#it was impossible for me to fall in love with

[lyriclight]

"refusing to acknowledge this is disrespectful not just to Katara's character, but all the real life women and girls forced into similar roles who see themselves in Katara."

THANK YOU. Thank you!!

For me, a personal reason I am uncomfortable with Kata/ang is because I've been in a situation just like that, in the role of Katara. Voluntary "mom friend," yet somehow one of the boys I was 'meant to be taking care of' kept trying to pursue me while maintaining this dynamic. Blergh. (Given, I'm nonbinary, but the person who was Aang in this situation didn't respect that)

I've had other friends who went through a similar thing too, in varying fashions. What we see in canon with Katara, which is that she has an undeniable maternal trait, but everyone except for Zuko just goes along with it and doesn't attempt to help her.

Boys who think they deserve to be waited on/doted upon by the girl, just because she's the girl. (Early Sokka, and even Sokka later on because he didn't help cook or anything/Aang)

Boys who think they can ask and take over and over again and don't understand why it's wrong, even when the girl explains it.

Worse, when he makes the girl feel like it's her fault for his disappointment. When her lack of consent is viewed, by him, as a problem.

We can make it even worse! Like I said earlier, with what I went through, we could even say that Aang was trying to pursue a romantic relationship with someone who he still expected to act motherly to him! (Invasion kiss → the rest of season 3, where it is not shown that he makes any effort to help Katara with the cooking or organizing, or basically shift their dynamic in any other way)

How is this ship okay with anyone? Okay I'm getting a little of topic now. Ahem

Ignoring some of Katara's traits and highlighting others just to fit her into a ship is awful. Especially when it's traits/a ship that take away her autonomy as a character and treat her as a prize in the narrative. She's a fighter. She takes care of the gaang and has a great responsibility, and she does it well! Even if it's hard. Kata/ang waters her down (no pun intended) and skips over—maybe even undoes—parts of her arc, leading the finale kiss to feel out of place, shallow, and a slap in the face to anybody who's ever been in Katara's place.

So then what ship completes her arc, without skipping over parts of her personality? I think we know the answer to that.

Katara and the “Mom Friend” Trope

Both in-universe and among fans, Katara has always been identified as the “mom friend.” While often used as a joke, the trope does reveal a deeper and more tragic aspect of Katara’s character: the way the war has forced her to grow up quickly and take on a parental role at a young age.

This is a frequently misunderstood part of Katara’s character, despite it being central to her arc. Since the show first aired, Katara has been the butt of many jokes and has always been one of the most hated characters by fans. From tasteless jokes about how she talks about the loss of her mother too much to accusations of being too emotional and bossy, Katara’s character has always been under attack by fans.

In past years, and still in certain parts of the internet, this behavior was blatant, but lately I’ve noticed a more subtle spin on this. As it becomes slightly less socially acceptable to say blatantly misogynistic things about female characters—particularly here on tumblr—I’ve noticed fans express the same negative sentiments about Katara, but dressed up to appear more progressive. The most common way I see this sentiment expressed is fans downplaying Katara’s role as “team mom” and trying to make it seem as if Katara is less mature and responsible than she really is.

Of course, these individuals would have you believe that their reasoning for these opinions is that they really care so much about Katara and want to “let her be a kid.” But in reality, when you ignore the way that Katara is forced into a parental role in canon, you also ignore and disregard the context for many of her character traits, leading into the accusations of her being bossy and overly emotional that I mentioned earlier. It erases, and therefore minimizes, a huge source of stress and trauma that weighs on Katara throughout the series.

The idea that Katara fans created the concept of her being a “mom friend” is ridiculous. This is mentioned so much in canon that it’s practically a running joke. Toph accuses Katara of acting like everyone’s mom in The Chase. A similar conflict arises again in The Runaway, when Sokka even admits that he thinks of Katara as a mother figure, despite him being her older brother.

Katara seems pretty hurt by this too, and it’s still never properly addressed again.

In The Headband, Katara actually pretends to be Aang’s mother.

And looking at everything we know about Katara, it’s very clear how she assumed this role. Think about what she says in the exposition of the entire show:

Katara: Ever since mom died, I've been doing all the work around camp while you've been off playing soldier! I even wash all the clothes! Have you ever smelled your dirty socks?

The moment Katara is introduced, the audience is given a critical piece of information about Katara—that she’s lost her mother and essentially assumed her role. While Sokka is more or less playing and occasionally hunting (we hardly ever see him do this in canon by the way), Katara is doing the overlooked, underappreciated labor that keeps everything moving. There is a great post here by @theotterpenguin that details this and the inherent misogyny in devaluing the kind of work Katara does, and how many fans tend to do this.

This trend continues throughout the course of the show. Katara is always the voice of reason who keeps things moving. She reigns in Sokka and Aang, who are constantly getting themselves into trouble.

There are countless examples, but to name a few:

As early as The Warriors of Kyoshi, she’s trying to get Aang to behave and not endanger himself to look cool. And having him mouth off when she gently suggests that he help with a minor chore.

In The Storm, Katara warns Sokka not to take a risky job, which he ignores and nearly gets himself killed.

In The Blue Spirit, Katara is trying the whole time to do something productive via Momo, remaining vigilant despite the sickness wearing her down.

In The Chase, being the one to politely ask Toph to help out, and honestly doing a pretty good job of keeping her cool as long as she did.

The entirety of The Desert episode. While everyone else was drugged up, hopeless, and even outright hostile, Katara kept everything moving and saved everyone’s lives.

Whenever Aang goes into the Avatar State, it’s always Katara tasked with calming him down, despite how dangerous and volatile the Avatar State is when not properly controlled.

Additionally, there are so many small details that add to this picture. Katara is always the one we see getting food, preparing food, doing chores, everything of that nature. Everyone else would be completely lost without her.

And sadly, this is something never properly addressed by the narrative nor acknowledged by fans. There is a great post here by @ecoterrorist-katara explaining the tragedy in this. Katara is constantly burdened with the responsibility of keeping everything moving and doing the invisible labor that is never appreciated but keeps everyone moving, which is the reason why she’s viewed as being in a maternal role. Because that’s what she very clearly is to her friends.

This really wasn’t meant to be a ship related post, but it is kind of the elephant in the room here. I know a lot of the motivation in downplaying Katara’s “mom friend” role stems from shipping discourse, in particular, the hatred of the idea of Katara and Zuko acting as team parents. Some people associate Momtara as a Zutara trope and as a result, relentlessly bash it as they do anything even tangentially related to Zutara. But did you ever consider why it’s a Zutara trope? Because a lot of fans recognize everything I mentioned previously, and enjoy the idea of someone helping to share that responsibility. Sokka, Aang, and Toph clearly didn’t, so that leaves…guess who.

Zuko: You should get some rest. We'll be there in a few hours. You'll need all your strength.

It’s tiring seeing this trend from people who clearly don’t care about Katara or her character. Sure, you might try to act like you’re downplaying Katara’s maternal role and how a huge part of her canon character was the war forcing her to assume that role out of “wanting her to be a kid” but you really aren’t that different from more blatantly misogynistic fans who call her immature and annoying. You don’t recognize or respect the work she’s constantly putting in to protect those around her, and then you have the audacity to get mad at fans of Katara who actually like the idea of someone taking some of that burden off of her shoulders?

Same Katara hate, different font. She is forced into this material role, and refusing to acknowledge this is disrespectful not just to Katara’s character, but all the real life women and girls forced into similar roles who see themselves in Katara.

[fangdokja]

They’re not heroes. They’re your tormentors, and you’ll love every second of it.

❤︎ Synopsis. Four men, each consumed by a darkness that binds them to you, will stop at nothing to claim your soul. In their world, love is a twisted cage, and you’re the captive—lost in a nightmare where escape is impossible and desire is the cruelest torment.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. The Game of Surrender - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 4,707

♡ TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, suggestive themes, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological + emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, Stockholm Syndrome

♡ Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.

♡ A/N. Not me not knowing fully who these characters are. So... not sure if I did this right hahaha. It's too early to judge the unreleased characters but oh well. And, I did put this into my usual style... idk adjskaskd Take this like a brief hypothesis, I suppose. I am thinking on getting back to Genshin and HSR... maybe. Probably not though. Idk. Anyways, I personally thought I cooked with this. Just not sure with personalities askadsdakldsm

♡ Mr. Reca.

"Every thought you have, every breath you take, is a scene in my film—my masterpiece. And don't worry, darling, I'll make sure you never forget your lines. Not even when you're screaming them in your sleep."

The universe had always been a canvas to him—a vast, writhing tapestry of chaos and order, the kind of unpredictable beauty that Mr. Reca found utterly magnetic. He had always been a collector of moments, a Memokeeper who consumed emotions, gestures, and unguarded thoughts with the same fervor a drowning man gulps air.

But you—oh, you—you were not just another fleeting spark in the vast night of existence.

You were an anomaly, a glitch in the dreamscape, a hauntingly real smear of imperfection across his perfectly constructed illusions. And so, he watched you, studied you, devoured the fragile lines of your every expression. It wasn’t obsession, not at first. It was curiosity, a scientist’s hunger for understanding. But curiosity, as it often does, rotted into something far darker.

It began subtly. At first, you didn’t even realize you were his subject. The assistant frog—so innocuous, its mechanical chirps like a child’s toy—hovered too long in your presence. That thing recorded the barest twitch of your lips, the dilation of your pupils when you dreamt, the cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought.

He played those recordings back again and again, crafting you into the centerpiece of his mind’s latest film, a work of art that no audience but him would ever see. Each flicker of your gaze, each half-whispered syllable, was dissected with a surgeon’s precision and woven into the dream bubble of his fantasies.

You had not agreed to this, of course. You would not have, had you known. But consent had never mattered much to Mr. Reca, not when reality itself could be edited, overwritten, and reshaped to suit his narrative.

He didn’t fall in love with you in the way mortals understood love.

No, it was something far more grotesque. You were not his equal. You were not even human, not to him.

You were a role to be perfected, an actress bound to his script. And he—he was the director, the puppeteer pulling the strings of your existence with a touch so light, so surgical, that you didn’t notice your autonomy dissolving until it was too late.

He didn’t approach you like an ordinary man. Ordinary men didn’t cloak their words in riddles, their intentions in shadows.

“Your dreams are fascinating,” he said once, his tone light but his eyes dark, predatory. “I could make a masterpiece from them. Would you let me?”

His gaze burned into you, not with affection, but with hunger—the kind of hunger that consumes, destroys, leaves nothing but ash in its wake.

When you hesitated, when you stammered out a polite refusal, his smile curved sharp and cruel. “Ah, but do you really have a choice?”

You didn’t, of course.

The dream bubbles began soon after. Vivid, horrifyingly real landscapes where you were no longer yourself but a marionette dancing to his whims.

The first time you woke screaming, trembling from the phantom pain of dream wounds, he was there. He shouldn’t have been—your door had been locked—but there he was, sitting on the edge of your bed with his head tilted and that damned frog-camera clutched in his gloved hands.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, as if you were a specimen under glass. “You feel it, don’t you? The fear, the thrill, the pain. Tell me, how does it taste?”

In bed, he is not a lover. He is a creator, and you are his medium.

His touch is clinical at first, cold and calculated, his gloved fingers trailing down your spine as if mapping the curve of your body for a sculpture he plans to carve later.

But there is heat beneath that coldness, a violent, consuming fire that erupts when he lets himself indulge. He does not make love. He takes. He presses you into the mattress as if trying to merge you with it, his weight oppressive, suffocating. His hands grip your wrists too tightly, leaving bruises like the ink stains of his artistry. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low murmur that mixes poetry with threats, promises with lies.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his tone too calm for the frenzy of his movements. “The way your body betrays you? The way it obeys me, even when your mind doesn’t want to?”

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, and the sharp pain that follows is not accidental. “I could keep you here forever,” he says, his voice thick with sadistic delight. “Inside the dream, inside me. Would you even know the difference? Would you even care?”

You would care, of course.

You fight him, or at least you try. But he’s relentless, unyielding, a force of nature that smothers your resistance with sheer willpower. He doesn’t let you hide from him, not even in the sanctuary of your own mind.

His powers as a Memokeeper ensure that every thought, every secret, every fleeting desire you’ve ever tried to bury is laid bare before him. He uses them against you, weaving them into the narrative of his control.

“You want this,” he says, his voice a velvet knife. “You want me. Your body knows it, even if your mind refuses to admit it.”

His lips trail down your throat, his teeth leaving marks that will linger for days, physical proof of his dominance. “And when I’m done with you, when there’s nothing left of you but what I’ve created, you’ll thank me. You’ll beg me to keep you.”

The horror of it all is that he doesn’t just break you physically. He breaks your mind, piece by fragile piece, until you can no longer tell where the dream ends and reality begins. His dream bubbles seep into your waking hours, twisting your perception until even the memories of your resistance feel like fabrications.

He tells you that you’re his muse, his masterpiece, his greatest work. And despite the revulsion, the terror, some part of you begins to believe him.

Because how could someone so brilliant, so meticulous, be wrong?

And yet, in the darkest corners of your mind, you know the truth.

You are not his muse.

You are his victim, a living doll trapped in the nightmare of his creation.

But no one will ever hear your screams.

He’s made sure of that.

After all, reality itself is just another film to him, and he’s already written your final scene.

♡ Mydei.

"You belong to me, just as I am bound to this blood-soaked fate. No one will ever take you from me, not in this life, not in the next. I’ll carve my name into your soul, and you’ll learn to love it, even if it takes a thousand deaths."

It begins as a hum in the back of his throat, a low vibration that settles into his chest like the resonance of a beast stirring in its lair. He watches you, not from afar, but from the corner of your vision, where his shadow seems to stretch and curve unnaturally—always larger, always darker than the dim light allows. His gaze is not mere sight; it’s weight, pressure, suffocation. He sees the tremor in your fingers as you pour water into a glass. He catalogues the way your breaths hitch when his footsteps echo closer, closer still.

And when he speaks, his voice is a razor dragged slowly, deliberately, across raw nerves. “You’re trembling,” he says, though there’s no concern in his tone.

It’s an observation, clinical yet laced with something sharper, something akin to hunger.

He doesn’t touch you yet, but the proximity is suffocating—his presence a noose tightening with every passing second. His breath brushes your ear as he leans closer. “Are you afraid of me?”

You flinch but say nothing, and he chuckles. It’s low and guttural, almost amused, but there’s an edge of cruelty there, a promise that he’ll savor every inch of your fear.

He feeds on it, you realize, and the thought sends a chill racing down your spine. “You should be,” he murmurs, the words dripping like venom. “Fear keeps you alive… but not from me. Never from me.”

He lies, of course.

The predator in him is far too obvious, a wolf cloaked in something barely resembling humanity. He doesn’t see you as prey to consume in haste.

No, he sees you as a possession—a rare, precious thing to break slowly, to shatter and rebuild in his image. He thrives on control, on the knowledge that every shiver, every gasp, every cry is something he owns, something he’s dragged out of you inch by agonizing inch.

When he finally touches you, it’s with the precision of a surgeon dissecting his subject. Fingers glide over your skin like scalpels, drawing phantom lines where his teeth will follow, where his hands will linger. There’s no tenderness in the way he grips your wrist, the bruising force of his palm a warning, a declaration.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to understand: you’re his.

The room is suffused with a kind of tension that seems alive, thrumming in the air like an electrical charge waiting to snap. His lips curl into something that might resemble a smile if not for the sheer malice in it.

“You can fight,” he says, voice as smooth and cold as glass, “but we both know how this ends.”

And then he moves, swift as a predator pouncing, pinning you against the unyielding surface of the wall.

The impact drives the air from your lungs, and before you can catch your breath, he’s there—everywhere. The heat of his body seeps into yours, the solidity of him a cage that leaves no room for escape. His hands are firm, unrelenting, roaming with a kind of obsessive thoroughness that feels both maddening and humiliating. He maps every inch of your body as if it’s a territory to be conquered, claimed.

The words he whispers into your ear are sharp, biting things, designed to slice through your defenses. “Do you know how easy it would be?” he breathes, his voice a silken thread woven with danger.

“To tear you apart. To ruin you so thoroughly you wouldn’t even recognize yourself. And you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you? By the time I’m done, you won’t want to remember what it felt like to be whole without me.”

His grip tightens, and you can feel the latent strength in his hands, the power that could snap bone without effort.

