute.’ “So focusing on the task at hand here, I’m guessing for this ‘meditation’ that you do, you sit up for that, right? Not just…lay in a heap on the floor?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Generally.”

“Okay,” you began slowly, your cheeks still feeling like they were burning as your eyes trailed down every visible muscle along his chest beneath his wet shirt before landing on his belt buckle. “I suppose that means removing your pants first would be the best course of action,” you mused aloud. “Probably easier to remove with you, you know, laying down as opposed to sitting.”

“Probably,” he answered, a hint of a smile in his tone.

You sat there hesitating for a few seconds, your gaze still on his belt buckle as silence filled your apartment. You could practically feel his attention on you, the hair on the back of your neck raising. It wasn’t like you’d never undressed someone before, but generally all of those situations were vastly different from this one. It wasn’t like you were taking off his pants so that you could sleep with him, yet somehow sitting here, staring at him on your floor like this–especially after the comments he’d just made–had this moment feeling oddly and unexpectedly intimate. Even with his injured side.

“So uhm,” you said, pausing to wet your lips, eyes still focused on his belt buckle, “I’ll just start there. I guess.”

“Here,” he murmured.

His gloved hands rose up from his sides, reaching down and working to unclasp his belt buckle. It was so quiet in your apartment as his hands worked that you could hear the clink of the metal as he undid it. Swallowing hard and trying to control your wildly beating heart, you watched as those gloved hands deftly undid the button of his dark pants next. The slide of his zipper downward afterwards was even audible as you sat there beside him, trying hard to think about anything other than how you wished his pants were coming off under different circumstances.

“If you could help get them off the rest of the way,” he said, his voice drawing you back to the moment, “that’d help. I can’t exactly sit up and take them off at the moment or I’d do it myself.”

Blinking hard a few times, you nodded. “Right,” you answered. “Yeah, of course. I’ll just–just…yeah.”

Something like a breath of amusement passed his lips as his hands dropped back to the floor at his sides. Your stomach began to twist nervously, realizing he was waiting for you to take his pants off now. 

Leaning forward, you carefully gripped the fabric of his pants on either side of his hips. They were incredibly cold to the touch, the realization of which helped ease some of that growing heat of your own because he had to be freezing right now. Though as you began to tug the black, wet pants down his thighs, trying your hardest to be gentle as you heard him gasp out, you realized this wasn’t going to be remotely easy or fast. 

To put it lightly, the Devil certainly filled out his clothes. 

With a hiss of pain he arched his back along the floor, allowing you to pull his pants down just beneath his ass after much effort. You muttered an apology, trying to focus your hardest on not hurting him further as you began to peel the soaked fabric down his thighs next. It took every ounce of your willpower to not stare at the way his damp, black underwear clung to him, revealing what was hidden beneath the fabric as you pulled his dark pants downwards past a particular appendage. 

As you continued to tug the wet pants down the lower half of his thighs, you became increasingly aware of the way your fingertips were dragging along the length of bare skin on his legs. The dark wisps of his hair brushed against your fingers and you grit your teeth, trying hard to remain focused on what you were doing and not how you were gradually beginning to feel. 

He quite possibly has a broken rib , you reminded yourself, trying to focus on pulling each pant leg down past his muscular calves. Stop it. He is injured. This isn't sexual. This isn't sexual.

After having removed his boots, leaving his socks on which were thankfully dry, you managed to pull his pants entirely off of him a minute later. You tossed the rumpled ball off to the side of you where they landed along your wood floor with a soft, wet thump . 

“Okay,” you said, attention returning to his face. “So maybe we should sit you up–even though that goes against everything inside of me if you do have a broken rib–so that I can get your shirt off?”

The Devil nodded, his gloved hands landing flat on the floor at his sides before he abruptly pushed himself upright, something like a distressed growl escaping between his clenched teeth as he moved. Your hands immediately darted forward, landing on his shoulders as you tried to steady him before you.

“Shit, I didn’t mean you had to do it like that ,” you chastised. “I could have helped you!”

“Well,” he breathed out, a grimace on his mouth, “little too late for that.”

Attention dropping down, they landed on his gloved hands. Those, too, were wet. And with how tight his shirt was, there was no doubt in your mind that you were going to have to remove those before removing his shirt.

“Okay, gloves next, then your shirt,” you told him. 

He obediently held up his left hand first, holding it out towards you. With far less hesitation than when you removed his pants, you began to undo the velcro strap around his wrist. The sharp tear of the velcro rang loud in your ears before you began to gently ease the glove off of his hand. Once you'd slid it off, dropping the glove onto the floor beside your knees, your eyes admittedly lingered on his hand for a few seconds longer than necessary, your own left hand still gingerly holding his wrist. 

He had big hands. You also spotted a few cuts where his knuckles had clearly torn from fighting. You resisted the urge to run your fingers over the dried bloody marks, though the sight of them didn't stop you from wondering what his hands would feel like gliding up beneath your own shirt, scratching you lightly with the callouses you noticed on his palms and fingertips. Your eyelids briefly fluttered shut at what your imagination conjured up, imagining them on your skin far warmer than they currently were as his palms ran up your sides and delicately over your ribcage.

But then you abruptly reminded yourself of where you were and what was going on. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you released his wrist, though you noticed the very faint tilt of his head just before you did. Feeling embarrassed, you undid his other glove faster than the previous one before removing it. Gathering both gloves in your hands, you tossed them over to the side of you where they landed just beside his discarded pants. 

Focusing back on him, you became aware that all that was left to do was to peel off his shirt now. Which would only end up revealing exactly all of that muscle you already knew was waiting beneath that thin black material. Your mouth felt like it was going dry at just the thought of seeing him even further undressed.

This isn’t sexual , you tried to remind yourself.

Sucking in a breath, your hands dropped down to the hem of his soaking wet shirt. Carefully you began to lift it up, still holding your breath as defined abdominal muscle after defined abdominal muscle revealed itself to you. You could feel the way your hands had begun to shake before you’d even managed to cautiously slip the wet material over his head, his arms raising up in an attempt to help you as he let out a faint grunt. 

Sitting back on your damp knees, you discarded his shirt off to the side by the pile of his other soaked clothes on your floor. Though this time when you returned your attention back to the Devil before you, he was wearing only his damp mask, black boxer briefs, and some dry, black socks. Releasing the breath you’d been holding, you tried to keep your voice steady as you rose back up to your feet.

“I’ll grab you some blankets,” you told him. “To help you get warm.”

Heading back over to your couch, you did your best to calm your breathing and once more mentally remind yourself of the situation the pair of you were in. Surely if he caught you staring longingly at his body you'd scare him away considering how skittish he seemed despite his flirtations with you. Besides, he was injured . That wasn't how you should be feeling right now, even if his body looked chiseled out of marble as he sat on your floor. 

Picking up the two blankets from your couch that you’d fallen asleep under not that long ago, you bundled them in your arms before turning back around. Making your way back towards the almost naked vigilante sitting on your floor, you noticed that he’d scooted away from the puddle of water he’d made, now sitting in a dry spot.

Stepping over to the side of him, you bent over and gingerly wrapped both blankets around his bare, broad shoulders. The Devil quickly grabbed onto the edges of them and hugged them tight around himself as he softly thanked you. You saw his body give a shudder just before he grit his teeth, a muscle flexing in his jaw as his mouth twisted in pain. 

“Hopefully that helps,” you said, straightening up and taking a few steps backwards. You gestured a hand towards the pile of his wet clothes on your floor. “I can take those down to the laundry facility in my building,” you offered. “It’s just a couple of floors down. I could try to throw them in a dryer to dry them a little for you while you're here.”

The Devil’s mouth curled into a soft smile as he shook his head gently. “No, that’s alright,” he replied. “They’ll just get wet again the moment I step back outside because it's still raining. And if anyone in your building were to see you with them, I’m sure they’d begin to wonder. I hear my clothing is…quite recognizable.”

A frown settled on your face as you stared at the wet clothing he would inevitably have to dress back into. “Right, yeah,” you mumbled, nodding. “That makes sense, I suppose. Though maybe I could lend you an umbrella?”

The Devil laughed lightly, but you spotted the grimace on his mouth as your attention returned to his face. The frown only deepened on your face and you wished there was more you could do to help him right now. He was clearly trying to hide the fact that he was in a lot of pain.

“I appreciate the offer, but I need both hands to get around out there,” he explained. “An umbrella would just get in the way.”

Sighing in defeat, you awkwardly wrapped your arms over your chest and glanced down at your bare feet. Now that he was sitting on your floor almost entirely undressed, injured, and wrapped in your blankets, you didn’t know what you should do with yourself while he did…whatever it was that he needed to do. 

“Should I just give you some privacy then?” you questioned softly. “For your meditation? Or…?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the Devil’s covered gaze drop down towards his lap. The movement appeared almost nervous, which had you glancing up curiously at his quiet form sitting there on the floor. 

“Actually, could I ask one more favor?” he asked. “Even though I know I probably shouldn't.”

Gnawing the inside of your cheek, you wondered what he meant by that. But nevertheless, you were willing to offer him whatever help you could–within reason, of course. Because someone needed to make sure he was taken care of after everything he was always doing for this city. It was becoming increasingly obvious to you that he certainly didn't take care of himself to the extent that he needed to, and you still weren't convinced that he wasn't lonely and in need of someone on his side. 

“What’s that?” you asked him.

“Could you, maybe–” 

He broke off on a nervous laugh which quickly turned into a groan of pain yet again. You winced, taking an involuntary step towards him.

“Could you maybe help keep me warm?” he asked hesitantly. “While I meditate, I mean?”

Your eyebrows instantly flew up onto your forehead at the question, but it was the tone of his voice that had you even more surprised. He always appeared so cocky and self-assured when he'd been here with you, but right now he sounded almost uncertain and nervous.

“It's just, the blankets alone aren't quite that warm enough for me to properly focus any time soon and–”

“Okay,” you blurted.

Your quick agreement to his request surprised even yourself as you stood there, staring at the Devil’s parted lips, his explanation left unfinished. Arms hugging your chest tighter, you suddenly felt self-conscious. Had you really just agreed to cuddle him half naked now? And so easily?

“It's okay if you're uncomfortable,” he assured you. “I realize what I'm asking you is a bit much, considering the circumstances.”

“No, it's–it's fine,” you replied, cautiously making your way towards him. “You have dubbed me your favorite space heater after all.” 

A soft smile pulled the corners of his lips upwards as he nodded slowly. He opened his arms, spreading them wide and revealing his almost naked body beneath the blankets he’d been wrapped up in. Both of his legs were crossed before himself as he patiently waited for you to join him beneath the blankets. The sight only had your nerves increasing yet again tonight, because this moment also felt far more intimate than it probably should have. 

“How would it be best for me to uh, lend you my body heat?” you asked, trying to keep your voice from rising a few octaves as you came to a stop directly in front of him. “I don't know what you need to do to heal. I don’t want to be in the way or anything.”

“If it's not too uncomfortable for you, you can just sit on my lap,” he answered. “I need to really focus on myself and tune everything else out. So as long as you're sitting fairly still you won't bother me.” A sheepish smile reappeared on his face as he added, “And we sort of need to be close in order to actually share body heat. Like before.”

You nodded, though you didn’t completely agree with him about this being like last time. Because before when you'd both cuddled together for warmth he had been fully clothed. 

“Right,” you murmured. “Just like before.”

You hesitated a second longer, eyeing the way he was still sitting cross-legged on your floor, his arms still stretched open for you. With a deep breath in, you lowered yourself down onto his lap without any further opportunity to overthink the situation. Moving carefully, you adjusted your position on his lap, trying hard not to hurt him as both of your legs straddled his hips. Facing him, your arms nervously wrapped around his bare waist, your hands awkwardly resting on his lower back. His skin was cold to the touch and you resisted the urge to rub your hands along him to warm him up. Surely that would be crossing a line.

The Devil’s arms wrapped the blankets around the pair of you once you'd settled, inevitably encircling you in a sort of embrace that drew you even closer to the front of himself. Your cheeks were on fire as you felt your chest brushing against his solid one. Just like the first time he'd appeared at your apartment and cuddled you for warmth, you were growing increasingly aware of your bra-lessness around him. Especially with the way your nipples were poking at the fabric of your sweatshirt each time they grazed his very firm chest. You desperately hoped he hadn't noticed. It was already difficult enough trying to ignore the feel of him beneath your ass because that wasn't helping you to keep your head right now, either.

“Is this okay?” you whispered.

The Devil cleared his throat, his face mere inches from yours now that you were in his lap. You were doing your best to focus on the picture on your wall just behind him because staring at his lips would only result in you embarrassing yourself further.

“Yeah,” he answered. “As long as you’re comfortable. I’m just going to try to focus–” he paused, clearing his throat a second time, “–so I’ll uh, need silence for a bit.”

“How long?” you asked.

You kept your eyes glued to the picture on the wall, trying to ignore the way his chest brushed against yours with his next inhale. Despite how cold he felt, you felt like your own body temperature was elevating.

“Twenty minutes?” 

Your eyelids fluttered at that deep, gravely voice just beside your ear, his warm breath grazing the side of your neck. You were going to be sitting in his lap for the next twenty minutes trying to resist the urge to kiss him? To grind down against his cock that you were positive you could just partially feel beneath you? To not bury your face into the crook of his neck and breathe in the scent of him?

“Hopefully I’ll be able to concentrate,” he said, voice strained.

“Sorry,” you whispered back. “I'll try to sit still.”

Silence fell between the pair of you, but your mind quickly grew louder than the room around you. You kept having to remind yourself to focus on staying quiet and immobile because you were doing this to help the Devil. That was what you needed to focus on and nothing else.

Eventually, as an unknown length of time passed while you both sat there on your floor, you began to feel his body relax against yours, as if all the tension was beginning to gradually ease out of his muscles. His breathing became something steady and rhythmic, which was when your thoughts finally turned to something less inappropriate. Because instead of that blazing heat that had been building inside of you ever since he'd asked you to help remove his clothes, something softer and less intense began to fill you as you sat in his lap, your own body relaxing in turn against him.

Shifting your head to the side just a bit, your gaze moved from the picture on the wall back to his face beside yours. You imagined his eyes were closed beneath the black fabric now as he concentrated on whatever it was that he was doing. You wondered what color they were beneath all that black. Gaze lowering, you studied the strong line of his jaw, taking in the little hairs of his dark stubble. Eventually your gaze traveled towards his mouth, attempting to memorize the shape of his slightly parted pink lips. You could still feel each of his soft exhales brushing over your exposed neck. Each breath of his faintly tickled your skin as you gradually found yourself breathing almost in sync with him.

For a while that’s what you found yourself doing, silently observing him while you took soothing breaths that matched his own. You noticed the subtle shifts of his mouth as he sat quietly beneath you, the faint twitches of his arm muscles against your back. At a certain point you became aware of how warm his body had become, no longer as cold as when you’d first plopped into his lap. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before he startled you with a very subtle movement. His head gradually lowered a few inches until his forehead came to rest against your shoulder. That unfamiliar warmth only grew inside of you, your heart fluttering in your chest at the unexpected display of his trust with you tonight. Smiling slightly, your own head tilted a little to the side, coming to rest against his as your own eyelids lowered.

You may not have known much about the mysterious masked vigilante who ran around the streets of the city at night, but you knew he had a good heart. Underneath the flirtatious comments and jokes was a man who deeply loved this city and the people in it. You just wished the city could give him literally anything back in return for the blood he clearly spilled for it. 

You must have briefly fallen asleep wrapped around the Devil because when he began to shift beneath you, you startled awake. Eyes slowly blinking the sleep from them, you pulled back and glanced at his face still so close to yours. The Devil was wearing a pleased grin, the sight causing your stomach to twist into knots. 

“Comfortable?” he teased.

“Shit, I'm sorry,” you apologized quickly, embarrassed. “It's just late and I'm tired, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you again.”

“It's okay,” he assured you, still grinning. “But maybe I should get dressed and let you sleep in your own bed now.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, disappointment creeping into you. “Right. So you're–you're done with your meditation thing?”

“I am,” he answered. “And feeling far better and warmer than before. So thank you.”

His arms unwrapped themselves from around you, the cold from your apartment suddenly hitting the back of you where you were no longer wrapped inside the blanket cocoon with him. Biting your lip, you carefully disentangled yourself from around him, your heart strangely sinking to your stomach as you did. 

Almost immediately after you'd climbed out of his lap, the Devil rose back up to his feet in a smooth motion, barely wincing at the fluid movement. He balled your blankets in his hands, your eyes drawn to the pull of muscles on his arms and chest as he moved with ease, looking nothing like the man who'd collapsed on your floor in pain not that long ago. He tossed the balled up blankets smoothly past you where they landed perfectly on the back of your couch. 

Afterwards he turned, crossing the few steps towards his pile of damp clothes still lying on your floor. With barely any show of pain, you watched as he bent down, grabbing his still wet pants and beginning to pull them on. You cringed as he began to pull them up his legs, aware they must’ve been cold and uncomfortable to dress back in, but a glance back at your window proved that it was indeed still raining. Even if you'd dried them he would've been soaked again in seconds.

“You're going to have that friend of yours check on you, right?” you asked him. “To make sure you're alright?”

The Devil looked over at you, his hands buckling the belt of his tight pants. That cheeky smirk was on his lips again, which must have meant he somehow really felt better, even if you couldn't possibly begin to comprehend how what he'd done had actually healed him.

“Still worried about me?” he questioned back. “I promise I'll be just fine. And yes, I'll have my friend give me a little check up, if that helps ease your mind.”

“It does,” you admitted.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you focused on the window you knew he was soon to slip back out of in an attempt to give him privacy as he dressed. That unfamiliar sinking feeling was back in your gut again, demanding attention. But you didn't have long to contemplate what it meant before the Devil was stepping into the space before you, now fully clothed in his attire once more. Except for his gloves, you noticed, which he was holding in his left hand.

“Thank you for your help once again tonight, angel,” he whispered.

His right hand reached out, unexpectedly and gently cupping your jaw. The pad of his thumb affectionately traced along the line of it with a tenderness you’d never felt before, stopping once it reached the corner of your lips. Feeling your heart skip in your chest at his touch and what he'd just called you, the question slipped right past your lips in a faint breath.

“Angel?” you asked. 

His thumb remained beside your lips, a faint smile ghosting over his own beneath his still damp mask. “Well you won't tell me your name,” he replied quietly. “And you continually insist on helping the Devil despite how undeserving I am, so I think it only seems fitting.” 

His thumb moved, just barely grazing your bottom lip. Your breath hitched, your face involuntarily inching forward towards his. 

“Sleep well, angel,” he murmured. 

Too dazed to even formulate a response, you stood there silently as his hand released your face. Turning around, he made his way towards your window, quickly sliding his gloves on before raising it back up. Without hesitation, he slipped through the opening and back out into the cold, rainy night. 

By the time you'd recovered from whatever that moment had just been, he was already closing your window after himself. A small smile tugged at his mouth before he turned and dove over the side of your fire escape railing. 

Heart still hammering erratically in your chest, your hand reached up, fingers gently touching the place his just had. Closing your eyes, you could almost recall the tender feel of them on you even now. 

And that's when it made sense. You weren't just eager to help the masked man because of what he did for the city and how much of a hero you thought he was. And it wasn't just because you believed he didn't really have many others in this city to help him.

It was because you were beginning to feel something for him. Something more than just physical attraction despite not knowing his name or his face.

[tbzhub]

Money Shot

Pairing: photographer!Lee Hyunjae x afab!reader

Summary: a night in with your boyfriend turns into a photoshoot

Warnings: MDNI, smut, marking, fingering, unprotected sex, lots of photos are taken, pet names like twice

Rating / Genre: M, established relationship au, some fluff, smut

WC: 3.6K

Artist Note: this is a little part 2 to this fic: just go fuck him ♥︎ thank you for the love on that story, i'm sorry the title is so misleading alvjbhvxzgfn. i figured i'd revisit these two!

Tagged: @deoboyznet @everykebbie @blizzardfluffykpop

psst i finished it @the-boy-meets-evil

m.list tag list

It’s a wonder how much a person can change in a year or two. 

These days your chest doesn't feel as tight. Your thoughts aren’t as intrusive and insecurity visits you infrequently. The smiles that grace your lips are genuine– often prompted by the joy that's found its way into the tight confines of your heart. 

With each passing day, came a further understanding of what it meant to live. To experience the world with an abundance of love intertwined with your being. 

Hyunjae wouldn’t agree, but he made all the difference. You are far more vibrant now; confident, social, witty. Being deeply in love brought out a version of yourself that was content and yet utterly fearless. 

There’s peace, both in knowing someone has seen the harshest parts of you and that they still love you just the same. 

Hyunjae gave you the space to be yourself– to show up however you were able to on any given day. With you, he was gentle and understanding in a way that’s reserved for people who care. 