And yet he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He revels in the anticipation, in the way your body reacts—fear mingled with something darker, something you refuse to name. The way your breath catches, the way your pulse races beneath his fingers… it’s a symphony to him, a melody of submission he’s determined to conduct to its crescendo.

When he finally takes you, it’s not an act of love—it’s an act of dominance, of ownership.

His movements are deliberate, almost cruel in their precision, each thrust a reminder of who holds the reins. He doesn’t allow you to close your eyes, doesn’t let you escape into the safety of darkness.

No, he demands your gaze, demands that you see him, that you acknowledge the monster who has reduced you to this trembling, gasping wreck. And when you do—when your eyes meet his, wide and glassy with tears—he smiles. Not with joy, but with triumph, with the satisfaction of a hunter who has cornered his prey.

His words during these moments are a mix of degradation and adoration, a twisted litany that leaves no doubt of his intentions. “You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath searing like a brand. “Every breath, every scream, every drop of blood in your veins—it all belongs to me.”

And yet, even as he tears you apart, there’s an undeniable allure in his madness, a magnetic pull that keeps you rooted to the spot even as every instinct screams at you to run.

Because beneath the cruelty, beneath the overwhelming force of his obsession, there’s a flicker of something more—a need so desperate it borders on pathetic, a craving for connection that he can’t voice but demands nonetheless.

When it’s over, he doesn’t release you.

His arms remain locked around you, a vice that refuses to loosen. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged, his body still trembling with the aftermath.

And in that moment, you realize the truth of it: he doesn’t break you because he hates you. He breaks you because he loves you, because the thought of you existing without him is unbearable.

But love, for him, is not soft or kind. It is a blade, honed to a deadly edge, and he wields it without mercy.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, and it’s not a question.

It’s a command, a promise, a threat.

“You’ll stay because there’s nowhere else for you to go. No one else who could ever understand you the way I do. And if you try to leave…” His voice trails off, but the unspoken consequence hangs heavy in the air, a silent vow etched in blood.

You nod, because what else can you do?

And as he tightens his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple in a mockery of a kiss, you feel the full weight of your reality settle over you.

There is no escape. There never was.

And in the dark recesses of your mind, a small, terrified part of you wonders if you’ll ever want to leave at all.

♡ Anaxa.

"You think you can escape my mind, but you're already tangled in my thoughts—your every breath, every movement, is an echo of me. You belong to me, and I will never let you forget that."

The air around him was always cold, as if reality itself recoiled in his presence, drawing its warmth into the void of his indifference. Anaxa moved like an unfinished thought, fragmented, deliberate, yet ever disquieting.

You felt his shadow linger before you saw him, a chilling weight that settled on your skin like frost, sinking into the marrow of your bones. His eyes—one bared to the world, the other concealed beneath the eyepatch—were an unforgiving tapestry of contradictions: icy intellect simmering beneath the calm veneer, an endless labyrinth of thoughts that spiraled toward madness.

He whispered your name like a sacrament and a curse. Each syllable, spoken in that low, velvety cadence of his, seemed to unravel you, a knife peeling back every layer of resolve.

"You think knowledge can shield you," he murmured one night, his breath as cold and intimate as the edge of a scalpel. "But even wisdom has limits. I’ve seen them. I’ve transcended them." He would circle you like a predator savoring the hunt, his movements calculated, his proximity suffocating.

Anaxa was not a man who shattered the soul through brute force.

No, his torment was subtle—a slow dismantling, piece by piece, until you became something unrecognizable to even yourself.

You didn’t notice how he had claimed your life until it was too late. The quiet manipulation seeped in like poison—so gradual, so insidious, you mistook it for safety. Every book you touched, every whisper of thought you dared to express, every step you took outside the prison he called your sanctuary…all of it traced back to him. You'd look up from a page of text only to find him leaning in the doorway, a slight smile curling his lips, the sort that spoke of secrets too profound and too damning to voice.

"You have such a beautiful mind," he'd say, his gloved fingers brushing the side of your neck in a touch that was almost reverent.

"It’s wasted on anyone else. They’ll never understand you—not like I do." The words were honeyed, dripping with a sincerity so intoxicating you almost believed it.

Almost.

Until you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your trembling hands, on the ink smudges on your skin, on the way you recoiled yet stayed rooted in place. He liked the way fear made you fragile, and though you hated him for it, you hated yourself more for the flicker of thrill that bloomed in your chest.

Anaxa didn’t need chains to hold you down; his words alone were shackles. His intelligence was a web, intricate and all-encompassing, and you were the fly ensnared at its center.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he whispered once, late into the night when the room was too quiet and his voice was too close. "But I will, if it’s the only way to make you stay."

And you knew he meant it—not as a threat, but as a promise, a truth spoken with the same certainty as an immutable law of the universe.

The moments of intimacy—if one could call them that—were no less haunting.

His touch was clinical, precise, like a scientist studying a fragile specimen. He knew where to press, where to hold, where to carve into your soul with a calculated cruelty that left you yearning and dreading in equal measure.

His lips on your skin felt like frostbite, burning cold yet addictively sharp. His hands, those hands that wielded intellect like a blade, seemed to map every inch of you with the precision of a scholar dissecting sacred scripture.

"You’re beautiful," he would say, the words an oxymoron of tenderness and possession.

"Beautiful because you’re broken. Broken because you’re mine." He traced the curve of your throat with a gloved fingertip, lingering on the places where your pulse betrayed your terror.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could peel back the layers of flesh and bone to reach the essence of you. "Do you know what the Titans whispered to me in my dreams?" he asked once, his voice a mix of wonder and madness.

"They said I’d find divinity in ruin. And here you are."

The nights were the worst.

In the darkness, you felt him even when you didn’t see him.

The weight of his presence pressed against you, suffocating, inescapable. His words would echo in your mind, winding through your thoughts like a parasite. He’d appear at your bedside, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of moonlight.

"You should sleep," he’d murmur, though his tone carried no warmth. "You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow, we’ll unravel the secrets of the cosmos. Together."

And though you tried to resist, you found yourself clinging to the edges of his words, desperate for the clarity he promised, even as it led you deeper into his labyrinth.

When he finally claimed you, it was an act of calculated brutality disguised as love.

Every kiss felt like a conquest, every caress a branding. He whispered to you like a poet reciting his magnum opus, his voice soft yet unyielding, every syllable carrying the weight of his obsession.

"You belong to me," he said, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pinned you beneath him. "Not just your body. Your mind. Your soul. Everything. No one else is worthy—not even you."

And as his touch became more demanding, more consuming, you realized that he wasn’t just unraveling you. He was recreating you, piece by piece, reshaping you into something that existed solely for him.

And though every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, a small, treacherous part of you wondered if this was love—or if it was something far darker, something that transcended the bounds of human understanding.

"You’ll never leave me," he said, his voice a blend of certainty and desperation as his lips ghosted over your trembling skin.

"Even if you try, even if you run…I’ll always find you. You’re the only constant in my chaos, the only light in my darkness. And I will burn the stars themselves before I let that light fade."

And so, you lay there in the cold embrace of his obsession, trapped between terror and desire, caught in the orbit of a man who would dismantle the heavens just to keep you by his side.

♡ Phainon.

"Every strike I make, every victory I win—it’s all for you. So don't be afraid when you see the blood. It's just a little sacrifice to remind you: you're mine, and I will burn this world to the ground before I let you go."

The moments he craves most are the quiet ones when the two of you are entirely alone, but tonight, silence isn’t kind.

It’s oppressive, weighted by the looming presence of the man before you—the Deliverer, the Nameless Hero, a man who wears the name Phainon like an armor of light.

Yet beneath that golden radiance, a storm of obsession churns, relentless and unyielding.

He stands over you, the faint luminescence of his ichor-stained veins pulsing faintly in the dim, cold air of the temple chamber. You can feel his gaze before you see it—heavy, glinting with something raw and unspeakable.

His voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is soft but unshakable, carrying the weight of a promise that makes your blood run cold.

“You don’t understand, do you? You’ve never understood.” A smile curls at the edge of his lips, serene yet terrifying. “I don’t want to save the world, not anymore. I want to save you. Every step I’ve taken, every blow I’ve struck, has always been for you.”

His claymore rests at his side, its edge gleaming faintly with an unsettling crimson, dried remnants of the battle from earlier still clinging to the blade.

He hasn’t cleaned it.

He hasn’t even sheathed it.

The weapon is as much a part of him as the air he breathes.

You can’t help but wonder if the blood that stains it belongs to someone you knew, someone who once stood too close to you for his liking.

He takes a step closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing like the toll of a funeral bell.

You back away instinctively, but there’s no escape.

His pace is slow, deliberate. He knows exactly how far he needs to push you before your resolve shatters.

“Run if you want to,” he murmurs, his tone almost gentle. “I won’t stop you. But you’ll come back. You always do.”

There’s no malice in his words, only certainty—a chilling, inescapable truth that wraps around your throat like a noose.

His hands are stained too.

Not visibly, not this time, but you can feel it in the way he reaches for you.

Fingers meant for wielding destruction now hover over your cheek, trembling slightly with restraint.

You flinch, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost human—almost.

“You’re afraid of me,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear as he leans closer.

“And I... I hate that. I hate that you make me this way. But I hate it even more when you’re far from me.”

When his lips press against yours, it isn’t a kiss—it’s a conquest.

His desperation seeps into you like venom, intoxicating and suffocating all at once. He tastes like metal and fury, his ichor burning faintly where his tongue grazes yours. His touch isn’t tender; it’s possessive, frantic, like he’s trying to carve his existence into your very bones.

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “You’re mine,” he growls against your lips, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous timbre. “Say it.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

And that’s when his patience snaps.

His grip tightens, dragging you against him until there’s no space left between your bodies. The heat of him is overwhelming, a furnace of ichor and madness that threatens to consume you whole. His other hand presses against the small of your back, forcing you to arch into him as he lowers his head to your neck.

His breath is hot against your skin, and when he speaks again, it’s a guttural rasp that makes your stomach twist. “You don’t understand how far I’d go for you. What I’d destroy. Who I’d become.”

He sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark—a brand, a reminder of his claim. You cry out, and he exhales sharply, almost like he’s savoring the sound.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? You’ll scream for me, cry for me... but you’ll never leave.”

And he’s right, isn’t he?

Because even now, as fear and anger coil in your chest like a viper, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

His presence is suffocating, his obsession terrifying—but there’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the sun in a world of endless night, that makes it impossible to resist him entirely.

It’s sick.

It’s wrong.

But it’s real.

Phainon knows it too.

He knows you better than you know yourself, and that knowledge is his greatest weapon.

He wields it with precision, unraveling you piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the parts of you that belong to him.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “You’ll always stay. Because no one else can have you. Not the Titans, not the Trailblazer... not even yourself.”

When he finally pulls away, his eyes lock onto yours, glowing faintly with the golden ichor that courses through his veins. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about him in this moment, a tragic god draped in shadows. He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s just solved.

“You’re mine,” he says again, softer this time. “And I’m yours. Whether you like it or not.”

And you believe him.

────────────

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General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay

———

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[bloodstainedsapphic]

your quick footsteps slow to a crawl in the snow from last night's flurry. the blanket of white dampens your boots and muffles the impact. you come to a stop next to your favorite auburnette, also up bright and early—and equally grouchy about it.

"hey," you mutter a greeting, eyeing ellie's figure, but her attention is locked on the zipper of her green jacket.

"hey." it comes out as a low grunt as she irritably yanks at the zipper, clearly snagged on something.

"need help?"

"no, i got it—"

you don't wait, stepping into ellie's space so your nimble fingers can wrestle it for her. ellie lets her hands fall to her sides, fists clenched tightly, cherry color blossoming on her cheeks. the tense air between you is so thick that she can't bring herself to look at you. instead, the wood paneling of the nearest building suddenly becomes the most fascinating thing she's ever seen.

a few seconds of tugging and angling the zipper in several impossible directions later, you hit the sweet spot that allows you to glide it smoothly to the top with one final pull, properly shielding ellie from the frosty weather.

"there," you say softly, reluctantly letting your hands drop away.

ellie's eyes remain stubbornly skyward, but she replies with a sheepish, "thanks."

you don't step away, though, as this unexpectedly charged closeness presents the perfect opportunity to ask the real hard-hitting question.

"why have you been ignoring me?"

ellie's green eyes widen into saucers, panic stiffening her entire body. it's true. she has been avoiding you—going from spending every day together to ducking out of every room you enter for weeks or forcing her attention on everyone besides you during group hangouts. the abrupt change has been eating away at you. despite her attitude having more bite than the surrounding chill, you miss her, so you won't let her blow you off any longer. ellie realizes it too.

"seems like you've been busy," she grumbles.

you blink. "busy? with what?"

ellie can't resist the temptation to admit the truth, just hoping to get the words out in a way that doesn't sound too bitter.

"with zoey."

"z—zoey?" you ask, thrown off by the mention of a new friend you've barely hung out with. you practically gawk at ellie, mentally trying to paint a picture of whatever the hell has been going on inside her head.

ellie picks up on your disbelief, fidgeting as she realizes she at least owes you an attempt at a plausible explanation.

"zoey," she repeats, the name sour on her tongue. "i've seen you hanging around her a lot, i guess. saw her take you out to practice shooting, didn't wanna like, get in the way or anything," ellie's voice wavers as she digs herself further into a hole with every word.

ellie's trying to make avoiding you over a new friend sound believable, but it's weak. she knows it. ellie also knows it's unfair to you and feels the weight of guilt knowing how much her absence has affected you. what she won't admit is how much she misses you, how much the space affected her too.

you tilt your head, trying to understand. the silence stretches on for far too long for ellie's rapid heartbeat beneath her now-snug jacket.

"she taught me some, i guess," you agree, oblivious to the implications.

"well, like... i could show you how to shoot, too," ellie suggests tentatively, aware that she's leaning into the patheticness now. her gaze, once stuck in the sky, suddenly drops to the ground, glued to the toe of her sneaker, tracing circles into the skiff of snow.

you scoff at this new, flustered side of her, glancing around as if to say, 'is anyone hearing this?' ellie is always deeper than the front she puts up, but this is different.

"ellie, if you wanted to join, i'd love that—"

"or just us. easier to focus that way—" ellie butts in, grasping flimsily for excuses. how inconspicuous.

you start to see through the cracks in her demeanor. it's always been clear to anyone—aside from you, apparently. ellie can't understand why you're upset with her avoidance, and you can't pick up on the source of her frustration. loser lesbians doing their thing.

"oh, okay, um—" you scramble for a solution.

"don't worry, you've probably got a lot of practice with her, i'm guessing," ellie starts to brush off the idea before you can reject it, but you interrupt her.

"but. i want you to show me, ellie," you insist earnestly, shutting down her assumptions and giving ellie the opening she's been yearning for. she thankfully gets it, meeting your gaze for more than a millisecond.

"you sure?"

"yeah. like, really sure."

for a moment, ellie stares, a faint flicker of something you can't quite name lighting up her expression. then, finally, she subtly nods, stuffing her hands deep into her pockets. she looks a little less like she wants to run away and more like the frigid distance between you is starting to melt.

"okay," she says, her voice almost shy. "cool."

[helen-with-an-a]

Waking Up

Thank you so much for this request anon - I would love to write some more soft/non-smut fluff for my favourite girls so please let me know of some ideas.

This is the answer to the 1st part of this ask (waking up on a day off); the answer to the question Do Ale and Amor ever try to hide their relationship is here.

Beautiful Girl masterlist

Alexia Putellas x reader

Description: R and Ale wake up on an off day

Word Count: 2.6k

Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, dust mites dancing in the cool morning air as you woke. The golden beams of light stretched across the floor, warming the wooden planks and casting long, playful shadows. The soft, translucent curtain fluttered gently with each whisper of the breeze. The sky beyond the window was a soft, pastel blue, with a few wispy clouds lazily drifting by. A vase of wildflowers on the windowsill caught the light, their petals glowing in hues of lavender and yellow. The intricate pattern of the quilt spread over the bed mirrored the soft, dappled sunlight, and the faint scent of jasmine from the neighbours below carried into the room. The occasional chirp of a bird punctuated the serene stillness.