Dating him meant never having doubt– not when he made every day feel like a gift. It was easy to smile with him around. He was funny without trying and hilarious in times when laughter was needed most. His spontaneity took some getting used to, but only because you were a homebody. Now, you look forward to the days you spend with him, enamored by Hyunjae’s innate ability to make every moment memorable. He saw the world in a way that left you inspired. Through his photography, he taught you that beauty was found in the most unlikely places.  Like at a run-down flea market during sunset, or while walking past a vacant flower stand on a late night– the florist long gone after an honest day’s work. Overexposed shots of your hair dancing in the wind as you slump in front of a fan, trying to survive in the summer heat. 

He was always taking pictures of you. Initially– you hated it. You’d go shy or tense up when you saw him bring out a camera, on high alert when he brought out his phone. But over time, you appreciated it. Being his muse– being able to see yourself the way he saw you– helped you in areas that you hadn't realized needed assistance. Through your days in front of the lens, you've learned that you have a brilliant smile. That your hair harbored a different tone in the wake of a setting sun. Sometimes you’d catch yourself anticipating the camera on days when you knew you looked your best, growing confident as more time passed with him by your side.

Now, more than anything else– you both are beyond comfortable and obsessed with one another. Your ears perk up when you hear the bedroom door creak open and the way you immediately step out of the bathroom to greet Hyunjae with a face covered in skin care products proves the aforementioned sentiment.

Coming over to kiss him sweetly, you briefly melt into his firm arms and as you lean back you swipe your thumb over the gray dot of mud mask that sticks to his nose with a chuckle.

“Aww…” Hyunjae coos, taking in your spa headband and the little strip across your nose. 

“No…” you groan, shielding your face away from him and his predictable nature.

“But you look so cute, right now.” He whines, peeking from behind the camera while his fingers hover over the button.

“No, I don’t. I look like the moon emoji” you mumble back.

“What do you mean? Hyunjae asks, looking at you with a clueless squint.

“You know, the one that’s like…”  you give a side glance to look more like the little gray icon.

There’s a small flash of light as the shutter clicks and Hyunjae chuckles as he looks at the tiny screen while you stand stunned that he tricked you so easily. You playfully push him in response, causing him to laugh harder and you can’t help but join him, finding his antics funny. 

You kiss him on the cheek before heading towards the bathroom. 

“I’ll be right back.” You announce with your back turned. “Don’t miss me too much,” Hyujnae calls out absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the camera in his hands and you smile at the remark as you walk onto the cool tile floor.

You come back to him with a washed face and a silly smile embossed into your pretty features. Bounding onto the bed, you allow Hyunjae to tug you into his arms. He peppers you with kisses, lips smacking against yours a couple of times until he’s pulled a wide smile and a few giggles out of you. 

“Wait– stay right there,” he says and you groan but your smile only grows wider.

“Don’t you get tired of taking pictures of me?” You ask, looking him over in amusement as you honor his instructions, holding your current angle. “Nope,” he replies, twisting in his spot to grab his polaroid camera. “Maybe when you have a hot girlfriend, you’ll understand.” He jokes, sending you a flirtatious look over the top of the camera while his finger turns the camera on with muscle memory.

Your laugh is accompanied by the roll of your eyes. Hyunjae presses the shutter and you ready yourself for the flash, relaxing thereafter as the camera goes to work.

The whirring of the film getting developed halts your joking, Hyunjae carefully plucks the film out and shakes it in his hand gently once it pops out of the top of the camera.

Falling further into the comfort of his pillows, you smile up at Hyunjae, observing the way he looks at the picture. His eyes were soft as he swept over the image, the arches of his cheeks raising slowly as a smile blossomed on his lips. For whatever reason the sight struck a chord within you.

“You really think I’m beautiful, don't you?” You voice the thought without realizing it, not until Hyunjae’s gaze shifts to you and you're taking in the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks. 

“Of course.”

He doesn’t say anything else and you didn't need him to. Not when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that exists in the world. The only thing worth gazing upon. His hand trails its way into your hair and you look into the lens again, relaxing under Hyunjae’s touch as the shutter clicks again. You shift slightly on the bed as Hyunjae inspects the second polaroid the same way as he did the first. He puts the two pictures on the nightstand for safekeeping before leaning down to kiss you on the lips. 

With your arms looped around Hyunjae’s neck, you steal more kisses off his lips until he drops the camera onto the bed and climbs on top of you. The kiss deepens as one of his hands roams down to grab at your waist and pulls your body closer to his while he props himself up to keep from crushing you with the other. He lingers on your lips, pressure changing from soft and teasing to hard and wanting once you wrap your leg around his hip.

You stay like that long enough for your heart to mimic the rapid thud of Hyunjae’s heart rate.

When Hyunjae pulls away from the kiss you’re left wanting more, grabbing at his shirt in an attempt to bring him back but you stop when you notice what he’s doing.

He hovers above you with a polaroid camera in hand. “Just one more. Your lips look perfect,’ he murmurs as he lines up the shot and you lick your kiss bruised lips before giving bedroom eyes to Hyunjae through the lens. You hear the sound of the camera going off and the flash follows before the whirring begins. You watch patiently as he studies the picture with a smirk on his lips. His hand moves smoothly up and down your bare thigh as his gaze flits across the film. 

It was hot seeing him like this, so obviously turned by what he’s doing– by you.

His hand comes up to caress your neck before falling lower, squeezing your chest over the thin fabric of your tank top and you pick up on how he bites his lip before finally tearing his eyes away and placing the picture to the side with the others.

“Wanna take more?” You ask, gingerly tiptoeing into uncharted territory. “I mean… I’d be down?” You suggest lightly while looking up at Hyunjae’s face. His expressions bounce between confusion and surprise before settling on mirth and something else indescribable.

“Yeah?” He asks for confirmation, his voice suddenly low and velvety.

As you nod your head yes, you wrap your fingers around Hyunjae’s wrist and guide his hand down to rest at the hem of your top. 

His hand scrunches up the fabric, exposing most of your stomach as he dips down low to meld his mouth with yours hotly. He kisses you slowly, taking his time with you in a way that you’ve never experienced with him before. His hand slides up further, delicately cupping your chest as he sighs against your lips. The sharp sting of Hyunjae’s fingers digging into your skin sends a shock to your center and your lips part in a soft moan in response. His tongue brushes against the tip of yours tenderly as your skin pebbles under his touch. 

The kiss remains slow as he savors every last second of having you like this, nibbling on your lower lip before sucking the tender spot and kissing you hungrily. You lay slack underneath him, body and mind being led by the pleasure he pours into you with his sinful lips. 

Your back arches as he lifts your tank top up further, pulling the garment over your shoulders. Hyunjae’s hands fall onto either side of your cheeks, holding your face in place as he presses his lips onto yours firmly and warmth floods your chest. His hands travel down your neck and sweep across your shoulders as he drags his lips along your jawline. He continues his descent until he reaches a particular spot on your neck that makes you bite back a loud whimper. He sucks the sensitive area while you squirm underneath him with your eyes half closed. You shake out a soft moan, bliss surging up your spine as he moves to another spot on your neck.

He sucks mark after mark into your skin until you're nearly trembling and soaking wet with need. Your shoulders and neck are covered in splotches of deep reddish and purple hues that you can’t fully see but the look on Hyunjae’s face as he leans back tells you that look to die for. He drinks you in with a lust-clouded gaze, looking you up and down a few times before reaching out for his camera.

“Fuck– you look perfect like this…” he praises, voice imbued in admiration and want. He lines up the shot, standing on his knees above you and you can see just how much he’s into this.

You reply with a moan and glance up, giving the camera a heated look before the camera flashes. His hand comes into the next shot as he wraps his fingers around your slender neck. You catch his dick twitching in his sweats as he takes a second picture with you posed like this. Hyunjae doesn't wait for the film to come out before casting the camera to the side. He yanks at your shorts and underwear, pulling them off of you quickly with your help. You spread your legs wide for him while he works his way out of his clothes. He’s back on you hot and heavy the minute his cock is free, settling between your legs as he devours you with an intense gaze, tracing your form lustfully. 

“Eyes on me, okay?” He orders softly, smoothing a hand over your bent knee lovingly as the other snakes its way up your thigh, leaving behind a sweltering tingle that lingers on your skin. 

His fingers sink into your wet heat and a sultry moan rings through his bedroom. Hyunjae rocks his palm back and forth, two fingers curled upwards against the soft walls of your pussy. You coat the digits, eliciting the sloppiest noises that you’ve ever heard from your wet cunt but you couldn’t be bothered to be ashamed about that in the wake of what he’d just put your neck and shoulders through. 

He picks up the pace and your legs fall open further as a long sigh leaves your chest. You obediently keep your eyes open, trained on Hyunjae while he works you over. The look you share is a charged one as he fucks you with his fingers, his determined gaze contrasting your unbridled blissed-out state. Your swollen lips part as you pant his name, pleading for him not to stop.

Hyunjae blindly grabs ahold of his camera, never stopping the steady rhythm of his deft fingers urging you dangerously close to an orgasm. Your toes curl and your legs tremble as he readies the camera. He lifts it until he’s got the right angle. His biceps strain and sweat trickles down his arms as he pumps his digits in and out of you while rubbing your bud rhythmically. His arm is getting tired but he waits… and waits, finger resting just above the shutter as he waits for the right moment. The one where your face scrunches up and your pussy tries to choke his fingers. He fingers you with just the right amount of pressure to grow the feeling inside you until it bursts–

The shutter goes off and a flash brightens the room.

You toss and turn as you cum all over Hyunjae’s fingers, moaning loudly as he fucks you through it. Gradually his pace slows just enough to gently bring you down from your peak. His fingers slip out of your sloppy folds and he licks them clean without a second thought before retrieving the polaroid from its slot. 

You shiver through the aftershocks of your high while you come down further. “How’d it turn out?” You ask, still breathless. Hyunjae looks over to you with dark eyes and you swallow under the passion in his gaze.

“Unreal,” he replies through a husky tone before setting that picture down beside the others. He climbs back on top of you, kissing you repeatedly as he lays his warm body flush with yours. Your legs tangle with his while you make out and your dainty hands mess up his hair as you roll on top of him in bed. You straddle his hips in haste, desperate to ride him but he clamps his strong hands around your waist freezing you in place.

“There's a shot that I want to get,” he hesitantly admits. 

You look down at him with an endeared smile. You knew him well enough to know what he wanted. He always say you look so pretty sucking him off. “Okay, baby,” you say, shuffling down the bed until your lips are inches away from his cock. 

Hyunjae groans, tilting his head back into the pillows as you take him past your lips. You don’t tease, dipping your head forward to ease more of his cock into your mouth while your tongue glides down his length. Your lips tighten around him, sucking in on your way up and swallowing around the head before gliding down again.

“Fuck–

You grind your nose into his pelvis when he reaches the back of your throat and you feel him squirm in bed. You let up again, going slow as you cover his entire cock in your spit. Hyunjae fists the bedsheets and hisses at the sight of you–  his cock, dripping with the attention that you’ve lavished it with, tucked between your plush dewy lips. You sink his cock into your mouth again, moaning as you sense him preparing to snap another picture of you. 

Your eyes begin to water as you take him to the back of your throat a few more times, looking up at Hyunjae just in time to hear the shutter go off again. You close your eyes and hum, sending another shiver of vibrations down his cock as he tries to check out the picture.

All you hear is shallow gasps for a while as Hyunjae holds the polaroid up to his face, coaxing you up and down his length with his other hand.

“This one is golden,” he rasps, voice ragged and thick with pleasure as he bobs you up and down his cock for a bit longer, entranced by how sexy your eyes look in the picture. You suck harder, swirling your tongue around before Hyunjae gently pulls you off of him by your hair.

“Let me see?” You ask, sitting up and straddling his lap as he places that picture to join the rest.

He just shakes his head. “We have to round out the set first,” Hyunjae teases, hands going to rest at your hips as he lines you up with his stiff cock. Placing your hands behind you on his toned thighs as you lift your hips, angling them to catch his cock between your wet folds before you lower yourself onto him. You sit on his cock in one fluid motion and sigh. He feels so good– the sweet slide against your walls as you’re filled making your head spin. You rock forward, leaning back against your arms for leverage while you rock back, savoring his thick cock pressed against you. You raise your hips and drop back down, moaning at the feel of his cock teasing your needy cunt. 

You circle your hips while you bounce in his lap, slamming your hips down harder with every motion. Your head tilts back as you ride him, so satisfied yet so greedy for more, hips beginning to roll faster. Hyunjae tightens his hold on you before matching your thrusts, sending his cock as deep as possible causing you to cry out in abandon. You bounce faster, breathing ragged as you start to work up a sweat, a sheen covering your stomach and thighs. Your skin slaps against Hyunjae’s as you move in sync, connected as one as your bodies heat up.

His fingertips press into your skin, as he takes control, lifting you up and down with only the strength in his arms. Hyunjae fucks you nice and slow, dropping you down on his cock and sliding you off so you feel every inch of him leave your insides.

“Fuck Jae,” you moan, core aching for release just when he’s decided to slow things down.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You look so good like this. I don’t wanna rush,” he whispers, licking his bottom lip as he looks up at you– still dragging you up and down his cock like you weighed practically nothing.

He doesn’t forget the camera, reaching for it with one hand while you take over once more. You slide down nice and slow before raising your hips, pausing at the top when he tells you to.

“You look fucking incredible, baby.” He says as he takes the last shot.

The shutter clicks and you carefully push the camera out of Hyunjae’s hands, feverishly crashing your lips into his a second later. He immediately falls in line, kissing you and giving you exactly what you’ve been waiting for. His arms circle your back as he holds you close and pounds into you. 

You gasp and writhe, taking all that Hyunjae gives you as your thighs give out. 

Pleasure and fatigue build, and build within you, threatening to overflow as he continues his onslaught on your pussy. He snaps his hips into you with unprecedented strength, and thrusts rough and careless, eliciting nothing but filthy sounds out of you.

His pace picks up, strokes falling out of rhythm as he chases his climax. 

The steady push and pull of his cock filling you up crowds your senses. Your mind goes hazy as you focus on how good Hyunjae makes you feel every time. Pushing your body to places that you didn’t think it could go. You clench around him as another huge orgasm shuts down your body.

When you finally come to your senses, you notice that you're sore and covered in sweat. You feel kind of gross, but there's nothing that could make you abandon your place on Hyunjae’s chest right now. 

You’re so tired that when you try to speak, your words come out as syllables abstractly strung together. The last thing you’re aware of is Hyunjae’s cool lips pressed against your forehead as you drift off to sleep.

-

In the morning, you wake up sore. The marks that litter your neck and shoulders are a little tender and you feel like you did 200 sit-ups and 300 squats right before bed. 

Hyunjae wasn't around, but you weren’t surprised by that– he never missed catching the sunrise at dawn.

As you sit up in bed, the stack of polaroids from last night catches your eye and you leap out of bed to sift through them all. The first photo is so innocent that you chuckle, knowing where the night led you. You glance through the rest, cheeks heating up at how bold you are in front of the camera. 

You flip to the last picture in the stack and can’t help but swoon. You set the stack down, covering the unfiltered pictures with the one of Hyunjae kissing you on your forehead while you were fast asleep.

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Christmas Morning (2)

Wanda X Natasha X Reader

Summary: Once the three of you eventually manage to get out of bed, it's time to open the presents, a small, velvety box with your name written on it waiting to be opened. 

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings/Tags: Pure Fluff, No smut. 

A/N: This is the second part to 'Christmas Morning'

Soft laughter filled the beautifully decorated living room as you all sat on the sofa together, your head resting against Natasha's shoulder as you watched Wanda go first to open all of her presents, a shy smile playing on her lips at the amount of them, your fingers playing with Natasha's absentmindedly.

"You shouldn't have gotten me so much..." She trails off, biting her lip as her gaze flickers over the abundance of wrapped up gifts, the Christmas themed wrapping being admired by the witch as she picks up her first present, her enticing green turning towards you both, smile still shy.

"Why? You deserve everything and more Malyshka," Natasha murmurs softly towards Wanda, creating a warmth to bubble in the witch's chest as she sits on the seat closer to the tree, her fingers itching to reveal the gift, a childish excitement brewing in her.

Once she met your loving gazes once more, she smiled at you a little more confidently now, her fingers delicately tearing away the strips of paper to discover what her gift was, a giggle leaving her lips at the gag gift that was in the box, the corner of your lips tugging up at the angelic noise.

"Really?" She chuckled out, her hands carefully pulling out the three stuffed toys that were in the box, her head shaking at most likely your antics as she revealed the three figures to you, Natasha's grin widening.

The redhead's gaze turned to your humoured one at the sight of the three of you in merchandise form, your avenger's title making it easy for you to find a funny gift like that to start the day off, your eyes drifting away from the alluring emerald to look over the soft figures once again, another laugh leaving you.

"They were just so cute, I couldn't resist," you reason, the witch looking at them with a soft, tender look, placing them down carefully on the sofa next to her and propping them up, a gentle expression taking over your face as you could tell she secretly loved them, the smile on her lips etched onto her face.

Wanda continued to unwrap her presents that yourself and the spy had bought from her, her smile growing wider and wider at each thoughtful gift, her red tendrils surrounding the wrapping paper that had made its way to the floor, gently floating them over to the rubbish bag you had gone to retrieve as you asked for her to wait before opening the last present from you and the spy.

Your gaze met Natasha's as you cuddled back into her side, her strong arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer, sensing your nerves as you waited for the witch to stop trying to figure out what her last gift was, the Russian's fingers tracing random patterns against your curves as watched the witch with you.

"Relax Krasotka, she'll love it," the Russian whispers at your ear, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to your temple to ease your nerves, her fingers interlocking with yours, knowing how you loved to trace over the smooth skin of her digits and caress her knuckles.

Both of you observed as Wanda eagerly pulled away the wrapping paper, a child-like innocence taking over her as she smiles widely in excitement, her green that were overflowing with curiosity softening, her gaze flickering to you after realising what the present was.

"I love it," Wanda whispers, honesty lacing her tone as her gaze is drawn back to the photo album of the three of you, various pictures making her heart melt as she flicks through the pages. One of her favourites is of one Natasha took of the three of you sprawled out on the same sofa somehow, your body squished in between theirs as the film played on in the background, your face clearly indicating how tired you were as you slept in the awkward position, the witch looking at you with nothing but love in her eyes. Another one of her favourites was a recent photo that you had taken of the witch and spy in the kitchen, Natasha's hands holding onto Wanda's hips as they swayed to the soft Christmas music that played, unaware of you snapping the intimate photo of them both gazing longingly at each other.

After carefully placing down the present, she swiftly made her way to the two of you to steal a chaste kiss, expressing her gratitude and appreciation for all the gifts you had gotten her, the three of you unable to stop smiling as Wanda took Natasha's place, the redhead going up to open her presents now.

You let Wanda decide to sit in between your legs, your arms snaking around her middle as you propped your head up on her shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before letting your gaze wander to Natasha who found her section of presents, her heart unable to deal with the amount of joy bubbling inside her. She never knew she could feel so loved as you both gazed at her softly, her smile growing a little wider at the sheer happiness swirling within her and enveloping her heart.

"Wait, open the card last," you intervene when she picks the small envelope up first, her brow raising at you curiously before she obliges in your request, placing down the white envelope on the side out of harms way before moving onto another gift, her mind focussing on the way you share a look with Wanda, assuming there was something special in the card.

Once Natasha had gotten through her other gifts, her favourite so far being the personalised knife set, she let her fingers slide over the soft material of the envelope, her gaze moving back to you two and the smile playing on your lips.

"Should I be scared?" The Russian teases, a smirk playing on her lips as you merely chuckle, shaking your head playfully at her while Wanda leans further into your embrace, her nose scrunching up in that adorable way.

"Just open it Dorogaya," Wanda huffs out in a laugh, the spy then opening the envelope to reveal an old polaroid.

"Is that..." Natasha trails off, various emotions swirling in her eyes as tears build there, her eyes raking over the vintage photo of a beautiful woman holding a baby with a wide smile on its face, her head snapping up to the two of you who have tender smiles on your face.

"Yes," Wanda whispers, not wanting to disrupt the moment as Natasha looks at the polaroid of her and her unknown mother, her heart squeezing in her chest at the amount of effort the two of you must have put in to find a photo of the woman Natasha longed to meet and know about. The redhead flips the image over to see words scribbled in Russian, her fingers trembling as she translates them in her mind.

Moya malenkaya devochka (My little girl), Natalia Alianova Romanova.

Ever so gently, Natasha places down the picture and rushes over to you two to pull you in for an embrace, Wanda moving carefully so that all three of you could hold one another, the spy sniffing a little at the overwhelming feelings flooding through her, your lips meeting her temple as you pull her into your lap, Wanda pressing another to her cheek.