You peeked over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of tousled brown roots that fanned out across the pillow, a few stray strands tickling your neck. The sight made you smile softly as you shifted, savouring the steady rise and fall of her chest pressed against your back. Her breath, slow and even, stirred the hair at the nape of your neck, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Just as you sank deeper into her embrace, Alexia's arm tightened subconsciously, her fingers flexing against your waist. The slight pressure sent a surge of warmth through you, drawing you impossibly closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Her leg curled slightly over yours, letting her warmth seep into you It was as if the world outside had ceased to exist; there was no rush, no sound, only the sanctuary of her arms and the steady, soothing rhythm of her breathing against your back.

Falling back asleep was easy. The soft light filtering through the curtains painted the room in a warm glow. For once, there were no pressing alarms, no meetings or hurried schedules looming over your morning. The world outside could wait, muffled and distant as if time itself had chosen to pause for you. It was just you and Alexia.

The gentle rise and fall of her breathing created a lullaby, one that called you to let go and sink deeper into rest. You could feel the faint press of her lips at the back of your neck and it made your chest swell with a warmth that felt almost sacred. You had never experienced this level of love before. This type of all-consuming peace that radiated across every part of you.

The quiet, unhurried intimacy was a luxury you rarely afforded yourself. In this moment, surrounded by the soft rustling of the sheets and the comfort of Alexia, everything else fell away. There was no rush, no lingering list of tasks waiting to pull you from this haven. Just the shared, gentle rhythm of two bodies at ease, cradled in the silence of a morning meant just for you both.

You woke again to the distant, jarring sound of cars blaring outside, their insistent honks and rumbling engines cutting through the morning stillness. A groan escaped your lips, a low, frustrated sound as sleep slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingertips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to cling to the remnants of the dream you could no longer remember, willing sleep to pull you back under its gentle spell. But with each passing second, the chaotic city sounds pressed harder against the thin veil of calm, and you knew it was useless.

You sighed, a deep, resigned exhale that released the tension knotting in your chest. But as the annoyance began to settle, you became more aware of the warmth wrapped around you. Alexia’s arm still rested across your waist, her hand relaxed and fingers slightly curled. She had fallen asleep holding you, and it brought a smile to your lips to see that she had refused to let go even in dreams.

There were definitely worse ways to wake up on an off day than protected in Alexia’s embrace, her body moulding perfectly to yours as if it were made to fit. The outside world might roar, but here, wrapped in her arms, it felt irrelevant.

You shifted slightly, rolling your shoulders and arching your back to stretch out the kinks that had formed overnight. The sheets rustled softly, the faint sound blending with the morning hum outside. A sleepy groan came from behind you, followed by a murmur as Alexia stirred. “Deja de moverte,” she muttered, her voice thick with sleep, the words half-lost in the drowsy slur of her accent. The soft command made you smile, knowing she was somewhere in that delicious space between dreams and waking.

“Sorry, beautiful girl,” you whispered. You squeezed her hand, where it rested over your waist, your fingers entwining gently in an unspoken apology. You shuffled back a little, pressing yourself into her, feeling the solid line of her body with a contented sigh.

“Dormir,” she announced, the word barely more than a puff of breath as she inhaled sharply, the intake tickling the fine hairs at the nape of your neck. The moment hung in the air, suspended between wakefulness and sleep, as she nestled her face deeper against you, her nose brushing your skin. You could feel the heat of her lips pressed lightly to your shoulder; a fleeting touch that made your chest tighten with affection.

“Sí, baby. Go back to sleep,” you murmured, letting your voice dip low and soft, an invitation for peace to settle over her again. The steady, familiar rhythm of her breathing slowed, and you felt her muscles relax, her body sinking against yours in complete trust. You let yourself fall back into the quiet, content to lie there in the warmth of Alexia’s embrace.

You may have dozed off again, though it was hard to tell. The line between sleep and wakefulness blurred as you lay there. Either way, it didn’t matter. You felt thoroughly relaxed, you had the love of your life wrapped around you and nothing to do today. The room held a stillness that felt sacred, a break from the hurricane that had swept you both up for far too long.

This was what you needed – what both of you needed. Alexia had been going non-stop for months, caught up in a relentless cycle of training, travel, and the never-ending demands. You could see it in the deepening shadows under her eyes, in the way her laughter had become a little less frequent, a little more strained. And you weren’t doing much better. The telltale signs were there in the way your muscles ached as soon as you woke up, the dull throb in your temples after not enough sleep. You knew it all too well – the physical toll your body endured and the mental strain that bit away at the edges.

A day spent in bed, wrapped up together, was just what the doctor ordered. No alarms, no calls, no one pulling you away from this small slice of serenity. Just the two of you, tucked away from the world, with nothing to do but exist. You shifted slightly, the feel of Alexia’s arm tightening instinctively around your waist as she murmured something incoherent, still fast asleep. It brought a soft smile to your lips, knowing she was letting herself rest for once.

As you lay there, feeling her warmth seeping into you, the tension in your body. Muscles unwinding in a way they hadn’t in weeks. Wrapped up in a mix of coconut and vanilla, the world didn't seem too bad. With Alexia next to you, you alway felt unstoppable. Whether it was on the pitch, in the gym, meeting fans or simply going to the shops, with her by your side, you always felt able to do anything. Her presence alone was enough to make you feel like you were capable.

You felt Alexia stir behind you, her body shifting as she began to wake. A sharp intake of breath brushed warmly against your shoulder, followed by the familiar, comforting pressure of her arm tightening around your waist once again. It was the unmistakable sign that she was returning from the hazy world of dreams, rejoining you in the quiet late morning.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, the sound deep and contented, resonating against your skin. “Bon dia, amor meu” she whispered, her voice still rough with sleep. The words were accompanied by the soft press of her lips, fluttering kisses along your bare shoulder, each one a gentle wake-up call.

“Bon dia, my beautiful girl,” you murmured back, your own smile taking shape as you turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her face. Her eyes were still heavy, dark lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks as she blinked slowly. The way she looked at you, with a quiet warmth and an unguarded fondness, made your heart swell.

You felt her hand shift, sliding up your stomach with a familiar, lazy grace. Her fingers found their way to rest on your breast, palm pressing gently against your skin. Her thumb stroked absentmindedly over your skin, tracing slow, soothing patterns that made you feel cherished and completely seen in a way that no one else ever had. You let out a small, contented sigh as you settled back into her embrace, arching into her hand ever so slightly.

“Mmmm-w-what time is it?” Alexia asked, her voice still laced with sleep. She nuzzled closer, her breath a warm tickle against your skin as she spoke.

“I have no idea,” you replied happily, chuckling at the idea that for once, you truly had no concept of time. It could have been 6 am or 3pm and you honestly wouldn't have known. And the truth was, you couldn’t have cared less about the time, even if you tried. The rest of the world felt a million miles away, irrelevant compared to this perfect, unhurried moment. You loved this side of Alexia – the side that only you were privileged enough to see. The sleepy, vulnerable version of her who let the day start at its own pace, who tangled her legs with yours and wrapped herself around you.

You loved every side of her, of course. The fierce, determined athlete who moved with a grace that made it seem effortless, the focused leader who inspired others without trying, the thoughtful partner who remembered the smallest details that made you smile. But this was different. This was Ale, the woman who woke up with bedhead that turned into an adorable mess of brown and blonde and whose voice was still scratchy from sleep. The woman who sometimes blinked at you with a soft, sleepy smile before she even opened her eyes fully. This was your beautiful girl.

It was in these moments that you fell in love with her a little bit more every day. The little things – the way she murmured your name when she stirred, the way she let her fingers drift absentmindedly along your skin, the way her incoherent words made you giggle at how endearing she was. You turned your head slightly, enough to catch her gaze, hazel eyes tender affection that made your heart stutter. She smiled, languid and genuine.

“It’s an off day,” Alexia mumbled, her voice still husky as she shifted slightly and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your jaw. The softness of her lips, the way they brushed your skin made you close your eyes for a moment, savouring the feeling.

“That it is,” you murmured, a small smile curving your lips as you reached up, your fingers finding their way into her hair. You began to scratch lightly at her scalp, your nails grazing her skin with the practised ease that always made her melt. You felt her exhale, a soft, contented sigh against your neck, her body pressing impossibly closer as if she could fuse herself to you if she tried hard enough.

“We have no plans,” she continued, her words slow and deliberate. There was a note of relief in her voice, subtle but undeniable. The outside world could wait – the endless cycle of training, travel, and obligations held no claim over you today. Today was yours.

“That we don’t,” you echoed, your voice soft and steady. The realisation sank deeper into you, a warm glow spreading through your chest.

“Bien,” she whispered, the word slipping out in a satisfied breath.

You turned your head just enough to catch her eyes, their dark depths still soft with sleep. The morning light cast a gentle glow across her features, catching on the curve of her cheek and the loose strands of hair that framed her face. "Sí, muy bien." You smiled.

The minutes ticked by uncounted. This was more than enough; it was everything.

[fishnapple]

How will they protect the relationship

(lover/partner/future spouse) - Channelled message

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost

Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

GROUP 1

Sometimes, I fear that you will get used to our relationship to the point of boredom, that our relationship will become just a habit, a routine that you do everyday, mechanically, without enthusiasm or passion. That fear crept in my mind, taking roots, and there will be moments when I let it grow and poke its branches out. Imaginary scenarios swirl in my mind, threatening to spiral out of control.

But I will snap out of it in no time. I'm a master at bringing myself out of the dark, I'm a good runner, running in the night long enough, and you're bound to see the sun rise again. I will try to look at myself first, from an objective lens, to find where I can change, what baggage I need to get rid of. Then I will look at our relationship, I will find a way to lift it up, make it exciting again. Do you like puzzles? Do you like sculpting? Would you like to try a new recipe? Let's forget for a moment all our adult responsibilities and be free. To be excited teenagers again, falling in love for the first time again. I will write you love letters full of typos, sending you half-baked cakes and cringy T-shirts, you will laugh and you will join me.

I do notice that there are some people around us, people who shouldn't come that close, who shouldn't be there at all. They don't understand the concept of respecting other people's boundaries. They will try to turn a blind eye to our commitment, pretend that it doesn't exist. Blatantly coming in without knocking, thinking that they can just take you away from me and me from you. They think that their tactics are subtle enough, that in time, they can corrode our bond. Little touches here and there, the gaze, the "innocent" banters. I can see them all, I will try to put a distance between me and them, so I hope you will do that too, I also hope that you will patiently listen to me when I warn you of those people. Yes, sometimes you will have to call me a possessive person. I just want to shut out everyone dare to threaten us, to find a place where only us exist. But that's impossible, I know, so the best I can do is tell them off as clear as possible, trying to show that we're together, there's no space between us. Let them be jealous, we just need to focus on us and walk away, hand in hand.

GROUP 2

I know we have a lot of unspoken words stuck inside. The silence between can sometimes grow to such a suffocating weight, pushing us down, deeper and deeper into our own abyss.

We both will be so uncertain of our future together, where will we go, is there a place strong enough to shelter us, are we strong enough? We hope for the same things, we are so alike, even our fears are alike, and I don't know whether to be happy or sad about this.

Our bond will be tested numerous times. There will be a time when we've almost given up, but fate or whatever higher powers are at play here, will bring us back together, anew and ready to try again. I wasn't a spiritual person, but by being with you, being in this relationship, I began to believe in something intangible, in the unknown, it scared me, but all I can do is to move forward, with you, and that's where our fears begin. We move forward together, into the unknown future that holds no concrete promise.

Then I realised we've forgotten to remember where we've put our wishes in, what we've wished for. If we can just remember, then there's no point in worrying. I will give you a hint: it's a wish that spans from the past to the future. We felt like we've known each other for a long time when we first met, and I believe we will be in each other's lives for the far future to see. That belief alone is enough for me to feel brave. And I will sit down, take out my pens and notebook, and begin to scribble down the plan, the path for us, give voice to the stuck words inside, air them out. I will show you that plan and tell you to not worry about the future, instead just focus on this current life in front of us, we got this, believe in us.

GROUP 3

Sometimes, I think that we are two pieces of puzzles fit perfectly together. If not, then there's no way to explain how you have everything I lack, and I, in turn, have an abundance of things that you don't. We have our fair share of issues that alone, we seem to lack the strength to tackle them, but together, they seem so silly and easy. You can be the wind and I will be the pipes, you can be the water and I will be the pump. Now that sounds silly, but you get my gist. There will be times when you cry, I will be there, holding you close and being the cool headed one to make logical decisions. There will be times when I'm so down, you will be there, holding me close and being the soft pillow that raises my head up.

There will be problems, from inside and outside, but I believe we can weather them all. The problems will mainly come from the place of insecurities and misunderstanding. People's words can be cutting and unintentionally hurtful, sometimes intentionally. They sow the seeds of doubts inside our minds. But let's believe in the visions of ourselves and of each other. We see ourselves best. We will sit down, talk it all out, there's no barrier between us. I'm proud of our direct and open way of communicating. I can always count on us to be rational and discuss things until we can reach a solution. Yes, there might be tears and angry voices here and there, but they are the minority and will go away quickly. We're too sure of our commitment and ourselves to let those bother us for too long.

Whatever action needed to be taken, it would be taken swiftly. If it's required of me to be cutting something, somebody out of our life, I will do it, no hesitation. Because I trust in our judgement. And if it's required to move, I will move. I'm afraid distance will be our biggest hurdle. But we will find a way to be closer. Many things will need to be changed, our jobs, our homes. But we won't fear changes. Because changes will bring us to a better future.

GROUP 4

I want to prepare you beforehand, our relationship will be scrutinised by a lot of people. It's not like we are celebrities or anything. Why do they have to care so much? I honestly don't know and don't care either. Our bond just attracts a lot of jealousy and objections. The idea of us together will piss people off. They want something, a fixed future for us, they expect it, but then they have to watch a totally different outcome, surprises, surprises.

Particularly those who have authority over us, they're supposed to be the wise guidance, the benevolent power that can protect us, but they will turn their backs on us, worse, they will turn their sneering gaze and contemptuous words on us. That can't be helped, I guess, we're the rebels, we go against their rules and expectations. I know you will want our bond to be blessed by those around us, I want it too, but reality is something we will have to face. At first, we may even have to hide our love, it's frustrating.

Don't worry, I will be strong for us, you won't even have to fight anything, just let me take care of it. I have enough strength to do that. Don't picture the image of me making a foray against them like a bull thrusting its horn angrily. I have enough wit not to do that, just like how I've charmed you with my words, I can do it too, to other people, the people who are against us. If it doesn't work, then I will just be my best, showing them how much of a good life I'm having with you. In the end, I just don't really care. We have our love and that's enough. We can always move away, to a better place. You will be surprised just how much freedom we do have.

[storiesoflilies]

warning: nsfw, 18+, mdni.

thinking about toji fushiguro and the way he loves to press warm kisses just behind your ear, his lips trailing slowly to the back of your neck, and all the way down your spine. his arms are caging you in, and his body blankets yours, his heat and weight overwhelming you in the most delicious way possible, because he’s just so fucking big and he’s on top of you and it all just feels so good.

you can try and bury your face deeper into the pillow to try and hide how much you love all this, but toji would see right through you.

because god, he always knows exactly what he’s doing, he always has. nobody else knows you better, after all. nobody else knows what makes you tick, or just how to tease you so much that it makes your skin flush and you forget how to even breathe.

he slides his hand over yours, rough and impossibly warm. “why’r you hiding from me, pretty thing?”

but you can’t say anything at all.

all you can do is let out an exceptionally embarrassing whine.

toji chuckles lowly, and you can feel his lips pull back in a smirk, his breath hot against your lower back. your skin gets all clammy, and you tense up as goosebumps flare up on your arms and legs.

you know that he loves this.

he loves teasing you and riling you up so badly that your practically melting into your wrinkled bedsheets, begging him for more and more, because you feel that you’ll die if you don’t get that sweet release from him right there and then.

toji hums.

“oh, i wonder what my baby wants from me.”

and then his fingers are gliding over the curve of your ass, going round and round in circles, each time getting closer to where you need him the most. you let out a muffled moan, pathetically biting down hard on the pillow. his lips are back behind your ear, biting and nipping at your soft lobe.

toji wants to give everything to you, he wants to give you his all and make you feel all sorts of pleasure.

but he also loves this too.

the power.

“use your words.”

his voice is raspy, cooing at you and making your brain go dumb for everything except him and his touch.

“c’mon, sweetheart.”

he brushes against your sweet spot. it’s such a featherlight touch, but you’re so sensitive and desperate for it that it feels more like a cosmic explosion. stars dance behind your closed lids, and you can’t help but moan again as a searing heat pools to your lower belly. you know toji wants you to beg, he’s waiting for it, but it’s so hard to think and string together words in a coherent sentence when you’re so consumed by him.

but eventually, you will give into him.

because you always do.