"Merry Christmas Nat," you whisper to her, her lips instantly meeting yours intimately, her mouth parting to say sometime to you as she pulls back but refraining from doing so, not wanting to spoil what was to come.

"I love you both so much," she murmurs whilst kissing Wanda, the witch smiling knowingly at the passionate undertone to her words, the witch stealing the spy from your lap and letting her sit next to her, motioning for you to go up and grab your own presents.

Whilst Wanda was subtly comforting the spy, her lips at the shell of her ear whispering soft words, you moved to the tree, pulling out the array of boxes the two of them had gotten you. Like a child, you simply went for the biggest box first, eager to know what the present was as your fingers tugged and pulled hastily the wrapping paper off, Natasha chuckling under her breath as your tongue peeked out of your mouth, your face drawn up into concentration as didn't know if it was fragile or not, scared to break the gift.

A genuine laughter surrounded the room as you found out that it was indeed another gag gift, the smile playing on your lips eliciting one from the other two women as you pulled out the Christmas jumper with the two of them on it, your hands sliding over the soft fabric to reach the shoulders to hold it up properly, allowing yourself to get a proper view of it.

"This is perfect," you chuckle out, eyes drifting across the different patterns that adorned the jumper as well as the two Avengers on the front of it, another laugh escaping you when you read the writing engraved onto it. "Have a Wanda-ful Christmas," your tone humorous as you peeked from behind the jumper to see Wanda rolling her eyes at your amusement, Natasha laughing with you as she kissed the brunette's temple, smirking a little at the gift she found.

After you had admired the sweatshirt for long enough, you moved onto your next present, and the next and the next until you had unwrapped everything you had, a pile of thoughtful gifts surrounding you as you smiled at the two women, starting to move towards them for another hug when Natasha spoke, stopping you in your tracks.

"You've missed a present Krasotka," the spy says, an indecipherable tone lacing her words as you tilt your head in curiosity, looking back towards the tree and crouching a little, noticing a small, elegantly wrapped box hidden near the back of the tree. You chuckled at their teasing comments as you bent down to reach the gift, your smile tugging up at the corner of your lips at the amount of effort they put into getting you all of these presents, your heart melting in your chest at their enamoured gazes.

"You didn't need to get me this much, you both spoil me," you say with a gentle tone, eyes noticing how Natasha takes a hold on Wanda's hand delicately once again, their eyes meeting for a knowing look before returning to your figure stood by the tree, the two of them taking in the sight, wishing it engrave it in their memories.

"We'll always spoil you Detka," Wanda murmurs, watching as your fingers take a slower approach to unwrapping this present, curiosity and interest swirling in your eyes as you peel back the paper, revealing a small, velvety box, your eyes meeting theirs, a swarm of butterflies taking over your entire body, heart beating wildly in your chest as you admired the delicate box.

Almost timidly, you carefully opened the lid of the box, a gasp leaving you at the breath-taking sight of the ring. A diamond was placed in the middle of it, gold tendrils wrapping angelically around the jewel, the radiant item causing the pounding of your heart to reach your ears as you took in what this meant, your gaze flicking to the engraving of 'Krasotka' and 'Detka' inscribed on the inner part of the ring before reaching the writing written on the roof of the box.

There were two lines of writing, your eyes noting how the first one was in Russian and the second Sokovian, your fingers trembling as you held the box, eyes meeting the two sets of alluring green trained on you, observing your reaction carefully as you tried to guess what the words meant, too scared to jump to conclusions.

"What..." Your word was barely above a whisper, scared to speak too loud and disrupt the tranquil atmosphere, Wanda and Natasha both smiling at you softly.

"The vyidesh saa nas zamuzh?" Natasha says whilst Wanda says the same thing in Sokovian, tears building in your eyes from happiness as your smile widens, warmth and affection filling your chest as you can't stop your gaze from flickering between the ring and the two of them.

"Will you marry us?" Wanda translates, confirming your assumptions, your smile breaking into a wide grin before you rush to crash into their arms, love enveloping the three of you entirely.

"Yes," you say with no hesitation, their arms wrapping securely around you, your body sinking into the hug as you were left speechless at the amount of overwhelming emotions swirling inside you. Their pleasant perfumes invaded your nose at how close you were, their soft arms encasing you against them firmly, your lips blindly searching for one of theirs as you poured everything into the kiss, hands coming up to cup their cheek to deepen the kiss, your mouth then moving onto the other immediately, their hands at your waist squeezing with the intention as if to tell you that they meant the words, your mind unable to process the sheer joy inside you.

"Yes?" Natasha asked, unable to wipe the smile of her face as her chest was filled with love and warmth, her lips pressing over yours once more, unable to stop herself as Wanda pressed another one to your cheek, you being able to feel how the witch's lips were pulled into a wide smile, her nose scrunching up in that adorable manner.

"Yes, a million times yes," you sigh out, nuzzling into their comforting embraces, not sure on what to do about the overwhelming feelings fluttering inside you, the only thing you were sure on being your love for them.

The three of you watched in awe as Wanda slipped the ring out of the box, encouraging you to offer your hand out for her, the ring perfectly sliding onto your finger as you wiped away the stray tear of happiness that spilt down your cheek, a soft, breathy chuckle leaving you as you snuggled back into their soothing arms.

"Love isn't a strong enough word to describe how I feel about you both," you murmur softly, your head pressed against Natasha's shoulder as Wanda's arm glides up and down your back, her head resting on top of yours as she kisses Natasha softly, both of their hearts melting at your confession, Natasha's fingers caressing the back of your head, playing delicately with your hair.

"There isn't a word powerful enough that truly expresses the love we share," Wanda whispers, the three of you manoeuvring sightly to make it easier to cuddle, the three of you simply wanting to relish in the intimacy of the moment as your limbs tangled together, lips pressing ever so gently against one another, expressing your love silently as you sink into each other, the world around you melting away. You were left with only the lingering touches of tenderness and care as you longed to remember this moment forever, the love swirling inside you undeniable and all-consuming as you realised this was where you truly belonged.

You only ever needed each other. 

[ddarker-dreams]

a little fluff blurb for bladie from my google docs !! reader here is fem.

Blade almost took it personally when you failed to notice him. 

His presence in your room certainly stands out. Everything about him contradicts the soft pastel colors, abundant flora, and cute finishing touches. Nothing in the universe aside from your kitchenette registers. You hum along with the song playing in your ears, waiting for your tea’s timer to go off. 

He walked in when the countdown read five minutes. Presently, it’s at two. 

You’re wearing dangerously short pajama shorts and an old t-shirt, the band’s logo faded out from years in the wash. He’d considered making himself known, but watching you frolic about proved too tempting. You have your back turned toward him, entirely oblivious, stuck in a little world of your own making. 

Creepy as it may be, Blade considers it soothing to stare at you. Therapeutic, even. A way to unwind from the blood-filled jobs that beckon his mara out to play.

A wicked idea forms in his head. Going without you for so much as a day is enough to seriously dampen his mood. Normally, it’s his enemies that reap the consequences. He’ll miss their vitals just enough that they’re left to go into shock and bleed out, rather than a swift, merciful death. What can he say? It’s their fault for existing and cutting into his time with you. That’s on them.

He stalks over, movements akin to a mountain lion that’s located its unsuspecting prey. 

You’re lifting the teabag out a few moments early. He’s close enough to double as your shadow, the corners of his lips twitching upward from anticipation. 

The second your timer goes off, he strikes, large hands settling on either side of your hips. This unexpected contact earns immediate retaliation. You actually squeak, much to his surprise (and amusement). Your response doesn’t end there. From instinct, you twist your torso around, ready to ward off the threat. 

Maybe it’s because you have an object in your hand, or maybe it’s because your subconscious knows you’re in no real danger, but you don’t materialize your weapon. 

Instead, you try thwacking him with your dripping teabag. 

He easily catches your wrist, thwarting your assault. It takes you all of a millisecond to understand the situation. You use your free hand to slowly remove your in-ears. He can’t help it — your pinched-together eyebrows and scrunched-up nose makes him chuckle. This worsens his crimes from your perspective, which you make evident by a non-threatening glare. 

“Nice weapon,” he drawls. 

“Hey, that’s— that’s unfair,” you complain. “I wasn’t expecting an ambush.” 

Blade raises an eyebrow. “Is it an ambush if you expect it?” 

“Yes? No. Maybe. Quit looking at me like that, I didn’t sleep well last night.” 

“Mhm.” 

He plucks the teabag from your grasp and throws it away. Meanwhile, you remain frozen in time, only moving enough to cross your arms over your chest. The wrath you try directing his way is largely ineffective. Your miffed countenance is akin to a bunny scowling. 

“I was looking forward to your return, but I’ve since changed my mind.” 

“Mm.” 

He hoists you up onto the kitchenette’s countertop. The way the soft flesh of your thighs expands against the marble tempts him, but he knows he won’t be getting anything until your faux frustration is appeased. It won’t take much — or long. He just gazes into your pretty eyes, his bandaged hand cupping your face, the pad of his thumb massaging your cheekbone. You melt for him almost immediately. 

“Everything alright?” You ask, your arms finding their place around his neck. 

To Blade, everything’s more than ‘alright,’ because you’re here. Treating him with care he doesn’t deserve, and love he deserves even less. He used to worry he’d taint you, like clear waters turning opaque from filth. However, it’s as Kafka once said, likely pitying his lovelorn self. 

“Shouldn’t you let her decide that for herself?” 

For reasons genuinely beyond his comprehension, you decided he was worth the trouble. 

His gloved hand settles on your thigh. The irony of how he caresses you with the same hand responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of deaths isn't lost on him. Since regaining a semblance of consciousness, that's all he thought he was good for. Bloodshed and slaughter.

He observes how you shudder through lidded eyes.

You don't look at him as if he's a monster. You should, he often thinks, because he is. There's no sugarcoating the truth. He's become everything he once swore to eradicate. Mad, vengeful, immortal. A product of the Abundance's perversion of the lines separating life and death.

And yet, all those centuries, all that suffering led him to you.

You aren't the light at the end of the tunnel — you're light in its entirety.

Blade is greedy when he slots his lips against yours. He's greedy when he pulls you closer, his bandaged hand tilting your head up, allowing him to devour you with ease. Your scent, your taste, your little laugh at how unabashedly eager he is, everything blurs together and threatens to leave him breathless.

How can he pull away when your legs wrap around his waist? When you thread your hands through his hair, reciprocating his ardor like he's worth even an ounce of your affection? He isn't, he's nothing compared to you, a ghost of a man who can't cross over into the afterlife.

Sometimes, he no longer wants to. Not if you're on this side of eternity.

"Well?" You pull back a few inches from him to ask. As pretty as your smile is, he likes your lips best when they're against his. "You gonna answer my question?"

He furrows his eyebrows together and tries kissing you again. Talking about emotions in any context isn't his forte, you both know that. He's always preferred to express himself through actions than words. However, when you deny him the pleasure of your lips a second time, impatience coils inside his chest.

He huffs.

"The best," he deadpans. You roll your eyes yet laugh anyway.

"You almost pout more than I do," you tease. For this infraction, he gives your thigh a pinch, enjoying the feeling of your soft flesh a little too much. "I just worry, y'know? You become such a sourpuss when we're apart for any length of time."

You aren't wrong, but he'll keep that to himself.

“Okay, okay, stop glaring. C’mere.”

You don’t need to tell him twice. He takes you up on your offer the second you’ve finished making it.

Blade might not know how to tell you how much you mean to him, but that doesn’t mean he can show you.

[bigtreefest]

A Celebration Just For Us

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You want to celebrate Steve’s actual birthday, none of that 4th of July bs

Word count: 920

Content/warnings: essentially straight-up fluff, kissing, lotsa happy smiles, friend Bucky, time switching between past and present

A/N: This is thanks to the discussion of Steve’s actual birthday from @thezombieprostitute and @peyton-warren. I just love the thought of him having to keep it a secret because of a contract he signed a lifetime ago, only letting his closest family and friends in on it.

I’d love to hear what you think. More than happy to gush with you in response to comments, reblogs, or asks💗 thank you for reading

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

The lights were off and there were guards around the perimeter, ready to relocate any possible onlookers or overly curious paparazzi. Surely the abundance of cars parked outside the complex could’ve drawn attention, but no more than any other gathering, you were hoping. The curtains were drawn shut, tight as can be so no light could make it through, although there wasn’t much besides the flickering flames that lit up your face.

You were crouched over in the corner of the kitchen counter in your small apartment, further cozied by the dozen or so people who crammed into the small space, all here to celebrate your wonderful boyfriend, Steve Rogers as you used your lighter in a frenzy so the first candle wouldn’t melt before you finally reached the last one.

Once you first found out about it, you couldn’t help but bust out into laughter. Steve did his best to keep a straight face, telling you the story as you were leaning against him on the small couch in your apartment a few months after the two of you started dating.

“Steve, why? Just…why? Why did you agree, why did they make you do it in the first place?”

Steve let out a chuckle and threw his hands up in a shrug as he continued his explanation.

“It was in the contract! I just wanted to serve my country. I guess they thought it would drum up more patriotism? I had no problem faking it until the war was over, but I had no idea I’d be around this long. There’s no end to it. I’ve just gotta hide my real birthday from the public forever, however long that ends up being.”

You snuggled into his chest and giggled.

“Yeah, you have been around for awhile. But I’m so happy it led you here. Now you just get to have two celebrations. One that’s small and special, private, shared with friends, and the other that you share with the people.”

Steve smiled as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and squeezed around your waist, pulling you closer as you shuffled back into him.

“I’m gonna try and let it slide that you called me old because I love you, and I love the idea of my day being just for us.”

Bucky had come over earlier in the day to help you set up for the small party you were surprising Steve with. Tony and Nat had taken him out for a day in the city doing who knows what, but it gave the two of you plenty of time to decorate and prepare.

Just before guests started arriving, you were putting candles on the cake, only up to seventy-five.

“Buck, how the heck am I supposed to fit any more candles on this cake? I’m not even three-quarters of the way finished and I’m running out of room!”

Bucky looked over at you from his spot on the ladder where he was hanging streamers and smiled when he saw the cake. He was happy his friend had found someone amazing. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get along with you almost as well as Steve. He’d become a good friend over the year or so you’d been dating.

“Um…put the candles closer together? It’s definitely gonna mess up that frosting you worked so hard on, but I guess that’s the cost of celebrating old men like us.”

You smiled and shrugged as you continued on. “Yeah, that’s what it’s looking like it’s gonna be. You think he’ll be okay with that?”

Bucky nodded. “More than okay. He’ll love it.”

The combined flame from the hundred or so candles smushed side-by-side was hot on your smiling cheeks as you walked towards the grin being mirrored on Steve. Everyone around you was singing as you set the cake down in front of him on the counter, watching him finally take a deep breath and blow out the mound of wax that sat atop a cake specially baked in his favorite flavor. There was no red, white, and blue. No patriotism in sight. Just the pure celebration of a man who affected all of you as a person. An individual with an amazing, beautiful, selfless personality, separate from what everyone else in the world saw him as.

Steve wrapped an arm around your hip as smoke faintly rose from the extinguished candle lump and pulled you tight to his side. Your hand went to his hair, idly stroking through it as the friends surrounding you cheered.

“Wish for anything good, Stevie?”

He titled his head up to look at you, beaming with love and satisfaction.

“I know I’ll get made fun of for saying I have everything I could ever want right here, so yes. But I will also say, it’s not that far off.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him. He always knew just what to say. You leaned down to give him a peck before you heard a groan from behind you. It was Tony.

“Okay, love birds. We get it. Happy secret birthday, Rogers. Now hurry up and get your thousand candles outta here. It’s time for cake!”

You helped Steve to pull the candles off the cake, holding one out here and there for him to lick the frosting off. He hummed at the flavor, happy you knew him so well and that he knew there were many more special celebrations, just like this, to come.

Bonus A/N: hehehe, happy birthday Steve. Let the man be happy in the modern day. Cake actually sounds so good rn

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @mercurial-chuckles

[jackrabbit-fandom]

Boothill backstory spoilers, so if you dont wanna be spoiled scroll on

This is mostly comfort/fluff mabye tiny angst due to his backstory

Yes, it will include some relationship bits cause of course

Boothill, where his daughter survives, which, yes, i understand, would probably mean he doesn't become 'boothill', but let's pretend he does for the sake of the story. Also im goin with the name cherry for her cause i think its pretty cute

These kinda imply that it's been a few years between boothills' story and penacony

Edit: apparently the va names her clementine, which is adorable. I'll keep cherry in this one as it is but from now on she'll be clementine

Mabye he was able to save her, and in the process, his body got damaged bad enough that he had to replace it. In this situation, it would be more so because he was hurt so badly he nearly died but didn't wanna leave his daughter.

He'd likely want to keep her as safe as possible but still ended up becoming a space ranger anyway due to sharing the ideologies, but for the first few years of her life, he likely ether stays out of trouble as much as possible or has a safe house for her when he absolutely can not take her with him. On the missions where he does carry her along when she's fairly young, he's just got her attached to a baby sling on his chest. Though i dont see that being extremely common, he doesn't want to risk even a 0.0000000001% chance of her getting hurt

Imagine being intimidated by this cyborg man with a baby sling....anyway

Once she gets older, she's more steady with her walking, she's talking in full sentences, and finally, tall enough to reach his hip, hed likely start teaching her to use a gun.

It's a very serious moment due to how important he thinks it is for her to be able to defend herself when he can't be around. Hed likely has a target set up as he knelt behind her, helping her hold it and aim.

'Keep your breathing steady, don't close both eyes it puts your aim off, keep your elbows loose, respect the gun but don't fear it'

He knows he's going to have to get to work getting his revenge for the rest of his family, so he can't keep coddling her so teaching her to use a gun, or disarm someone and fight hand to hand becomes his top priority. That's not to say he over works her or forces her when she's tired, that's still his little girl, so when she's tired from training he makes sure she gets plenty of rest.

As much as being prepared is important, being well rested and happy is too.

On to more domestic and sweet ones, i donno if he'd have his own ship or just have some safe house on some random planet, but either way coming home to seeing his little girl happy healthy and alive is probably his favorite part of the day, the big bad gunslinger persona immediately melts away and he goes straight into silly annoying dad mode.

This means he has a million dad jokes to make poor cherrys eyes roll out of her head. Though I'd imagine she'd end up just like him, funny phrases, stupid jokes, and a bit of an attitude.

Once she's plenty old enough, say around 16 or so, and wants to go out on more dangerous missions with her dad, i think she would follow the path of abundance. Shed likely wants to protect others like her dad does, plus it's pretty helpful when your father is a cowboy who runs around getting into trouble. It does help put boothill at ease as well, seeing as she can heal herself if she gets hurt....as if he'd ever let that happen.

I'd think that for a while, he's more focused on his daughter rather than finding a partner, however were he to meet you at some point when cherry was fairly young one thing that would likely make him interested is you acting kindly towards her and cooing over her. Showing positive interest in his daughter is a pretty good way to get on his good side. Doesn't quite mean he'll trust you just yet. it just means you're on good terms with him.

I feel like he'd have to trust you pretty well before he lets you watch his daughter. She is his pride and joy, and his one most important person in his life. he almost lost her, and he won't risk someone trying to take her from him again.

However, once cherry is older and can, for the most part, care for herself without her papa watching over her, then hed show more interest. If you were there sense she was young and helped him care for her, he likely already started liking you early on but just didn't make a mood due to focusing on her. Due to you being closer to her in this situation, i can imagine her calling you her mom/dad/parent, too. Extra brownie points!

I imagine cherry being, like i said, like her dad. A bit goofy at times with weird phrases and a slight attitude, and growing up with his censor shed likely copy that too, yelling out "fudge!" When she stubs her toe. I can see her having an interest towards guns sense it was something her papa introduced her to it but also music. Hed likely have taught her guitar by this point so shed probably make up her own little songs and sing them to him (and you once you join the little family) and no matter if their bad or good hes always just happy to hear her sing with the biggest smile on his face, and you best be too.

Oh, and of course, shed get her own cowboy hat, but choose to keep stealing his anyway.

Overall, if she had survived, i imagine him being mostly the same, just with a little girl following him around.

If you liked the fic, feel free to give me requests around this au. I just need this motherfudger to be happy, please.

Edit: @legalize-arson gave me the name idea. I do not like not crediting

[the-kr8tor]

Heatwave

Feat: The cats 😺😻😾

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Synopsis: You and Hobie try to survive a record breaking heatwave.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, some miscommunication, FLUFF, lovestruck Hobie.

A continuation of this fic

My Masterlist

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

You groan loudly, as if it helps make the air cooler, but alas it doesn't work that way. It certainly doesn't help that the air-conditioning in your building completely fizzled out last night, resulting in you and Hobie waking up sweaty and grumpy.

You breathe heavily through the humidity, but the sweltering heat doesn't make it any easier.