“please,” you finally pleaded, broken and breathless and utterly desperate. “toji, please.”

and something in him snaps.

before you can say another word, a calloused palm finds your jaw and tilts your head backwards for him to claim your lips in a hot, needy kiss. a hand roughly slides underneath you, flipping you over before you can even register what’s happening. you let out a gasp, but toji swallows it whole as his lips captures yours again, his tongue slipping between your lips and dancing over your tongue.

“you gonna let me take care of you, baby?” he groans between kisses, settling himself more firmly between your legs.

“y-yeah,” you stutter weakly, your lips tingling and probably bruised.

then, you feel it.

his cock.

it’s hard and thick, scorchingly hot as toji begins to grind himself against your needy hole. even now, he just can’t stop teasing you, still wanting you to absolutely fall apart beneath him where you’re all safe and warm. and with every shallow thrust, he slips in just a fraction deeper.

and deeper.

and deeper.

just a little more.

you moan as he finally sinks into you, and it’s absolutely filthy – the way you’re just so full, stretched to your limit, and it’s still mind-blowing every time, no matter how many times he’s had you.

“that’s it,” toji groans, a hint of satisfaction in his all too smug voice.

he gives out a deep, guttural moan as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, and you can feel every ridge of muscle and power building up behind him. your nails instinctively dig into his bicep, anchoring yourself against something – anything – and toji’s forehead drops down to touch yours. his green eyes bore into you, and at first it’s full of adoration, reverence even. until he grips your thigh, pulling it around his waist, and they turn a shade darker when you let out a broken cry of his name at the new sensation.

“yeah, baby. say my name again. let me hear you.”

and with a snap of his hips, he rolls into you with the most obscene plap! plap! plap! noises filling the room. toji’s pace is relentless as he absolutely drills into you, like he wants to push a part of himself to live inside you forever. you know he’ll do it, he’ll spend all night trying if he has to, determined to leave the both of you in a trembling mess of love and spent ecstasy.

you know that you’re in for a very long night.

©storiesoflilies 2025, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[lotuswish]

what loving you feels like to them [pt. 2 - savanclaw]

featured character(s): leona kingscholar, ruggie bucchi, jack howl.

summary: ever wondered what it feels like for each twisted wonderland boy to fall in love with you? this series uncovers their feelings, influenced by their personalities, experiences, and desires. follow me to catch the next part!

cw: none.

a/n: what loving you feels like to them might occasionally use the same words—like “grounding,” “growth,” or “freedom”—but those words mean something a little different for each of them. it might sound familiar, but it’s still their own! :)

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─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𖥸 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

leona kingscolar

loving you feels like a storm to leona kingscholar—wild, consuming, and impossible to ignore. it’s not soft or gentle; it’s raw and powerful, shaking the foundation of the walls he’s spent his life building. leona has always been a man who distances himself, resigned to the shadows cast by others’ expectations and his own bitterness. yet, loving you feels like being dragged into the sunlight, where he can’t hide from how deeply and fiercely he cares.

for someone as proud and guarded as leona, love feels like vulnerability, and vulnerability feels like weakness—something he’s spent years despising. but with you, it’s different. it’s infuriating at first, how you manage to slip past his defenses, see through his sharp words and careless demeanor to the soul beneath. it frustrates him because you make him care when he’s tried so hard not to, when he’s convinced himself it’s better to want nothing than to risk losing it all. yet, at the same time, it’s impossible for him to resist you. your presence becomes the one thing he craves, a rare oasis that cuts through the arid emptiness of his cynicism, bringing a sense of life he didn’t realize he was missing.

loving you feels like a battle he didn’t ask for but can’t walk away from. it’s the quiet war between his instinct to keep you at arm’s length and the overwhelming desire to hold you close, to make you his in every sense of the word. it awakens something in him he thought long buried—a longing not just to be wanted but to be truly seen, understood, and loved for who he is, flaws and all. you don’t expect him to change or prove himself, and that unconditional acceptance both humbles and enrages him, because it feels too good to be true.

loving you also feels like a challenge, one that pushes him to be better, even when he resents the effort. you inspire him to fight—not for power or recognition, but for you, for the life he dreams of building by your side, even if he doesn’t admit it out loud. it’s a quiet kind of ambition, one he keeps close to his chest, but it drives him more than he thought possible.

for leona, loving you feels like discovering something he never believed could exist—a place where he isn’t judged for his flaws or dismissed for what he’s not, but truly valued and deeply cherished for who he is. it’s a kind of peace he’s never known, a calm he never thought he’d deserve. it’s not perfect, but it’s real, and to him, that makes it irreplaceable. he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

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─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𖥸 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

──────────────────────

ruggie bucchi

loving you feels like both a risk and a reward to ruggie bucchi, like daring to believe in something that feels almost too good to be true. for someone who’s spent his life scraping by, fighting for every scrap and opportunity, love is something he never thought he’d have time for. yet, here you are, proving that love isn’t a luxury he has to earn—it’s something you offer freely, and that alone feels like the biggest miracle to him.

to ruggie, loving you feels like warmth in a cold, unforgiving world. it’s the kind of comfort he never thought he’d get to experience, like the feeling of a hot meal after a long day or the rare quiet moments where he doesn’t have to worry about tomorrow. it’s unfamiliar and almost disorienting to feel safe with someone, to trust that you won’t turn your back on him when things get hard. at first, he finds himself holding back, keeping his guard up because he’s used to people taking advantage of him. but with you, the walls come down, bit by bit, as you show him that your love isn’t conditional.

loving you also feels like motivation, like the fire that keeps him going even when the odds are stacked against him. ruggie has always been a survivor, driven by the need to make a better life for himself, but with you in his corner, his dreams feel a little closer, a little more achievable. you believe in him, even when he struggles to believe in himself, and that belief makes him want to work even harder—not just for himself, but for you too. he wants to give you the world, even if it means pushing himself to his limits to make it happen.

at the same time, loving you feels grounding. you remind him of the things that truly matter, of the joy that can be found in the little things—shared laughter, quiet moments, and the simple fact that you’re there. with you, he doesn’t feel like he has to put on a show or prove his worth. you accept him for who he is, and that kind of unconditional love feels like the rarest treasure he’s ever come across.

for ruggie, loving you feels like a gamble that paid off in ways he never imagined. it’s not always easy—he’s used to relying on himself and struggles to fully open up—but the reward of having you in his life is worth every moment of uncertainty. you make him feel like he’s found something worth fighting for, someone worth sharing the best parts of himself with. loving you feels like coming home after years of wandering, and it’s a feeling he’ll hold onto with everything he’s got.

──────────────────────

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𖥸 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

──────────────────────

jack howl

loving you feels like growth to jack howl—steady, natural, and deeply rooted, like a tree that grows stronger with time. for someone as disciplined and driven as jack, love doesn’t come easily or suddenly. it’s not a whirlwind or a grand revelation; it’s something that builds slowly, shaped by trust, respect, and countless little moments. it surprises him, how deeply it takes root in his heart, but once it’s there, it’s unwavering.

to jack, loving you feels like a quiet kind of strength. he’s always been proud of his independence, his ability to handle anything life throws his way, but with you, he learns that letting someone in doesn’t make him weaker. instead, it makes him stronger, giving him someone to lean on when he needs it, someone to protect and fight for. you don’t expect him to be perfect or unshakable all the time, and that acceptance is something he treasures more than he can say.

loving you feels grounding, like a steady presence in his life that keeps him balanced. jack values honesty and loyalty above all else, and with you, he feels secure in a way he’s never felt before. you’re not just someone he cares for; you’re his partner, his mate, someone who stands by his side no matter what. he doesn’t have to hide who he is with you—you see him, flaws and all, and you love him anyway. that kind of trust is rare, and it’s something he holds onto fiercely.

but loving you also feels like a challenge, one that pushes him to be better. jack’s always been hard on himself, striving to improve and never settling for less than his best. with you, he finds new reasons to grow, not just for his own sake but for yours too. you inspire him to step outside his comfort zone, to take risks he might otherwise avoid. whether it’s learning to be more open about his feelings or letting himself be vulnerable, you make him want to reach higher, to be someone worthy of the love you give so freely.

for jack, loving you feels natural, like something that was meant to be. it’s not flashy or dramatic—it’s steady, enduring, and unshakable, just like him. you’re his anchor, his motivation, his reason to keep moving forward. loving you feels like the pull of the earth beneath his feet—natural, stabilizing, and something he relies on without question.

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─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𖥸 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

congrats, you made it to the end! if you enjoyed reading this, likes, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated! :)

[wormtoxin]

"And one specific iteration of this is that during the 60s and 70s, among certain feminist thinkers, the idea arose that before Judaism brought monotheism to the world, the patriarchy didn't exist. This is absolute historical hogwash."

"And it's only within this framework, this conspiratorial antisemitic framework, that the idea that the Jews are lying about a figure from Jewish folklore, for whom that folklore is the only source, makes any sense at all, and it's only within this framework that Gentiles taking that figure, divorcing her completely from her folkloric roots, and then worshiping her as a goddess, would even be appealing."

I found this to be really disingenuous, and went and read some of those original texts. During the 60s and 70s, these "certain feminist thinkers" were, themselves, Jewish.

I found, in no particular order:

Lilly Rivlin's 1972 article "Lilith" for Ms. magazine.

The Jewish feminist magazine Lilith, founded in the fall of 1976

jewish feminist theologian Judith Plaskow's "The Coming of Lilith", a feminist "contemporary midrash" published in 2005.

American poet and professor Enid Dame's poems titled "Lilith", "Lilith's New Career" and "Lilith and Her Demons"

Rabbi Lynn Gottlieb's theatre piece, "About Lilith", discussed here in an interview with Judy Waxman from Veteran Feminists of America in 2022. I really like this quote about the piece's use in her community work, so I'm going to post it in its entirety:

"I created a theatre piece called, About Lilith. It’s a very funny piece, and I performed it thousands of times. And in this piece, Lilith, as the old story goes, as we learn from Judith Plaskow in particular, Lilith refuses to be on the bottom. And rather than put up with her domineering mate Adam, who wants her to be on the bottom, she flies off. And I had a lot of fun with this story, and I used to create workshops. What would happen if Lilith met Eve?

I did that hundreds of times, and I tried to create a safe space for women to explore issues of agency. Because issues of domestic violence and sexual abuse on the preventative side can happen if women feel more agency. That’s one aspect. Especially young girls, if they have the language to feel like they can resist and they know how to keep themselves safe.

Another component is the question, “What resources does the community have that can assist women?” So, in Albuquerque, where I was a rabbi for 25 years, I’m still rabbi emeritus there – Albuquerque, New Mexico, where I founded my own community. That’s something else I learned from feminism. It’s a lot harder to reform…it’s almost impossible to reform, actually. I realized I needed always to start with a clean slate, and I could build an infrastructure from the foundation that was equitable. That was really the only way for me, and I believe for many people, to not spend years banging your head against the wall, but rather just from the beginning to create that space."

Jacqueline Lapidus' poem "Eden", which "imagines a lesbian encounter between Lilith and Eve. Using the Lilith legend, Lapidus invents an origin story for love between women."

"Scholar and author Ohad Ezrachi frequently writes about Lilith as a split-off sexual component of women, an image created by men fearful of a full relationship. He encourages men and women to see Lilith and Eve as the same person."

Rabbi Jill Hammer's article for myjewishlearning.org's "Women & Feminism" section, titled "Lilith: Lady Flying in Darkness". This is the article I've been quoting above. I like this article's final few lines, which I'll quote here:

"While some disapprove of this widespread embrace of a former demon, Lilith’s rehabilitation makes sense. The frightening character of Lilith grew, in part, out of repression: repression of sexuality, repression of the free impulse in women, repression of the question “what if I left it all behind?” As modern Jews begin to ask questions about sex, freedom, and choice more directly, Lilith becomes a complex representation of our own desires."

Both of the articles I read (which I'll link to below) acknowledge Lilith's place in contemporary folk Judaism as a demon, with references to the practices sometimes employed to keep her away. This confirms the second paragraph written in the post above.

To respond to specific parts I disagreed with:

Gentile feminists are not responsible for the so-called "feminist reclamation" of Lilith. Being actively Jewish themselves, these authors, poets, and academics, theologians, and rabbi probably did not, in fact, give rise to the idea that "before Judaism brought monotheism to the world, the patriarchy didn't exist."

I agree with you on the whole that it is disingenuous and antisemitic to claim that "jews are lying" about the figure lilith, or in most any context. I also think it's academical disingenuous to claim that "Jewish folklore is the only source" for Lilith. The article and encyclopedia I discuss above and link below show that, outside of folklore, Lilith is also interpreted and conceptualized through the lenses of Jewish feminism, Jewish poetry, Jewish theology, Jewish history, and Jewish literature.

Works Cited:

“Lilith is part of a closed religious practice” except it’s not appropriation to worship her as that is not practice what is within the closed practices of judaism :) Lilith is not an exclusive figure! Lilith is open

So according to your logic, it's okay to worship Lilith because she isn't worshiped in Judaism so therefore worshiping her isn't cultural appropriation. So if I a completely non-Native American/First Nations person were to start worshiping the W*ndigo, that would be completely fine, and not at all cultural appropriation, and not deeply fucked up, because W*ndigos are not worshiped in any of the cultures that have them as part of their cosmology and traditions. And I'm sure that the people from the various cultual groups that originated the W*ndigo, who tell me that doing that would be deeply deeply fucked up, and culturally appropriative, are just wrong and harshing my squee.

Don't incorperate Lilith into your practice if you aren't Jewish, and worshiping the demons from other cultures is no less culturally appropriative because they aren't worshiped in their home cultures. Hope that clarifies things! :)

[dulcescorderitas]

happy birthday dean!

parings: dean winchester x reader

warnings: 18+, smut, m.receiving

lamy's notes: wrote this for my man

dean’s not one for celebrations—birthdays, holidays, or any excuse to make a fuss. they’ve always been just another day, a calendar box crossed through, a quiet nod that time keeps moving whether you want it to or not. but for you? today feels different. because it’s his birthday, and even if he’d rather pretend it isn’t, you’re determined to show him that he deserves something… even if it’s just for a night.

when sam handed you the key to the dingy motel room, he gave you that knowing look—the one that said, don’t let him deflect, don’t let him downplay this. sam always knows how dean feels even when dean doesn’t. so, with pie in one hand and a small bag of carefully chosen gifts in the other, you stood outside the room’s door, nerves twisting low in your belly. the weight of this—of showing him how much he matters, of making him feel wanted—hung heavy, but you didn’t let it stop you.

when you knock, you hear his boots shuffle on the other side, the pause before he opens the door just enough to reveal his tired green eyes. those eyes. they widen slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through the guarded wall he always keeps up. “what’re you doing here?” his voice is gruff, edged with that half-growl you love, but you see the corners of his lips twitch upward, betraying him.

“uh-uh,” you chide softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. you’re not letting him shut you out tonight. “happy birthday, baby.”

the smell of motor oil and faint gunpowder lingers in the air—so distinctly him that it feels like home. the small table in the corner barely holds your gifts as you set them down, and when you turn back to him, he’s standing there, arms crossed, a mix of confusion and amusement softening his stance.

“you didn’t have to do all this,” he mutters, though his eyes betray him, darting to the pie and lingering there like a kid caught eyeing dessert before dinner.

“shut up and let me spoil you for once,” you tease, stepping closer until you’re within arm’s reach. your fingers graze his arm, the rough denim of his jacket a sharp contrast to the heat of his skin beneath. “just… let me, okay?”

he exhales, that small huff of air that’s half surrender, half disbelief. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“and yet you’re still stuck with me.”

you spend the first part of the evening breaking him down in the best way. the pie’s warm, the kind of flaky, sugary perfection that has him humming in satisfaction with each bite. you pull out the flask next, watching his eyebrows rise as he turns it over in his hands. it’s simple, sleek, but engraved with his initials—something personal, something just for him. and when you pull out the necklace…

he goes still.

it’s not an exact replica of the one sam gave him all those years ago, but it’s close. close enough that his fingers curl around it like it’s something precious, something that grounds him. he doesn’t say much, just murmurs a quiet “thank you y/n,” voice thick, but you catch the way his jaw tightens, the way his shoulders shift like he’s trying to carry the weight of it all without breaking.

and then there’s you.

while he’s distracted, inspecting the chain like it’s the most valuable thing in the world, you slip away to the tiny bathroom. the coat you’re wearing—long, tan, and buttoned tight—hides what’s underneath. it’s not much, just barely-there lingerie in his favorite color, something you’d picked out with him in mind.

you’ve barely stepped back into the room before his eyes are on you, sharp and hungry. “that pie come with a show or something?” he quips, but his voice is lower now, raspier. his gaze trails over you as you unbutton the coat slowly, teasingly, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.

“thought you might like this better than candles and a cake,” you say, heat rising in your cheeks but never breaking eye contact.

he doesn’t move right away, just leans back against the edge of the bed and watches you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “jesus, sweetheart,” he mutters, the words almost reverent. “you… you tryin' to kill me?”

“just trying to make your birthday memorable.”

and then he’s pulling you into his lap, hands rough and sure on your hips, his lips crashing against yours with a kind of desperation that makes your breath hitch. he kisses like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting all day, all year, just for this.

you sink to your knees in front of him, palms pressing against his thighs as you look up, catching the way his chest rises and falls a little faster now. his hand cups your chin, thumb brushing across your lower lip. “what’re you doing down there, baby?” his voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it, something darker, more commanding.

“giving you your present,” you reply, voice sweet, innocent even, though the look in your eyes says otherwise.

you start slow, letting your fingers trail up the denim of his jeans, stopping at the bulge that’s already straining against the fabric. the groan he lets out when you palm him through the material is low and guttural, his head tipping back for just a moment. you take your time, unbuttoning, unzipping, pulling him free. he’s hard already, thick and heavy in your hand, and the way he twitches when you stroke him makes you bite your lip to keep from grinning.

you’re not gentle. not tonight. you wrap your lips around him, taking him in as deep as you can manage, your hand working what your mouth can’t. he’s big, stretching your lips until your jaw aches, but the sounds he makes—the rough, broken moans that tumble from his lips—are more than worth it.

“shit, sweetheart,” he hisses, his hand tangling in your hair, guiding you, though he never forces. “you always look so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

the praise only spurs you on, your tongue swirling around the tip, sucking harder, letting your spit drip down to your hand so you can stroke him faster. it’s messy, filthy, the wet sounds filling the room alongside his curses. when you glance up, his green eyes are locked on you, dark with lust, his lips parted as he struggles to catch his breath.

he pulls you off of him suddenly, and for a second, you think you’ve done something wrong. but then he’s hauling you up onto the bed, flipping you onto your back with a kind of controlled urgency that leaves you gasping.

“my turn,” he growls, his voice dripping with authority.

his mouth is everywhere, teeth scraping along your collarbone, tongue tracing the curve of your breasts as he yanks your lingerie down, impatient. his hands are rough and possessive, gripping your thighs as he spreads you open beneath him. he doesn’t hesitate, sliding two fingers through your slick heat, a satisfied growl rumbling low in his throat at how wet you are for him.

“fuck, baby,” he mutters, pressing his forehead against yours as he pumps his fingers in and out, curling them just right to have your back arching off the mattress. “so perfect. so fuckin’ perfect.”

you’re already close, but he’s not letting you finish just yet. he pulls his fingers away, smirking at the needy whimper you let out, and then he’s sinking into you in one smooth thrust, filling you completely. the stretch is almost too much, but the way he groans, the way he grips your hips to keep you still, makes it all worth it.

he sets a brutal pace, his hips slamming against yours as the bed creaks beneath you. each thrust has you crying out, your nails digging into his shoulders, his back, whatever you can reach. he leans down to kiss you, swallowing your moans, his hand tangling in your hair to keep you close.

when he flips you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so you’re on your knees, you barely have time to catch your breath before he’s sliding back into you, deeper this time. the angle has you seeing stars, and you can’t do anything but take it, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. his hands grip your waist, your ass, spanking you lightly when you clench around him, his chuckle low and wicked.

“you like that?” he growls, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder, his teeth nipping at your skin. “you like when i fuck you like this? you like it when i fuck you like this on my birthday?”

all you can do is nod, your voice too broken to form words. he doesn’t let up, driving you closer and closer to the edge until you’re screaming his name, your whole body trembling as you come undone around him.

he follows soon after, his thrusts growing erratic, his moans turning into a deep, guttural groan as he spills into you, holding you tight against him. he collapses onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his chest heaving as he presses lazy kisses to your forehead.

by the time you’re both spent, lying in a heap of tangled limbs and damp sheets, the only sound is the shared rhythm of your breathing. his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together as he pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“thank you for this,” he murmurs, voice soft and raw. and for the first time in a long time, you think maybe he actually enjoyed his birthday.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze

[rainix13]

Loving Her Is (Im)possible

masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x Civilian!Reader

description: They say loving the Black Widow is impossible, so what happens when you meet her?

Words: ~2k

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none I think, not proof read tho

I know this is shitty, I wrote this coping with myself lmao.

Next one is promised to be good or at least better again

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩｡⋆｡✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

Loving her is impossible. That's what they say.

Meeting her is easy.

Red hair, brown coat, black boots.

And effortless elegance that held the power to draw everyone's attention but prevent anyone from making eye contact. Or comment on her.

"A large, black coffee please" her voice carried the same unspoken authority her movements displayed.

Rough and soft at the same time, polite but distanced. She layed one hand on the counter while waiting. With the other hand she removed her sunglasses, letting them fall in the pocket of her coat. A few curious glances from the other customers in her direction but most just continued their conversations.

You watched the interaction, studying her. How she glanced over the room. How she corrected her own posture - and you did instinctively too. How she took her cup and took yet another glance over the room but in a seemingly different way. Her eyes locked onto you.

She directed a small, greeting nod to you and you responded with a friendly smile. "That seat doesn't seem taken", the redhead mostly stated, sitting on the chair across your own.

"You can't be sure of that" you replied with a teasing grin. The woman chuckled. A low, soft and intriguingly dangerous sound, sending a shiver down your spine. You tried to save it, lock it in your memory and protect it, the moment you heard it. If you could do something to get to hear it again, you would.

"So you're saying this seat is taken, princess?" a playful glint in her eyes, knowing exactly that it wasn't.

And within a split second your mind surrendered. You weren't sure if it was the nickname or just the way your own teasing backfired but you flushed and glued your eyes to your hands. "No" you mumbled, holding the cup in your hands just a little tighter. A shy smile played around your lips.

"No need to be shy, sweetheart. I'm Natasha"

Meeting her was embarrassing in a way you enjoyed it.

Knowing her is easy.

You knew who she was. Everybody does. The media is flooded with footage of her, everytime something in the world happens. Everybody sees what you could see that day.

Effortless perfectionism. Authority without room for arguments.

She was the Black Widow.

In press conferences the backbone of the avangers.

No one knew her. Behind that perfect mask that would allow her to dominate the whole room, was in reality something different.

Behind that perfect image was a human just as everyone else is. Someone who sometimes feels lonely. Someone who's guarded but also someone who let a few things slip from time to time.

You were aware that everything you saw of her was calculated. A risk she took.

A nightmare she told you she had. Explaining why her day was bad. Asking you what she should cook.

You never got much to grasp on, but to every little detail you held on as if it was sacred.

Nat:

I'm bored

What should I do?

You:

Me [you deleted that as soon as you typed it]

Cinnamon rolls

And just two hours later it'd ring on your door.

"Hey, I brought cinnamon rolls."

You laughed, seeing her physically relax under your careless happiness as you invited her in.

The Black Widow was an open book - someone everybody could know within thirty minutes of amateurish research.

Natasha Romanoff was more than that.

A closed book with a lock, behind bars, behind walls.

She rarely shared something about what she actually did or felt at any given moment. But if she'd let something slip you'd pick it up and cherish it.

Talking to her is easy.

Without even noticing in less than a month your world was upside down.

Checking your phone every ten minutes for notifications, even though you know the screen lits up when you get one.

Smiling when it does.

Denying the small bit of disappointment when the notification doesn't begin with "Nat 💕:".

Going silent on phone calls with others for a moment when you recieved a message from her. Being mentally absent while playing cards, glancing down at the phone beside you, answering whenever it's not your turn.

You:

How was your day?

Nat💕:

{voice message 1:48}

You loved these. You loved listening to her voice, detecting the satisfaction when she told you about a successful mission, hearing the frustration when some recruits didn't listen to her in training and then obviously failed the task at hand. You loved her sighs when she was tired.

Soon you yearned for every interaction you could get. A small chat, a short phone call. Or when you had the time you'd bring her a coffee over.

The first time you did, you weren't sure you'd get out of the building in one piece.

You learned that day that Shield doesn't have visitors. Especially not ordinary people and definitely not one's who come in without an agent.

Your hands were shaking as you held them over your head, in one still the coffee you brought.

"What do you want?" The guy, who asked this just entered the area, motioning for the security to stay in position.

"u-uh visiting? A friend" you added and cringed internally about verbally friendzoning the redhead. But that's the most fitting description. Maybe even exactly what she sees in you. A friend. One she likes to flirt and tease with just to see how it messses with your head.

"And who is that friend?" he walked behind you, taking the coffee from your hand.

"Natasha? Romanoff..." your voice grew quieter realizing how unrealistic that must sound. And just as confirmation he scoffed "Of course. And if that's true, why isn't Agent Romanoff here to get you through security? And further, why is the name on this coffee 'Nathan'?"

Now you scoffed, rolling your eyes "So now it's my fault that coffeeshops can't get names right?? You can't convince me no coffeeshop ever wrote your name wrong" You regretted those word almost as soon as they left your mouth but now it was too late anyway.

But before anyone reacted to that, the clicking of heels cut through the tension. Just as they stopped a familar voice spoke up from behind you "You have some nerves, giving these kind of answers while having two guns directed at you, princess"

Your cheekes flushed at the nickname. You knew she did that on purpose, relishing your involuntary reaction. And it happened every time.

With probably another motion of one of the two behind you the security guys backed down and you turned around with a small smile on your lips. "Well, bold of you to show up so late they almost shoot me"

When you sat down on a couch in what you presumed was her office she took a sip from her coffee and sighed. "Nathan, huh?" A smirk playing around her lips.

You snorted meeting her eyes with a mischievous glint in your own "Maybe I made the barista write down the wrong name intentionally. But a coffee wouldn't be a coffee if they got your name right twice in a row"

It became a little game of yours. Trying to find a new variant or fucked up way to mess with each others name.

These meetings happened more often, you bringing her coffee or lunch. Talking, laughing, joking. You learned that the guy, who questioned you on your first time there was Clint, Natasha's best friend. Soon these lunch breaks became the thing you looked most forward to, by the start of a week.

You got to meet Clint, introducing himself with saying something along being sorry for almost having you shot. And by then all of you could only laugh about that first encounter.

On a random friday she took you to the shooting range after another shared lunch. Handing you one of her pistols she positioned herself behind you. Guiding your legs to stand in the right stance, moving her hands along your arms so you wouldn't hurt yourself. And while you loved learning to shoot, her being pressed against your back made it hard to focus. How her touch burned itself under your skin, how her scent surrounded you. And suddenly you felt like one of the recruits she liked to complain about. Distracted.

Of course Natasha noticed. But she didn't seem mind it, when it was you. She didn't mind having to guide you into the right position another time and maybe even a third. At least she didn't say so. She seemed to enjoy the time you had as much as you did and that alone made your heart skip a bit.

Watching yourself fall for her feels scary. Like the craziest thing you've ever done.

Running away is easy.

Especially when self-doubt is consuming you.

When she's out on missions and you don't get any response to your messages for hours or days.

You start to doubt yourself, if this was right for you.

The redhead tried to push you away only shortly after you met. Telling you that she's too much for you. That her life isn't made for her to fit in your world. You managed go convince her from the opposite.

Now you were the one doubting if that was the right decision.

On the one side fearing how much this is about to hurt if you don't work out, on the other already being too attached to let go now.

Not without trying.

But after just another day of radio silence from her side you feel like ending things would be best for you. Or after another conversation, where you realize that she's not actually telling you what she feels or what's bothering her. Giving only so short answers to your messages that something like a conversation wouldn't even begin - it hurt you probably more than it should.

But you didn't blame her. Or you tried not to. You knew that this was an unsettling kind of jealousy with no one to be jealous of. No one you knew about. But that didn't make it easier. It just drained your energy on these days, killing some of your usually good mood. Every one of those days giving you another reason to leave.

Running away. Not without an explanation, that would be unfair. She deserved to understand. And while you're trying to convince yourself that hurting her by leaving now would be less bad than doing it even later and that it would probably be for the best for both of you, you couldn't shake the feeling that she would've felt used.

And every time you think about that, she texts you, answering your last message and pushing the thought of leaving away immediately - not that she's aware of that but she still does. The start of a conversation, that filled you with a strange sense of happiness. A happiness that kept you from running.

The urge to stay is impossible to ignore. The want to understand every action before calling it unreasonable, taking all reasons to leave and burn them down, you kept only the reasons to stay.

A stupid smile with every message.

An shy and embarrassing flush with every tease.

The commitment to understand her and give her time.

You mentally burned whatever you read about her on the internet. Banning news reports about her, ignoring blogs judging her or her job in any way.

Instead you chose to focus on every single bit that seemed to be real and held on to it. Every soft chuckle, the glint in her eyes when they meet yours, her sighs at the end of a voice message about an overly exhausting day.

Everything that you knew was her. What didn't scream 'ex-assassin and spy'.

You chose to learn and hold on to what you got about Natasha instead of Widow.

You chose to ignore the reasons to leave for now.

Red hair, brown coat, black boots.

And a caring smile in your direction.

Loving her could turn out so easy.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩｡⋆｡✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

[cottonlemonade]

Brushing Your Stress Away

word count: 1321 || avg. reading time: 6 mins.

pairing: University AU!Tsukishima x chubby!Reader

genre: spice with fluff

warnings: mdni

request: Hello!! can me and my dear Tsukki get an 11 and 23 for lunch before i procrastinate? || fluffy-spicy, dealing with exam stress + studying together with boyfriend Tsukishima

Tsukishima didn’t even flinch when the pen zoomed past his head, bounced off the wall, and landed perfectly in his hamper. Without looking up from his notes, he asked, “Tough chapter?”

You groaned and let yourself fall on your back, arms and legs outspread like a starfish, “I wanted to study art because I love painting, not because I love remembering dates! This is impossible!”

You dramatically flung an arm over your eyes to drive your point home that you were done with studying.

“Come on, only 32 more minutes on the timer.”, your boyfriend said, turning a page and pushing your art history book closer to you.

“No.”, you pouted, wiggling a foot in defiance, “Don’t wanna.”

“So, you plan on working in a museum as… what? A barista?”

Letting your arm fall off your face, you turned your head to look at him, “You could come visit me during your breaks.”

“Not likely. Coffee is disgusting.”

“Not the point, Kei.”

“Resign to your fate or study for another 31 minutes. Either way, stop whining. Some of us want to focus.”

You sat back up, squinting indignantly at your boyfriend, who skillfully ignored you as his eyes skimmed the pages.

Letting out a small huff of boredom, you looked around his bedroom. When he invited you to come spend the break with him in Miyagi you were excited, even more so when on the drive here he casually mentioned that you’d be alone because his older brother was staying at uni with his friends and his mother was away on some conference. But four days of your precious week had already passed without so much as a roaming hand.

On a whim, you reached for your pencil case to take out a cheap replica of an old artist’s brush - a small gift from the souvenir shop Kei had gotten you the last time you visited a museum together. Turning it in your fingers to have something to do, you stared at the page of your book, admiring the pictures at least.

Kei meanwhile, chewed the inside of his cheek, throwing a quick glance over his glasses at you. He knew he wasn’t doing a particularly great job as a boyfriend right now.

To not make it too obvious what he was looking forward to the most during this week together - uninterrupted alone time with no nosy roommate to worry about or forgetting his key and having to spend the rest of his night on a bench in front of his building - he had put together quite the itinerary under the guise of how much you’ve nagged him to show you his hometown (you asked once). Somehow, being in his childhood home after the months away at university made him almost shy. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he felt guilty for bringing you here without telling his mother. However, if his shower thoughts were any indication, he wanted nothing more than to make use of the empty house with you - not seeming too eager, of course. He flipped a page without having read the previous one. Unless he finally acted on his impulses, you would return to academic life without even a good solid make-out session at this point.