The cats don't help too, especially that they're currently blocking the air flow from your single working fan. Crumpet,Teacup and Crowley lay sprawled across a cooling mat, Crowley looks back at you every minute or so, checking to see if you've melted into a puddle.

Teacup, the ever spoiled baby, mewls towards you, as if to say it's time for their hourly wipe of their paws with a cold damp cloth. She's lucky you love her. She's been relishing the attention lately, especially time spent with Hobie, you can't help but get jealous sometimes, this is what Hobie probably feels like with Crowley attached to your hip.

You reluctantly stand up, stretching to your full height, arms wide, you cringe at the sweat clinging to your back, arms, legs and clothes, it's safe to say you're covered in it. You grimace at how tacky your clothes feel on you, your tank top must look like an abstract painting from behind. You lick your lips in a futile attempt to keep them moist, feeling the cracks of skin underneath your tongue.

You grab the designated cloth to soak it in the sink, at the same time you open the fridge to grab another ice pack. Thank goodness you have a stock of them for whenever Hobie comes home bruised. You wish you don't have an abundance of it though, you hate it when Hobie gets hurt.

Teacup meows loudly, telling you to hurry up.

"Alright, alright! 'm coming, you big baby" not noticing your words slurring together. You lift up the cloth, wringing off the excess water.

You stride towards the cats, carefully patting the cloth on their paws, while checking their fur for any tangles. Making sure their water bowls aren't empty.

After rubbing their paws you move to pet Crumpet, moving your fingers on her head, and scratching behind her ear. She purrs under your touch.

You're concerned about Crumpet, she's a lot older than the other two, so you're taking more time to be more attentive towards her.

You rub her thick fur absentmindedly, the air from the fan blowing on your lashes. Your mind wanders back to Hobie, how is he faring in this temperature? Especially in his suit, you practically had to beg him to leave his leather vest at home.

"I always wear it, love, I don't feel complete without it"

"Yeah, I know for the aesthetic," you change your tone, you don't want to fight, "but damn it, just for today please, I don't want you getting heatstroke" you sigh at his stubbornness.

For added effect Crumpet meows at Hobie, backing you up.

Hobie sighs in defeat, "fine," he drops the vest haphazardly over your bed, you think he's mad.

He leans over kissing your cheek, it's too hot to give you a proper kiss, you curse at the temperature, depriving you of affection. "don't forget to drink water, yeah?"

"Mmhm, you too. Take breaks, okay?" you move to hug him, but you recoil your hands back, thinking the added heat might make him more agitated. Hobie thinks you're mad at him.

You wanted to convince him to leave his leather boots and wear his trainers instead, but it might've been all in vain, since he's already opening the window to swing away.

That was hours ago, you hope he's okay, and keeping hydrated. You wish he wasn't mad at you.

Putting the ice pack on your head, you lean against your sofa, watching the cats stay cool.

You zone out, not hearing the familiar thump of heavy boots.

Hobie thinks you're ignoring him, shit you look mad, your face scrunched up into a scowl, sweat dripping on your forehead.

He crosses the small distance, the cats lay sprawled on their mat, the only indication that they noticed him is their heads slightly following his movements, even Crowley refuses to scowl at him. It's hot even for the little hell spawn.

Hobie grabs the cool can inside his little plastic bag, it rustles, but you still haven't looked at him. Fuck he should've kissed you goodbye better.

You feel the cold can on your cheek, waking you up from your daze. You feel sluggish. Craning your neck towards Hobie, you give him a small smile.

"Hey, you're home, early" your eyes slightly glossy.

"Yeah, even villains are too hot to commit crime" he notices your eyes, "when did you last drink water?"

You grab the cold can of soda from his hands, your hands shake trying to open the lid. "Um, I'm about to drink now"

"Shit, sweetheart, that's not enough" he grabs the can from your hands, earning a small "hey" from you. "Let me get you some water, yeah?"

Hobie rushes towards the kitchen, shit how long have you last drank? You must've been too busy taking care of the cats that you forgot about yourself. He doesn't blame you though, those cats are your family. He should've checked in on you on one of his breaks.

Glass in hand, he webs himself towards the living room, so he can get to you faster. You hate it when Hobie leaves his webs inside, but he'll apologize and clean it up later.

Hobie brings the cold glass to your chapped lips, you empty it in a flash, water drips from your chin, he wipes it with his thumb.

"There, you're gonna feel better in a minute" he sighs when color comes back to your lips.

"Can I have the soda now?" You tilt your head prettily.

Hobie opens the can for you before giving it back, "lemme change and I'll get you another glass, yeah?" He rubs the sweat clinging on to your eyebrows, messing up the strands. He chuckles at your unruly brows.

"What's so funny?" You pout against the mouth of the can.

"Nothing" he pecks your forehead, ignoring the sweat. That kiss will have to do for now, he has to make up a lot of kisses for the lack of love he gave you that morning.

Hobie basically tears his suit off him, sweat clings inside, he should shower. He should also try and fix your aircon, but he doesn't want to leave your side, you were on the brink of heat stroke when he arrived, Hobie needs to watch over you till you're better, and the cats need attention too, he still hasn't won over Crowley yet. He's made it his personal mission since he met the rascal.

Crowley settles next to you, the fog clouding your mind slowly dissipating. You sigh with your eyes closed.

"Oi no sleeping" Hobie places another cold glass in your hands in exchange for the soda. He's now wearing an old band shirt that he's kept at your place. Hobie doesn't have shorts, so he just went for his boxers.

He sits next to you, with Crowley in between. Hobie stretched his legs in front of him, his toned legs in full display.

"Here," Hobie hands you a fresh cloth "nevermind c'mere" you happily lean towards him, "you need to take care of yourself too y'know" He dabs the cloth on your neck, drying it.

"I know," you sigh "I was just worried about the cats and you, it must've been hard being in that heat all day"

He hums too engrossed in wiping you dry. You take this as Hobie still being angry at you.

"Are you still mad at me?" You ask in a small voice. wringing your hands anxiously.

"What?" He stops his movements, "I thought you were the one who's angry" he grabs your hands, smoothing the skin with his thumbs, trying to calm your thoughts. "Why would I be mad?"

"Because of the vest thing" you look up at him through your lashes. "I thought, you might've looked at it like I'm trying to change you, I'm not, I like you just the way you are"

Crowley watches the scene with pensive eyes. Crumpet sneezes in her sleep, while teacup curls near Hobie's foot.

"I'm not mad about that, I understand you were looking out for me, and I was too bloody stubborn" he kisses each of your knuckles, his warm breath calms your nerves. You know he isn't good with his words, sometimes opting for showing what he means through his actions.

" 'm not mad either, I shouldn't have pushed you" you lay your head against the couch cushion.

"Nah, I want you to make me, you keep me in line, love. You're right I would've gotten heatstroke with it on" he softly lays your hands on Crowley, he returns to his previous action, wiping at the soft skin on your hip.

"Imagine, I fainted while swinging" he jokes but you glare at him.

"Not funny, Hobart"

"Now, you're mad" He chuckles as he moves the cloth over your nose.

"Augh!" You swat at the piece of wet cloth "that's disgusting!"

"It's your own sweat, lovey" Hobie smiles lopsidedly.

"Next time, wear your trainers instead of boots too?" You ask shyly.

"Alright, for you, yeah"

You nod, finally convincing him "you took care of yourself out there?" You cup his jaw, making circular patterns over his skin with your thumb.

"Yeah, took breaks, hydrated, can't say the same thing for you though"

"I know, I'll do better next time" you sigh, thumping your head on his shoulder.

"Oi" he shakes you with his shoulder "I still owe you that kiss"

You laugh, Crowley perks up at the sound "and I still owe you a hug"

"What are you waiting for? Come up here and get it" a smile creeping on the corner of his lips.

You lean up, head staying on his shoulder, Hobie does all the work, he cranes his neck down as he holds the back of your head, guiding you towards his lips. You sigh into his lips, ignoring the sweat forming on his upper lip.

You cling on to his shirt, slowly moving your arms around him, he kisses deeper.

By some sort of miracle the aircon comes to life, blowing much needed cold air into your flat. You both decide to ignore it, while you climb on his lap, so his neck wouldn't strain. He holds your back, anchoring you.

Crowley meows at the both of you trying to get your attention away from Hobie.

A/N: thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️❤️❤️

*picture above is from pinterest*

My requests are open! Check out my rules.

[esggs]

Obeisance to the Arrow - Noritoshi Kamo

#2 - The Ring Ceremony

[noritoshi kamo, 12 is engaged to his bride, 7. gojo satoru says hi.]

tw: forced marriage, child marriage (yes I'll age my characters up, let's have the angst for now), angst, Zenin clan being Zenin clan, noritoshi x reader, no use of 'y/n', fluff a bit, no smut.

#1 - Omiai #3 - Menarche

Growth happens sporadically. For example, you had not grown much in the first eight years of your life. Not much reason to, really. Your cursed technique became clear surprisingly early, at about 3 years of age, and since then you had lived the proper Zenin life. One of abundance, joy and familial love. If you said you wanted that cake, or that flower, or this or that, you had it in your hand immediately. Your father even talked about you being the clan head someday, impossible as it sounded to you. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t know anything about the flip side of it. Your dearest cousins Maki and Mai weren’t as special as you, you noticed. Nor was your mother as important as your father, in fact no aunty or grandma were as important as their husbands. But you were special. Surely you were.

There had been talks about your powers recently, before the Kamos visited you. Your family, the whole horde of them, would test you. It wasn’t very difficult. Curses would be brought out and you would have to use Distillation to choose the best cursed weapon to kill them. You would be shown a missing person report, you had to figure out where the person was. A funner game was the Maze Game, where Grandpa Naobito would leave you in a maze, or labyrinth, or anywhere you didn’t really know, and you would have to find your way out. Compared to school, this was actually more exciting to do. Especially the praise you would get afterwards from everyone. The prodigy of the family. The princess of the castle. 

You, idiot child you were, never really wondered how your family would react if you had happened to fail the tests. You never failed. You never disappointed. 

So it was quite sobering to be sitting in the Pit of Punishment after your attempt to run away. A failed attempt. You were disappointing both yourself and the Zenin clan. 

Naoya Zenin was lounging near the door, not actually letting the curses eat you – just enough to scare you. It was working. You were fucking terrified really, but somehow your cousin being there allowed you to not piss your pants. Naoya was a kind man. 

Mai. Mai come save me. Please. Nii-chan, please come, I can't move. Maki, mother, father, grandpa, please help me. someone, please, help me out.