A soft caressing sensation on his arm made him snap out of his thoughts. He found you running your brush along a faint vein on his wrist.

“What are you doing?”, he asked unnecessarily but didn’t pull away.

“Nothing.”

The smooth bristles followed his long fingers now one by one.

Without any conviction, he said instinctively, “Stop that.”, whilst really hoping you wouldn’t.

Luckily, you never listened to him, so instead you brought the brush up to his neck and tickled the sensitive spot under his ear. He shuddered and you laughed.

“You think this is funny?”, he asked.

“Hilarious, actually.”, you said.

He got to his knees and all too easily made you tumble backward, making sure to catch your head in his hand before towering over you. With a superior sneer, he took the brush from you.

“Let’s see how ticklish you are.”

Trapped between his long legs, you giggled and squirmed when he ran the brush under your chin, and you ducked your head between your shoulders to defend yourself. So he brought it to your ear.

“Stop!”

Your hand shot up to cover one side, but he just took this to mean he could attack the other. He sat back on his heels and in an attempt to hide the outline in his sweats, pursed his lips in fake pondering.

“Hmm… looks like you leave me no choice.”, he shrugged with a heavy sigh and unceremoniously lifted the hem of your shirt, making extra sure his palm, rough from the years of playing volleyball, dragged gently over your pillowy tummy as he did. You became very still, waiting for his next move. He felt you pressing your thighs together between his legs and scoffed while painting invisible lines on your skin as if he were sketching the outline of your bra.

“This is very much in the way.”, he said more to himself than to you and pulled a cup down from your breast. He leaned forward now, his free hand holding him up next to your head and with precise little teasing strokes he flicked the brush over your perked nipple. You made a small noise, one he loved to hear so much, so he did it again, and again.

“Pretty sure the other one is just as sensitive.”, he murmured and without warning, he pulled down the second cup, tucking it safely under your breast, then got the brush into position. You bucked your hips under him when he twirled the bristles this time.

“You’re right, this is fun.”, he noted and kissed you, not letting up on the teasing with the brush. You ground against him, making him gasp into the kiss.

“Will you finally focus on your studies if I give you what you want?” He had trouble catching his breath, was met with a very enthusiastic nod, and kissed you again.

Kei moved back, slowly dragging your sweats down with him, and had to suppress a dreamy groan. You were nothing short of perfection. With the pudgy tummy, the generous love handles, and full thighs you had always reminded him of beauty depicted in Renaissance paintings.

He shifted to lay on his stomach, propped up on his forearms, spinning the brush in his long fingers. A little spring of pride bloomed in him when he noticed a wet patch on your panties already.

The more he dragged the brush over the soaked fabric the more he noticed a definite gleam on the bristles. With the very tip of it, he focused on the pronounced little nub of your clit and was rewarded with a high moan. He was curious if he’d be able to make you cum just with a simple little painter’s brush when the door to his room slid open.

“WOAH!”

Akiteru spun around to look away.

“Sorry! I just heard a noise and - don’t mind me.”

“Why aren’t you in Tokyo?!”, Kei yelled in frustration, scrambling to his feet. A low rustling behind him told him you followed his example.

“Needed some fresh air?” His brother shrugged awkwardly, still with his back to him. “I’ll uhm… I’ll head to the convenience store. Should take me maybe 20 minutes. Do with that information what you will.”

He grabbed around behind him to find the handle before pulling the door closed again, then called from the hallway, “I’ll bring you some snacks!”

Kei exhaled, rubbing his eyes under his glasses, “I’m sorry… y/n, I- mfpg”, he was interrupted by you turning his head and yanking him down to you by the collar of his shirt to kiss him.

“You heard him, 20 minutes. Let’s go.”

a/n: reader was on mission! Thank you to the anon who requested this prompt! I hope you enjoyed it 🌟

[strawberryhotlips]

༆THE LAST WOMAN ON EARTH ☢︎︎- ➪enhypen ot7 x fem reader

SYNOPSIS: Moving to South Korea at just 20 years old to study medicine was something that made you extremely proud. You had so many plans for the future, but it seems that fate doesn't want the same for you. Overnight, a virus that affects only women spreads throughout the world, causing all the women in the world to die in a matter of weeks. You were the only one left standing, the problem? Nobody knew, only you. As time passed, you managed to survive this post-apocalyptic world, where you had to hide from men because if someone knew that a woman still existed, everything would go to hell for you. You didn't expect seven strangers to break into your house in the middle of the night and you didn't expect what was going to happen next either.

Word Count: 5.3k

Pairing: enhypen! x fem!reader

Genre: Suspense, death, dystopian, post-apocalyptic world, angst, too much drama, slow burn, smut as the chapters go by (mdni), fluff, Possessiveness, jealousy, fights, toxicity, lots of love (I know, it sounds contradictory) enhypen are complete losers for the reader in the best way, strangers to lovers and other things that may happen later

Warnings!⚠️: Death, loss of loved ones, use of weapons, depression and anxiety problems, mentions of suicide, survival, vulgar and sometimes offensive language, graphic descriptions of traumatic events. If you are sensitive, don't read it for your own good. Everyone is of legal age!! Heeseung is 26, Jay, Jake and Sunghoon are 25, Sunoo is 23, Jungwon is 22 and Ni-ki is 21.

Status: ongoing (16-01-2025 - )

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction, everything came out of my head, the personality of the characters are not real and do not represent them in real life in any way, any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental. Everyone is of legal age in this universe. English is not my first language so you will probably find spelling mistakes.

Hi beautiful people!! I'm back with the third chap of this story. It took me almost five days to write it, but here it is finally!! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!! Xoxo, aby..

CHAPTER I: "Disaster"

CHAPTER II: "Loneliness"

CHAPTER III: "Trust Issues"

more under the cut ☟︎︎︎

"I will kill you..."

Fuck, you couldn't have been any clearer with your words. If they made you the slightest bit suspicious, you would blow their heads off. And as much as you had said before that you didn't want to kill them, if they gave you reason even after your warning, you would have no choice.

After that, you had simply thrown some clothes at them, muttering a "take a bath and clean up this mess," pointing to the wet and muddy floor, and then disappeared upstairs.

You had locked yourself in your room (literally) because you had locked the lock with a homemade key that you had made at the beginning of all this when you didn't feel safe even in your room and felt the need to lock it. You had no energy for anything else, and that night you just lay in your bed, hoping to be alive the next day, while you heard little murmurs on the first floor, and also heard the boys walking around, probably cleaning up.

After a few minutes, surprisingly, you managed to fall asleep. ....

----------

The seven men in your house had barely gotten a wink of sleep the night before, they had been able to bathe properly and clean up as you had asked, but the fact of their new reality, living with you, the last remaining woman, had not let them rest properly.

And now it was a whole new reality that they had to adjust to, but damn it, it was so hard knowing that you were sleeping one floor away. They had you so close but so far away at the same time that it was almost impossible to get comfortable enough to sleep because there was something going on in their heads that would not leave them alone....

you

your existence, your presence, even the ghost of your perfume that had lingered in the living room and how you had confronted them so powerfully the night before. It was just you.

The next morning, the smell of cooking woke you from your sleep. Hell, you knew how to cook, but you hadn't smelled anything that tasty in years. That meant only one thing, one of the boys was using your kitchen, and whatever was cooking smelled delicious.

You replaced your pajamas with a pair of jogging pants and a tight, slightly short, long-sleeved t-shirt that revealed the delicate little metal that adorned your belly button. You combed your hair a little, and in the bathroom of your room you brushed your teeth and washed your face. Little things in your daily routine that you were still allowed to do.

You put your gun in your makeshift gun belt and unlocked the door to your room. What you didn't expect when you walked out was to see two of the boys sitting against the wall on either side of your door, asleep. Their expressions were unreadable as you looked at them doubtfully, now that you could see them better in the morning sunlight. Their features were relaxed, a stark contrast to how tense they had been the night before, they were wearing the clothes you had thrown at them, and they really were attractive men, but then again, you couldn't stop and thinking about that now.

With a sigh, you looked at them for a few more seconds before shaking your head and walking down the hall to the stairs. You didn't bother to wake them, figuring that if they slept so much, it was because their bodies needed it. Besides, the tension of the night before and the discovery that there was still a woman alive must have exhausted them.

When you reached the first floor after descending the stairs, you could visualize four more guys, scattered randomly on the couch in your living room, also completely asleep. You remembered two of them, one of them you had pointed the gun at and the other was the arrogant shameless jackass, yes, you remembered him very well and now his cute sleeping face had not a hint of arrogance, being able to fool anyone with that appearance of fake innocence.

Well, maybe you were being a bit dramatic but in your defense he had been a jerk to you.

Rolling your eyes at the memory, the delicious smell of food grew stronger as you walked through the living room. You could hear the small clink of the frying pan and the snap of something frying as you approached the kitchen.

When you finally got there, you could see the missing boy, obviously cooking, he hadn't noticed your presence yet, so you decided to lean against the door frame with your arms crossed and a serious expression on your face.

"Morning..." you finally spoke, your voice devoid of emotion as you watched him jump in surprise, "Shit...you scared me..." he turned to you with his eyes a little wide and a hand on his chest in shock as he tried to calm his slightly accelerated breathing.

You almost laughed at the scene but decided to keep your expression serious as you watched him intently. He looked at you for a second and then quickly looked back to the frying pan where he was cooking scrambled eggs while he cleared his throat, "So you're up already?" you could swear he was pretty nervous from the way his body was tense and the silly question he had asked since you were literally standing in front of him.

This was going to be fun.

"Jay, right?..." you clearly remembered his name because that cheeky idiot had called him that the night before as you shushed him, "yeaah, I'm starting to think you're paid to ask stupid questions..." there was a lot of seriousness in your voice as you deliberately gave him a glare, raising both your eyebrows as you watched him open his mouth to try and answer, but he just couldn't.

You remembered his name

and it sounded so beautiful coming out of your lips and it made Jay's head spin a little. Because he didn't want to look like an idiot in front of you, but your presence only, made it difficult.

You spoke again, meeting his gaze, "May I ask what you are doing in my kitchen?" your eyes had a little gleam of amusement in them now, but your voice was still deadly serious.

Jay looked at you and then at the ladle in his hand that he was using to cook, "w-well...i was making the...breakfast..." he cleared his throat again as you heard him stutter. You nodded as a sound of mock approval passed through your throat, "with my food..." you replied as you shook your head in acknowledgement, pointing to the eggs in the pan.

Your eyes never left his fake calm expression, his body language and voice clearly betraying the nervousness he was trying to hide in your presence.

"Uhu..it's just that I thought you'd all be hungry when you woke up, s-so i thought it would be a good idea to have breakfast ready..." he cursed himself for stuttering so much, damn, instead of a man he looked like a teenager dealing with puberty.

"Ahem..." you let the silence fill the kitchen air with anticipation, you kept looking at him wordlessly and Jay could swear he felt smaller and smaller under your gaze.

And fuck, he literally hadn't done anything wrong, yet your eyes seemed to judge the depths of his soul as the tension was suffocating in the deafening silence, and he hadn't missed the gun you seemed to always carry with you.

You didn't trust them

That was Jay's conclusion and it was obvious, who would in a situation like yours? he couldn't, nor did he have the right to blame you for judging his every move, after all it was basically you against the world.

You, on the other hand, were having quite a bit of fun deliberately making him nervous, curious to see how he would react and how the mere fact of talking to him or making him so nervous would make you wonder if you would have the same effect on the other guys as well.

"You know...I divided the food into portions..." you commented after a few seconds of silence that seemed like an eternity to Jay. At your words, his eyes immediately met yours and he blinked several times, thinking about what to say.

Fuck, he hadn't thought of that, of course, a day ago it was just you, you only had to worry about what you were going to eat, but now with the arrival of the seven of them, the picture as to how long the meal would last was completely different and Jay had overlooked that.

"Next time, ask me before you take my food, even if you have to break down my bedroom door and wake me up, ask me first, is that clear?" your voice was a little more relaxed now, but with the same seriousness as you pulled yourself away from the door frame to move a little closer to the oven where Jay was cooking.

He nodded immediately at your clear command, because yeah, it was a command, no room for argument in your words, "Sure, of course, it won't happen again..." he turned his head to look at you again and was surprised to see you closer than before, swallowing hard as he tried to hold your piercing gaze as he watched you nod at his statement.

"Speaking of my room, who are the two clowns sleeping on my doorstep like they were camping?" your question caught Jay off guard as he stopped cooking for a few seconds and stared at the frying pan, then closed his eyes, frowning and denying in frustration.

Those idiots!

He let out a sigh and then opened his eyes, finally turning off the oven. He slowly turned to you with a flushed face as he seemed to be searching for words to say, "Sorry, I didn't think they mean it when they said they would sleep outside your room..." he licked his lips as he served the scrambled eggs on different plates, "The black haired one is Ni-ki and the gray haired one is Jake..." you finally knew who was who and you laughed inwardly as you saw Jay fighting with himself not to go and wake them both.

"Oh...they thought it would be a good idea to stand guard outside my room..." you said, pressing the buttons even harder as Jay got redder by the second. He ran his hand over his face in frustration, "I'm really sorry...Ni-ki is the youngest of the group and Jake always goes along with his nonsense..." he let out another sigh as he finished his words, apologizing on behalf of his friends.

So Ni-ki and Jake were the reason why everyone was here now. You wondered what had gone through their heads to dare to escape in the middle of the night, not only breaking the curfew and putting themselves in danger, but also being chased by the police.

A few more minutes and they could have caught them, they could have caught you.

The smell of bacon brought you out of your thoughts as for the first time you showed an expression as you watched Jay place it on the plates, next to the scrambled eggs. "You used the bacon Jay, it was saved for special occasions, there were only three packages left and you used them..." your tone was accusatory as your eyes, a little wider than usual, shifted from Jay to the bacon on the plates, repeatedly.

Jay immediately widened his eyes when he heard you and seemed to panic as he realized the implication of your words and began to ramble, "I-I'm so sorry...I had no idea, fuck...I didn't mean it. We can still buy more, I swear I'll replace them and leave everything as it was-..." you cut him off as a few specific words caught your attention.

Uh, buy more? What the fuck did he mean?

"What do you mean, buy more?" your question came out with a mixed tone of annoyance and disbelief "Do you have a job? or money?" your lack of understanding was reflected in every word you said as you looked at Jay for answers.

how could he possibly have a job if only essential services were still running? was he part of any essential services? because if he was, you were screwed. The Essential Services worked with the government, who had offered a billion dollar reward if one of their workers found a woman and gave her to them so they could experience the repopulation of the world with her.

"N-no, I don't have a job…" Jay hurried to speak when he saw your panicked face and how your hand had unconsciously gone to your gun, your expression hardened at his words, you wanted answers and you wanted them now "My father, he was doing very well in business and he left the inheritance to me since i'm an only child..." he clarified the situation quickly but you continued to look at him with narrowed eyes.

"What happened to him, he didn't want to be a millionaire overnight by giving everything to his beloved son?" the sarcasm and annoyance was clear in your voice full of suspicion as you questioned him without measuring your words and that's when Jay's expression changed.

He swallowed as his eyes, now filled with what seemed to be sadness, longing, and frustration, looked at you for a few seconds, only for you to notice that they were filled with...tears...

Oh..

He was going to cry?

"When my mother died from the virus, at the beginning of it all...my father could only hold on to life for a few more months before he decided to give up and go with her...a-and...and...i saw it all..." shit, why did you have to be so loose with your tongue? Jay had lost his parents, who were the only family he had, and not only that, he had to witness his father's suicide, fuck, that must have been really traumatic and fucking painful.

You immediately took your hand away from your gun and looked at him with empathy, you too had lost your whole family, the pain was unbearable and you couldn't imagine his, but, in a way, you shared the same pain, having lost your families...

The boys were all the family he had left

And not just Jay, all seven of them must feel the same way, they had all lost a lot and they recognized each other as the only family they had left. Then in that moment you understood, no matter what big trust issues you had towards them, they were human beings, just like you, they were fragile, just like you, they had lost everything, just like you, and the only thing they were clinging to was the hope that somehow it would get better, they didn't even know where it came from, but they were hoping that all their suffering had not been in vain

just like you

And then, without knowing what to say, you raised one of your hands and placed it gently on one of Jay's shoulders. He took a deep breath as he felt your touch, something that had become immeasurably distant, but that he hadn't realized he was missing until now, the comfort. His eyes, crystallized with unshed tears, looked sideways at your hand on his shoulder before they slid down his cheeks of their own accord, unbidden and silent.

Your heart squeezed at the sight of his crying, at the realization that he allowed himself to be vulnerable in a world where vulnerability killed you "Jay...I...I'm so sorry..." those were the only words your head allowed to leave your lips, but it was enough to express in your now soft and delicate voice that you both shared the same fucking pain.

Jay was overwhelmed for a moment, your words, as simple as they were, brought him a comfort he needed long ago, and that was enough for him to have his arms wrapped around your waist from one moment to the next, pulling your body into an almost trembling embrace that he seemed to need so desperately, an embrace that screamed how much he needed the contact, the affection, the containment and the relief.

For a few seconds your body couldn't react and you were paralyzed. You hadn't had this kind of direct contact in years and it was something that took you and your head by surprise. You felt Jay hide his face in your neck almost instinctively and his tears began to flow more abundantly as he clung to you as if his life depended on it.

It struck you as odd, like, yeah, you understood that the memory of the loss of his family would cause him so much pain, but you had become so used to suppressing your emotions that it was unusual for you to see such a vulnerable and fragile man clinging to you. But after a few seconds of processing the situation, you realized that his crying was not only because he had lost his family, it was also because of the weight that had been on his back all these years, you realized that surely he had also had to suppress what he was feeling, and finding you and being in your arms now was an instant relief and a great weight that he no longer had on his back.

His cry was a liberating one

One that spoke of how much he had endured over time and that he had finally found the relief he had been so desperately waiting for. Then, understanding this, you slowly let your arms wrap around his shoulders, finally returning his embrace as his body visibly relaxed under your gentle touch. Leaving your suspicion behind, you decided to give him a moment of comfort, and decided to listen to the human part of you instead of the rational part.

Heart over brain

Jay couldn't quite process what was going on, he only understood that you had welcomed his distress, that you hadn't taken him away from you, and that he inevitably found overwhelming comfort in your arms. Your scent soothed him, causing him to breathe shakily into the crook of your neck as his cry was silenced. Clinging to you, to your small waist and feeling the warmth of your body against his, helped him to calm down and understand that he was no longer alone, that he could express himself and act like a human being, at least with you.

Your chest felt tight, a shiver ran down your spine as you felt the slight trembling in Jay's body, but it diminished as the minutes passed, until finally you could no longer feel his tears soaking your shirt, and his once shaky breathing had been replaced by a soft and slower one. His crying had stopped, but he wasn't letting go and didn't seem to want to for the foreseeable future.

That is, until a clearing of the throat caused the two of you to abruptly separate for some reason. You turned to where the voice was coming from and your brow furrowed in annoyance as you saw the idiot in the kitchen door frame.

Right, 'the idiot' was your name for him.

He looked at you and then at Jay with an expression you couldn't quite understand, his eyes narrowed and his jaw visibly clenched "bravo.... you were really fast Jay...you got to her before any of us..." his tone was contemptuous, bordering on desperate as he made that ridiculous claim.

Jay on the other hand was sniffling and still looking at him with red eyes with obvious annoyance, "What the fuck, Heeseung Hyung, what kind of bullshit approach is that?..." the anger was clear in his voice as he snapped at him.

So 'the idiot' called himself Heeseung.

You raised an eyebrow at the situation and then sighed, really, what the hell was he trying to imply?

Heeseung had been awakened by the distant smell of scrambled eggs and bacon, his stomach growling with hunger and he just got up from the couch and followed the smell to the kitchen, but he didn't expect what he would find: You and Jay, hugging, obviously very close to each other.

His blood immediately and almost inevitably boiled with envy and jealousy, he knew you weren't an object, but he didn't like the idea of seeing his friends touching you in the slightest, and that was very clear to him:

Heeseung wanted you for himself

and the thought of having to share you with his other six friends was really hard for him to accept. Well, not only for him, the seven of them were extremely territorial and the situation could only get worse 'cause you were the only woman left, but hell, how could he even pretend to get to you when he was acting like a complete idiot?

Heeseung let out an unfunny laugh as he looked at Jay, the tension in the kitchen air was intense "Who do you think you are Jay, you think you have the right to touch her?" Jay frowned in annoyance at Heeseung's accusatory tone "Give it up dude...she's not a fucking object and she doesn't belong to you..." the complaint in Jay's voice was clear as your eyes shifted from him to Heeseung in disbelief.

Is this for real? they were making a jealous scene right in front of you.

"Hey stop talking shit, both of you..." the soft voice you had used with Jay before had been replaced by a cold and cutting tone "I don't belong to anyone and in case you haven't noticed..I'm right here, damn it..." now you were annoyed, really. The moment of consolation with Jay had been nice, but the fact that they were now acting like dogs fighting over meat didn't fucking amuse you at all and seemed hypocritical.

Heeseung and Jay seemed to be in a heated duel of glances, and fuck, if looks could kill, you thought they'd both be ten meters underground long ago, they both seemed to be about to say something, but your angry footsteps coming out of the kitchen made them both shut up.

Your angry footsteps echoed through the living room and down the stairs, and then there was a loud slamming of the door. You had locked yourself in your room. Heeseung and Jay could clearly feel your anger, so they were about to start fighting again, because the rivalry for your attention had already begun.

"Enough..." Jungwon's cold and cutting voice echoed in the kitchen, cutting off every word that came out of his elders' mouths. He walked into the kitchen, sipping a glass of water as if it was his home, then leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, finally turning his gaze to Heeseung and Jay.

"Shame on you, you're the most grown up of the group..." his voice was cold as he clenched his jaw in clear annoyance "What do you want to achieve by behaving like this?...you're going to scare her away and get her to throw us all out on the street.... " He sighed as he shook his head disapprovingly, "We've only been here one night, not even a full day, and you're already fighting to see which one of you gets her attention first? very mature of you, really..." the sarcasm and annoyance were very clear in his firm and cutting voice.

The air was suffocating for both Heeseung and Jay, because when Jungwon was serious and even more so when he was angry, it was scary, so much so that neither of them could look him in the eyes, even if their expressions were hard, even if they were annoyed and even if they had the urge to answer him, neither of them did it "Let this shit not happen again, we don't want to scare her, we want to make her feel comfortable and gain her trust..." his statement was firm, leaving no room for retorts "You two brag about how much sex you had but you have no fucking idea how to treat a woman...", A dry laugh without a hint of grace left his lips, to which Heeseung and Jay only sigh and nod slightly at Jungwon's cutting words, and that was enough for him to drop the subject and leave the kitchen, but not before giving them both a warning look and taking one of the plates of egg and bacon.

---------

It was something that really made you angry. Because you hadn't allowed them to stay to be treated like a damned object, but on the other hand, you felt desired. Even though you knew that it was something inevitable because there were no more women to desire, something inside you felt good about it, something about possessiveness and jealousy made you sigh, not in anger but in satisfaction. You didn't think you were a person with a twisted mind, or at least you didn't give that image. But you were frustrated and pleased at the same time that they couldn't take more than a whole day to start fighting over you.

You knew it was going to happen eventually, they were men around your age, all damn attractive, so you suspected they'd never been rejected by women before, and you were also very attractive as far as you were concerned. So it wasn't surprising that they were jealous or fought over you, but you didn't expect them to let it show so quickly. Even though you didn't want to let them off so easily, it was clear that you didn't trust them yet and that you needed to get to know them better before you could allow yourself to feel completely at ease.

Now, locked in your room, you thought about the moment you had spent with Jay: it was beautiful, sad and nostalgic, but beautiful at the same time. Feeling his strong arms around you affected you more than you wanted, but you couldn't blame yourself, you hadn't had human contact for years and this embrace was something that surprised you, your conscience was clear, you were a human too and humans were social beings, made to be accompanied, not alone.

They had been together all these years, but you had faced a loneliness that ate you up more and more every day, then you told yourself that enjoying a hug was not a bad thing. The slam of the door you had slammed was enough for the aforementioned Jake and Ni-ki to stop camping outside your room and join the other boys downstairs, wondering what had happened.

A knock on your door brought you out of your thoughts and made you jump slightly in your bed, "Miss, it's me...the red haired boy, my name is Jungwon..." you heard a voice that was already familiar. Of course, the red haired boy, the one who had tried to calm the whole atmosphere between you and the idiot when you had pointed your gun at him.

With some confusion, you got off your bed and unlocked the door, only to see Jungwon standing on the other side with a plate of egg and bacon that smelled damn good. He held the plate out to you with a slight grimace, "You should have breakfast, miss..." he suggested and you stepped aside and let him into your room, sitting on the edge of your bed without thinking much about it.

Jungwon followed you with a careful step, not wanting to intrude into your space, your room.

Fuck, YOUR room.

He swallowed hard when he realized that he was in a woman's room, a very attractive woman, something that had never happened to him because before all this he had never dated, calling them a waste of time and preferring to study and do well academically. The only room he had ever been in was his sister's room or his mother's room, so this was new to him and he couldn't help but take a quick look around, scanning your space with curious and longing eyes.

"Thank you, Jungwon..." your voice snapped him out of his trance and he quickly nodded to your words, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach when he heard you call his name, "Yeah, it's nothing...it's the least I could do after those idiots made that scene in front of you..." he said regretfully as he placed the plate on some of your furniture to then put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

You looked at him for a few seconds, then nodded in understanding, but something distracted you.

He really was, just so cute.

Seeing your silence, he took the liberty of continuing, "I apologize in their stead, Miss..." He spoke with firmness and determination as he looked at you intently, "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again..." his voice was commanding, practically with born leadership, you frowned with a mixture of confusion and surprise, but didn't reply. He seemed to have this under control so easily, so you just gave him a nod.

You couldn't deny that you were fascinated by Jungwon, you wanted to know him better. He seemed to be someone very intelligent, who simply radiated confidence, but not the kind of confidence that scares you, but the kind that makes you feel a certain respect for him.

What you didn't know was that inside he was trying to ignore your precious presence, as well as the overwhelming smell of you that surrounded every corner of your room. He held himself back, he wanted to keep himself sane.

or at least appear to be.

But his legs were almost shaking and his composure was about to explode at the thought of being alone with you for the first time, alone with a woman who was not a member of his family for the first time in his life. He didn't want you to see the strong effect you had on him, not yet, so he simply nodded at your silence and turned with the intention of leaving your room, not only to give you your space, but also not to lose control of himself. But one thing he was sure of: if he had to fight with his friends for you, he would do it without any doubt, he just didn't want to show himself as immature as Heeseung and Jay had done.

"____...." your voice stopped his footsteps before he could leave your room, he instead turned around and looked at you curiously, giving you room to continue talking "That's my name...don't call me Miss anymore, okay?" Your words took him by surprise but he nodded without hesitation, all his tough exterior melted away as the blush came to his face at a ridiculous speed "Okay ___ Noona..." now it was your turn to blush.

Fuck, you couldn't deny that you loved being called that name, it was one of your weaknesses and Jungwon had found it out without any trouble.

He gave you a shy little smile, letting you see his adorable dimples that you hadn't been able to see before.

Shit, he was really cute.

He walked out of your room with his heart beating fast and you allowed yourself to smile for a few seconds. They all had different personalities and you would have to learn to deal with each of them, but from your point of view, it wouldn't be that hard if they started acting like Jungwon.

It would be a long and hard process, but one that you were sure would be worth it...

Taglist 🫶🏻: @strxwbloody @ch4c0nnenh4 @aussie-boys-wife @deobitifull @engeneheree @merwdusa @elairah @suhwife @d-dilemma @liafterhours @btxtenha @wonenonline-blog @cara9065 @otterluver05 @imnotsadtoday @immelissaaa

not the reader losing it for Jungwon lmao

[freeluigihesbae]

𝓫𝓾𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 - 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝟑

(2,663 words)

part 1, part 2

summary:

luigi fell in love with you for those sparkling eyes where his dreams of falling in love first came true. but how did it happen?

𝗍𝗐: 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"So..." Luigi has his hand on yours, not wanting to leave.

The date, as he so confirmed, went wonderfully. The giggles were like butterflies filling the atmosphere while you noted the intensity of his stare in your eyes.

"Is this your go-to phrase when you're dumbfounded?" You smirk while still holding onto his hand. Luigi snickers in response.

"I'm smartfounded-" "That is SO fucking lame." You groan at his response, fake-disgusted at the cop-out answer he gave but he pulls back, both hands next to his head implying that he isn't guilty. You tilt your head back down, giving him a seriously? look that only made him happier.

"No, really. If I told you my resume I've got half the mind to say you'd be impressed." Luigi explains himself but two can play that game.

Especially since you want him to compliment you more.

"Yeah, but I bet you've never worked as hard your girl," you emphasize the your to which he raises his eyebrows, "doing everything with a cast on." You watch as his features soften impossibly more and you're thinking bingo.

"T-That's true." In fact, it isn't. Luigi remembers having to use crutches while preparing for the competition of a lifetime but honestly... he was willing to lie just to put you above himself.

It is an honest, selfless act.

You smile, happy that your little guilt-tripping line has worked its wonders before you remember your hangout with Ash. You check your phone and you already see a few texts.

Ash: heyyyy i miss u. i need to rant so bad istfg

Ash: Girl where tFFFF R yA i'm drunk and heartbro-Ken

You shake your head. This girl and her heartbreaks.

"Is everything alright?" Luigi cocks his head to the side, concerned about the expression on your face that changed so suddenly. You look up, immediately smiling and shaking your head.

"Oh, just a girl problem a friend of mine is having. I guess duty calls." You giggle and Luigi lets out a sigh before he stands up, extending his arm out.

"I'll walk back with you because it's getting dark and it's cold outside. Casts don't mesh too well with this...environment the universe has so cruelly subjected you to." You smile at his borderline philosophical monologue, throwing your head back in laughter and responding in equal vigor.

"Oh, whatever would I do without such a gentleman to guide me through the blazing waters of an Ivy League campus?" You stand up before he's already setting a hand on your waist and nuzzling his nose into your forehead.

"I guess we'll never know." Luigi responds and your heart soars. He couldn't give a better answer than that.

He knows it all too well.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"Why did you get the injury in the first place?"

You and Luigi have been walking at a leisure pace for about 15 minutes, thankfully since you shot a message to Ash who was kind enough to understand, happy that you found yourself a date.

"It's such a long story but let's just say... heels, stairs, and ice. Put one and one and one together." You reply with a mock serious tone and Luigi groans, his arm around you tightening with a sense of protectiveness.

"I swear, I'll never understand the expectation women have to wear these stupid heels and dress up to look a certain way. Just use 15-in-1 body wash and call it a day." You turn around, slapping your hand over your mouth at how he managed to switch from being so sentimental to talking like, well, what you'd expect a guy to talk like.

"I'm impressed." You say, genuinely impressed.

"That's my goal." He replies.

You walked straight into that one.

"What was the event?" Luigi follows up and you find yourself half-surprised he even cares this much.

Your mind flutters away, picking out the pieces of the night.

"It was a sorority wide gala. I wasn't really up for it but my friends pushed me to come and somehow, the night ended with me regretting it altogether. I'm a homebody, honestly. I like keeping to myself and it's definitely on me for bending to the peer pressure." You respond, sighing at the stress of just thinking about the day that landed you with the case you have on now.

Luigi bends down, placing his lips on your temple for just a second before pulling off.

"If you ever need help, bambi, just remember I'm there for you." He stops but quickly adds a comment. "I wish I could've seen the dress you were in." You stare at his side-profile, wondering how his tone could change yet flow so flawlessly.

"Yeah." That's all you say, finding yourself lost in appreciating this man in his entirety.

"Yeah?" He stops walking and so do you, letting your fingers take the risk and reach over to grab his hand, pulling it closer towards your waist. He understand the assignment, gripping onto your hipbones before his other hand is drawing a line from the small of your back, up to your neck.

"Yeah." You repeat yourself, but this time, your voice is more breathy, hyper aware of the way he's touching you and staring into your eyes.

He looks dreamy, you think, the way he looks at you with not just a superficial sweep of his eyes, but as though he's looking into you, trying to grab at the pieces that make you whole and if possible, soothe and piece them together better than they just were.

Dreamy.

Unknowingly, you both start walking but the pace is even slower as you're lost in each others eyes, asking the question neither of your dared to utter.

Luigi is still looking at you but his breathing has picked up.

He's trying his very best to just take you home and drop you off but there's a pull coming from your eyes and goddamn calling you bambi didn't help him much because the purity and innocence behind that name was driving him insane.