“Really, little Zenin- oh, should I call you Kamo now?” He laughed. “Is this any way for a lady to behave?”

I’m 8, idiot. What lady are you talking about? 

Was it the ten minutes you spent in the pit, or the past two months of lady-training (as you called it), that made you grow up so fast? Somehow, after your marriage was fixed, handling tea-sets and cooking tamagoyaki became insanely important. But the worst was the lessons on womanly etiquette, on the ways of wifely manners, behaviours and duties. Unlike you, Maki and Mai were free to do as they liked, talk about being sorcerers and travelling to America. Not even they helped you, no one did. Hence came the plan Run-Away-From-Home. You got surprisingly far actually. Distillation was great for this: you could see every lapse in your home security, everything that you needed to carry, every route you should take. You had made it to the Kyoto train station before your family could get a hold of you. 

No longer were you a precious child, but you never really were, were you? You were nothing more than a lucky asset to have. The Zenin clan did not hesitate to earn the returns on you as soon as possible. Unfortunately soon. You are eight.

Naoya walks down the steps into the Pit where you lay curled in a foetal position and prods you with his finger. “Up, Kamo-chan” He grins, “Back to your chambers”. The curses melt away into the darkness. 

The days go by in a blur. Obedience, subservience, wifely duties, be agreeable, be quiet, be attentive, the domain of the kitchen and bedroom, marriage, husband, Noritoshi Kamo. You want to drive a machete through that man’s chest. He’s the cause of all this, yes, it’s all his fault. Now that your marriage has been fixed (and a bride price of 60 million yen wrestled from the Kamo clan) there isn’t actually any care or concern for your previously much praised cursed technique. When you think about it, it isn’t really great in any way, is it? Distillation allows the user to understand everything within the span of their eyesight. Every question answered, every mystery solved, the cloudy waters distilled – as long as you can see it. You suppose Sherlock Holmes would love this power, but you are fated to be a wife and mother, nothing more. Maybe it’ll help you find the broom closet faster. The days and months are all plagued by the same thing: Noritoshi Kamo.

—- 

Satoru Gojo walks about the lavishly decorated garden. Megumi would’ve liked the food, he muses, his stark white mop reflecting sunlight over the heads of the celebrating crowd. A Kamo-Zenin engagement, and all the festivities that came with it. Ah, the celebrations of higher-ups, nothing gets them happier than child marriage. Thank fuck I saved Megumi. He didn’t have much choice in attending this. As the Gojo clan head, there are some things you must do, regardless of personal feelings. To not rock the boat. To keep the status quo as it is. 

The ring ceremony is over, bride-to-be and groom-to-be having identical rings on their hands now, and they have retired back into the inner chambers of the Kamo estate. Blood Manipulation and Distillation? Satoru smiled, worth a visit. 

Satoru Gojo wasn’t expecting any resistance from anyone, because A. he’s Satoru Gojo and B. he wasn’t technically doing anything wrong per se, it’s just that people distrusted his movies meeting the young couple. For good measure, what if I teach the kids the concept of free will?

He found the two sitting by themselves on a veranda, apologising to each other about the marriage. Clearly, people were too busy merry-making to notice the runaway pair. Besides, where would they even run away to? There is nowhere to go. Satoru frowned. They’re too young to be behaving like this. 

“Ah, young love!” He happily startled the two with his sudden appearance, “Do you two turtle-doves have space for a dashing older brother like me?”

They did not return his wide grin and wider arms. Satoru watched as recognition clicked onto both their faces (your father had shown you two a picture of Satoru Gojo and told you to avoid him). The Kamo boy, a lean young man of 12, got up slowly and bowed to him, welcoming him with such formal words. The Zenin bride, a literal child of maybe 8, nodded her head, trying to quickly hide her tears. She said nothing, seemingly hiding behind her brand-new fiancé. 

Satoru laughed at the sight. One day I’ll grind down these motherfucking old ass clans who do this shit to kids, I swear to myself. “Scared of me, little brat?” The poor child, look at her. “Aren’t you the sorcerer with the immense Distillation technique?” 

You glance up at him, eyes still watery. Gojo Satoru is startling to look at. Shocking white hair, a full head taller than most people, blindfolded in broad daylight, the palest skin on his handsome features. And his abounding cursed energy, it stuns (and maybe scares) you. The blindfold doesn’t stop much, his gaze can be felt searing into your skin. There is nothing you can do. Helpless, pitiful, sold like sheep by your own family. And yet– 

“Immense?” 

“Aren’t you the one with all the answers? A prophet of sorts, no?”

What? In all your life, you had never thought of things like that– Could you? Were you?

“Her technique is brilliant, Gojo-sama.” Noritoshi lends a hand. “The way I understand it, a bit like your Six Eyes, yes?”

And before you could remember your wifely training, you found yourself contesting him. “Not really, the Six Eyes help him see, in the physical sense. I understand things that aren’t there really. For example, Gojo-sama can see me through my wataboshi, I am certain, but I can see Gojo-sama’s thoughts on this wedding.” Despite everything, you can't not be you.

Satoru claps his hands together, “Perfect explanation, even though that was a bit creepy” He laughs. “Can you really hear my thoughts?” 

“I’m not sure”

“Try–”

Cursed Technique: Distillation

The crowds outside suddenly falls quiet, so do the other two in your room. There is no movement, no sound, no thought except for yours. Satoru Gojo’s formal shirt is from Junya Watanabe’s recent Summer Collection. His molars hurt because he ate too much daifuku at the dessert station. He disapproves of your marriage, but this is a hill that he cannot die on. He’s had some meaty ginger chicken packed from lunch for his adopted son, Megumi Fushiguro. He thinks Noritoshi is too tall and too mature for his age. He truly is impressed to see your technique. He thinks this is all nonsense, and that you are a child, and that you should enjoy your youth to the fullest as a young girl, not as a wife. He promises that no matter what, he will arrange for you to attend Jujutsu Tech School. 

—--

Satoru Gojo left soon after. After a long time, you saw hope in your future.

#3 - Menarche

pics:

sftish_

2. anime screencap

[A/N: honestly i recently binged the whole manga, i cant cross chapter 210 ish, a beloved character of mine seems to face imminent death, im just not ready for it. plus im procrastinating on an assignment, a viva voce test, 300+ pages of reading and a research project due this month, so have at my random burst of energy

do lemme know if u like it, or if i can make any changes? like chapter's too long, or my writing is a bit unclear, id love to hear feedback :)) ]

[m3hgumi]

— pop a coke

pairing: fushiguro megumi x f!reader

genre: fluff, mutual pining

summary: the calm and collected megumi freaks out internally (and unintentionally, externally) after he accidentally drinks from your soda can. the end result? even better.

word count: 890

arms wrapped around your figure, you laid in megumi's chest under the tree near the dorms. the canopy sourcing from the abundant of leaves that covered the branches shaded the two of you from the blazing sun of the weekend's noon. in the distance further away, you saw nobara chasing yuuji for reasons unclear to you, and panda trying to break up their fight, but as a result also becoming a target to her current rage. you chuckled at their playful antics, sending a sense of enjoyment to megumi’s heart. he fought a smile to his face, bringing his chin down to feel your hair under his face, hoping the others weren’t looking in his direction. he wasn’t one for pda, but every so often he isn’t afraid to show his love for you around others, given that fact that none of his classmates and upperclassmen were watching anyway.

next to both of you were two sandwiches neatly wrapped in aluminum foil per megumi’s effort and two cans of coca cola from the school’s vending machine to go along with your food. finally, a batch of cookies were covered with tissues to maintain their freshness. your hand moved towards the sandwiches, handing one to megumi. you took a bite into the remaining sandwich, indulging in the synergy of multiple ingredients within your meal, leaving a smile of satisfaction on your face. megumi also smiled in agreement, shifting the hold of his sandwich to one hand and bringing a finger of his empty one towards your hair, wrapping itself in its strands. his fingers continued to fiddle with your hair, which were responded with quiet chuckles.

once his fingers were untangled from your hair, he took a second to process his need to quench the thirst lingering in his throat. it had been pretty hot that day, as it was still late into summer, so it was no wonder that his body requested for fluids to cool down. his hand involuntarily reached for his soda can, which was already opened from when you had brought out the sandwiches. feeling the melting icy water drip from the can onto his palm, he picked it up and drew it closer to his mouth, gulping down several, but small sips.

just as the coldness of the tin grazed his upper lip, a familiar scent was detected. his nostrils filled with the smell of mint, not one from an edible, but a flavor of some sort. immediately retracting the can away from his face, he spotted a colorless smudge hinted with sparks of glitter near the can opening. his eyes widened in shock as he put the two together as realized what he had done.

it was your lip gloss. that was your soda can.

somewhere in his head, he could hear the annoying incessant voice of gojo saying that’s an indirect kiss!

his face heated up from the embarrassment; a physical sign of this emerging as his cheeks (and not long after his whole face) reddened. his emerald eyes quickly turned towards you, staring off into the distance, paying no heed to his current dilemma. quickly, he tried to calm himself down, figuring it was for the best you didn’t know. it’s a secret he could never live down himself anyways.

“megumi are you okay? your face looks really red. is it getting too hot for you?”

his body jolted from suddenly hearing your voice. he could see the questioning glance on your face, making him even more embarrassed than before. there was no way for him to hide from you now. nonetheless he still tried to put up a front.

“no, i just choked on the soda from drinking really fast. i’m alright though.”

great lying megumi. if it couldn’t be anymore obvious. until you saw right through him.

“wait, is that my soda can?” you had realized what just happened, and now it was your turn to start getting red, turning your cute weekend picnic date into a heated blushing competition. megumi could only nod slightly before sinking deeper into the endless abyss of embarrassment.

“can i have it back?”

you were the one who started the conversation after moments of awkwardness. it hadn’t been that long since you two started dating. about a month and a couple days to be exact. while you two were very much in love, shown in your display of affection towards one another, kissing wasn’t really something either of you had considered yet-

“yeah sorry about that, here you go” megumi replies, handing you the cola can as you chuckle at his reddened face. you didn’t think he’d be so guilty about it, very cute of him. and you know exactly how to get back at him for it.

“y’know, you could’ve asked for a real kiss if you wanted one.” you mentioned before quickly giving him a peck on his cheek.

megumi was caught off guard, but a sense of giddiness bubbled in him feeling the stickiness of the lip gloss remaining on you face touching the side of his. he would not admit it to you or anyone really, but he liked it a lot.

he could’ve continued relishing this very adoring interaction, until he noticed nobara and yuji, who had seen the entire event unfold, staring from afar.

now he was really embarrassed.

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