He saw you through those lens too and somehow, it seemed to be enough for him because he barely knew you. Yet, he felt he'd known you for years and he could explain how exactly your soul and body were weaved into one.

You find your way to your dorm building, stopping in front and Luigi's lips immediately part.

"I need to kiss you." He says and you're taken aback, but the blush on your face and ever-so-slight present smile in your eyes tell him you want that too.

He comes a few inches closer while shaking his head, driving his fingers upwards and cupping your face. You take your own hands and place them overtop of his, enjoying the size difference.

"You have no clue, bambi. Your eyes are the most beautiful thing I have seen in this world. I don't care if someone showed me the world's largest diamond and held it up to the sunlight because I'd just have to turn around and look into your eyes and I'd see the light of millions of gems sparkling. I'd see galaxies valiantly painted into poems. I see so many things you don't and the more I stare into them, I-" He falters at the end and you're panting, processing the awe-inducing words that just fell from his lips that you really want to kiss.

"Luigi you- you-" You don't know what to say. That wasn't a normal compliment. It wasn't a usual compliment. Hell, it wasn't even a compliment.

That was a love letter that came straight from his adoration for you.

"What the fuck?" A sharp, broken voice cuts through the warm and giddy atmosphere that was hugging the two of you closer together. You both turn your head and you realize, it's Ash.

Your smile drops but picks up when you turn around and walk over to hug her, but in all her rage for reasons you still don't know, she pushes you back. And she pushes hard.

"You fucking BITCH!" Ash screams while you're falling back, thankful that Luigi has caught you from behind. "Ash what is wrong with you?!" Luigi raises his voice and snap at Ash, who is staring at you both in tears.

"Yeah, that's right. Let me ask YOU that." Ash is pointedly speaking to you and you're feeling tears crowding your vision.

"A-Ash I have no idea what's going on-" "You're sleeping with the guy I asked out to prom?" She interrupts your plead and your eyes go wide before you're looking at Luigi, who spares you a stare and goes back to visibly fuming at the sight of Ash in front of him.

"Get the fuck out of here Ash. You're the one who tried to pressure me into saying yes to your stupid proposal-" "Stupid? Stupid? You're trying to act like you didn't know what your friends were doing and it's your fault that I asked you Luigi!"

"STOP." You yell and watch both Ash and Luigi freeze in place.

"Ash, tell me what the fuck happened and please explain why it justified you pushing me to the ground when I have a cast on?" You put your hands on your hips, watching her eyes go wide when she realizes you have a cast. Her lips part as she stutters and explains herself.

"I-I asked Luigi out for homecoming and he said he didn't like me despite his friends making me think otherwise. I got embarrassed because he did it in front of everyone and I-I-" There's guilt written all over Ash's face and you catch it. Luigi opens his mouth but you shoot him a look, which he respects.

"Everyone who Ash?" You ask, starting to think Luigi was right.

"You know what I mean." Ash scowls lightly before continuing. "Cassidy, Rachel, our friends, and the entire hallway like-" Ash stops, waiting for you to respond.

"So you voluntarily asked him out when there were several people around and expected him to say yes and when he said no you got upset?" You asked, slightly accusatory in your tone and she nods. You then turn to Luigi.

"What did you say to her when you said no? I imagine you said more than just no, correct?" You ask Luigi and he nods, speaking his words confidently.

"I told her that I'm glad she felt comfortable enough to ask me, but that I didn't like her despite what my idiotic friends were making it seem like and that I'm sorry on their behalf, but I couldn't go out with her. I was truthful and I was respectful bam- I mean-" Luigi stops and it takes everything in you to bite back a smile. "I was respectful." Luigi ends his sentence and you hear Ash sharply exhaling.

"You still didn't explain why that justified you pushing me to the ground." You whip your head back to Ash, whose face is pale with guilt.

"I thought he would've told you. So I thought he did and I got upset you were still hanging out knowing he rejected me." Ash says, a streak of anger in her eyes when she remembers the rejection.

You shake your head in disappointment. Even if he had told her, you still would've spent time with him because it's true - Ash is in the wrong.

"You're still in the wrong Ash. He was respectful about it and you made it a bigger deal than it has to be." You finally say and Ash flexes her jaw, staring at you with contempt.

"Of course you think it's my fault. Here you are, all perfect and in order with your life when I'm trying to find my footing." You're taken aback, glancing at Luigi who raises his eyebrow, but doesn't look at you. "You're so perfect. Perfect grades perfect everything-"

"You have all that too, Ash." You cut her off, confused what her annoyance is about.

"Yeah well you know what you have and I don't? The ability to make men fold. Every man I bring back stares at your like you're a goddess and it irks me like hell. You're pretty you're perfect you're everything I want to be. I fucking hate you and don't think for a second I find you any less guilty." Ash's voice is dripping spite and jealousy, getting even worse as she watches your face change...none.

"Ash, you were my closest friend and I always looked up to your for the same exact reasons, but I never tried to make men look at me or give me attention or something. I'm always being myself and it seems like you are unable to do that, which explains your jealousy." Ash's face is still angry, but you can see her lips quivering.

"I don't care. I hate you." Ash says, trying to get a reaction out of you.

"I don't hate you Ash, but I certainly don't want to deal with your baggage. Get out of my face." You say calmly and Ash freezes before crying and walking away. You watch as she's stumbling over herself, remembering she was a bit drunk when she texted you.

Luigi finally lets out a breath and turns to face you.

"I'm proud of you standing up for yourself. You've got a clear head and a strong will bambi." Luigi smiles and you smile back at him.

"Stop, oh my god. Just telling the truth I guess. Thanks for catching me Lu." You let the nickname slip and Luigi gives you a mockingly smoldering look.

"I'm Lu now, bambina?" Your jaw drops.

'Wha-Wh-Where do you pull these from UGH!" You slap his arm before he's scooping you into his arms and in giggles and laughter, you agree.

You hand him your ID card which he scans, carrying you into the room where he sets you on your bed, paying special attention to your cast.

"When are you getting this off, bambi?" You've gotten used to the nickname now, simply answering his question.

"In a week or two. I'm bummer out because I'm going to look stupid at homecoming." You frown a bit but Luigi comes over, lightly setting his finger under your chin.

"I don't know if you'd want to come with me or not, but no matter what you choose, I'm telling you that your eyes, body, and smile make you the most stunning woman anyone will ever set their eyes on." He's leaned in now, speaking his words right over your lips and you find your hands on his t-shirt, clutching the fabric so tight your palms start to sweat.

"I-I-I-" "Need to go, bambina." Luigi pulls away and you gasp as he turns around at the door, shining a smile and walking out the door before you can say his name.

Part of your sags, shoulders falling since you thought he'd ask you out to homecoming, but the way he did it... if he really did, was frankly, underwhelming.

Was this just a fun thing for him? A date that he could brag to his friends about? But how could it be?

You're lost thinking about all the words he'd said and spun you around in ribbon with, trying to fight every urge that told you he was playing with your feelings. You bounce back on the bed before wincing.

Something sharp scratches your head and you turn around before seeing a small card, folded into two and now showing a few words inside. You frown, wondering where it came from.

The moment the card slides between your fingers, it feel thick and rich, making you wonder what was possible written on it.

bambi,

if you're willing to come to homecoming with me, keep an eye out for a package tomorrow before noon.

here's my number: xxx-xxx-xxxx

~ luigi

Your heart flutters once again, all the doubts melting away as you pull the card close to your chest.

What did this boy have in mind?

~

if you'd like to be added to my taglist, please comment beneath my pinned masterlist post on my blog!

@madkohi

[crescenthistory]

analyze regulus black sunshine reader? like reader is js such good friends with ppl and socializes sm? maybe he gets jealous over how close she is with people? like how does he bring it up to her? :)

hi there darling<3 i would love to! i have also already written several full-length fics about sunshine!reader with reggie, including "you occupy my every thought" (where reg doesn't understand reader's love for him) and "are you falling asleep on me?" (where reader spends late nights in the library with him), if you want to see more 🤞

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ANALYSE regulus black with a sunshine!reader

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: gn!reader, reg's mental health struggles

regulus had always used his cold demeanor, family reputation that preceded him and lack of social skills as a shield to protect himself

it's better to keep everyone away than to risk under- or overestimating anyone he chose to let in

he had a close knit group of friends in the rosier twins, barty and dorcas, and he told himself time and time again that he didn't want or need more

which is why you walking into his life and choosing him effortlessly was so disorientating and hard to swallow for him

someone who was considered lively, beautiful and pure like you had no place in regulus' orbit, he was certain of it

yet you just settled down like it was the most natural thing in the world

sunshine!reader who loves regulus not just despite every obstacle he has thrown up to keep you from doing so, but even specifically because of it

sunshine!reader who looks at him and sees him instead of looking past

sunshine!reader who is not just bubbly but emotionally intelligent and willing to hold space for regulus in that way he desperately needs but is unable to convey

everything that regulus thought it a given that people dislike in him, you adored -> his deadpan humour that most people found rude, you found hilarious, his quiet and reserved self that sirius always called boring, you found serenity in

and you were so painfully patient and kind with him, never demanding, just showing up and loving him in a way he thought impossible

how could he not fall for you?

it took him a long time to get used to the feeling, let alone act on it or speak it out loud

i believe most romances with regulus, especially from "unexpected" people, would have to start as friendships that he slowly builds up trust and comfort in

which any sunshine!reader would fully understand and encourage him in, making him all the more infatuated

i think regulus would view sunshine!reader as kind of holy, someone who can do no wrong and is perfect all the way through

so if you were to ever reference or communicate any insecurity about being too much, too loud, too bubbly, etc. he would be just so thoroughly confused

i think he might not even understand what you're trying to say until a while later

at which point he would approach you and be like "hold up, what?"

which hits even more if this happens pre-relationship while he's still getting comfortable with you, but his reaction just couldn't be contained

it was simply unheard of to regulus that you view yourself as anything short of perfect

similarly, if anyone made jokes at your expense, he would wield every bit of his harsh facade and reputation that precedes him to ensure it doesn't happen again

barty and evan understand from pretty much the first week of your friendship that you are not to be messed with, and they respect both you and regulus for it

they need to tease someone though, so instead they focus all their energy on how lovesick regulus is becoming

when it comes to jealousy, i think regulus would be more jealous of what sunshine!reader can do than who they're with

it seems to him that everything is easy to you, that it just comes naturally to you to be such a kind individual

i believe his love for you would be permanently settled when he comes to understand that it's not easy for you, but that you do it anyway; it's not natural, it's hard fought for

yet, as he goes on his own healing journey, a part of him would be so envious to hear you navigate through difficult feelings with kindness and logic or see you get on so openly with those around you

he would be so glad you are able to do that and that you get to be completely surrounded by love – he just longs for it for himself

i think he would also be jealous of your friends for being able to match your energy so well

there would be many many conversations where regulus goes "you deserve better" and you go "but i want you"

seeing you and sirius shoot banter back and forth like it's nothing or see you run up to braid lily's hair at a moment's notice would both heal and break something in regulus

he's once again confronted with everything he could be, feels like maybe he should be, but can't

because regulus' personality, no matter how healed he is, is never super outgoing and sunshine-y – when he's with close friends, he is much more lively and filled with banter and jokes and even some physical affection. but it's never the same as your friends.

he wonders if he should be more

you keep showing him every day that he doesn't need to be, that you love him because he's him; he doesn't need to change for you

when he becomes more comfortable in your relationship, his ideal time of voicing any such feelings would be at night in bed

with the lights turned off and his face buried in your skin somewhere, he feels safe enough to be vulnerable with you

you'll drag your fingers through his hair and talk him down every time

the best part of being with regulus is getting to love him through the healing process and see him separate his personality from his coping mechanisms and fully blossom

i think it would be a bumpy ride, but what he needs throughout it all is a rock

his sunshine!reader

i also believe he would call sunshine!reader for sun related nicknames, particularly in french (soleil anyone?)

[spinedotlazuli1120]

I'm gonna point out that a majority of the fandom make Alastor the main villain of the entire show, claiming that he's the one person with ulterior motives. Meanwhile, the Vees are standing right there, with Valentino forcing his owned souls to fuck each other live on TV, Velvette being a spoiled brat and letting her owned souls to die in the hands of a piss baby, and Vox not only spying on the hotel, hypnotizing everyone who uses voxtec gadgets, but also had an actual plan to stop CHARLIE from making a deal with ALASTOR.

Now, based on Vox's tone when he said this, it's implied he's scared of the chaos that would happen if CHARLIE made a deal with Alastor, not the other way around.

He talks like Alastor is the least of his problems here, and that Charlie is the main issue the moment a deal is struck.

Folks in the fandom paint the one guy helping the main characters into achieving their (nearly IMPOSSIBLE) goals as the main antagonist of the entire show. On the other hand, they paint literally the characters that are crueler than the aforementioned demon as UwU babies that could do no harm.

No, just because they're your faves and that they're fictional doesn't mean you can defend their actions in canon. I know some people here have defended the Vees and their actions, but let's analyze them.

We already know Valentino, so let's skip that bald asshole.

Vox. Now, I know for a fact that nearly everyone in the radiostatic fandom view their falling out as Alastor hurting and leaving Vox in the cruellest way possible. BUT, has it ever occured to you people that it was VOX at fault? I know some of you don't believe this, but I'm pointing out that just because Vox appears friendly, he's still dangerous, and that's a problem some vox fans have.

Now, Velvette. Don't you dare tell me that she didn't do anything beyond letting her employees get killed. She created a "love potion' that was HEAVILY IMPLIED to have Valentino's saliva in. She is the Internet overlord and most likely bans people who talk shit about their brand. She is most likely the one overlord who didn't earn her power but was given to her by vox when he first found her in hell.

People are so busy viewing one side of the story and completely turning the one character that helps the main character in their everyday life into a one dimensional asshole. Meanwhile, there's a group of actual one dimensional assholes right fucking there and they're being treated like angels who haven't done shit that are so bad they ended up in hell

This is your hazbin hotel warning so sorry 🫶🫶🫶

OKAY SO, a thing I haven’t seen this fandom consider is that Alastor doesn’t deal in souls. Or, not often at least.

If there has I’d honestly like to see the posts bc this is a thought I’ve seen basically just me and my sister talk about. He doesn’t care—I’d even argue he thinks he’s too good to do so, thinks it’s too easy.

There’s a couple reasons I believe this, one of which being his backstory arriving in hell. Let it be known, the reason all of hell was impressed by his takeover as the radio demon was solely because he does not own any industry. He doesn’t have some company he’s been building for several decades. He didn’t join in with other overlords for shared power. He arrived in hell, and disrupted the power structure of overlords, and sinners. (We’ll get back to this later)

And the reason all of these overlords own major industries, famous for their insane production value and craft, is because the way that overlords gain power is through souls. Employment therefore being THROUGH these contracts (I’m going to refer to deals having to do with souls as contracts from now on, just to make a distinction). This is why Angel is owned by Valentino as a pornstar. It’s why Vox can just “call up the lowest earners this month” for Valentino to shoot for sport. It’s why Velvette can call her models hideous and let Valentino tear apart her best model. None of these souls, these employees, have any say in what or when or who their employers say they have to do. They simply do not have the autonomy to do so.

Now this calls in the question then, how did Alastor gain his overlord powers? If he owns souls, they are either ones he was given or earned from other overlords (ex, Alastor wins all of husker’s souls in a game of poker, leaving him powerless, and making his deal in the first place), or they were given to him by an overlord themself. Alastor CAN make souls stay at the hotel, but presumably, it’s not because he owns them.

If Alastor owned any other souls than Nifty and Husk’s, they would already be working at the hotel. We get back to that employment dynamic, contracts are means of living. None of these sinners had a choice because sinners have to make contracts to live.

Now, okay, we’ve established why Alastor’s overlord status is confusing and honestly makes no sense, why overlords are even overlords in the first place, the class metaphor and dynamic of the whole situation, AND why we know Alastor doesn’t own that many souls.

Now, I present you this: Alastor does not want Charlie’s soul. Alastor, wants to be rid of the overlord class completely.

LET ME PREFACE THIS BY SAYING: I KNOW The current ideas in the fandom of Alastor are that he wants more power. But, to be honest, the last scene with his character feels disingenuous to this idea.

Clearly, he’s in a deal with someone else. Clearly, this system has affected him too. Clearly, he just wants an out in the first place.

So, let’s go back to when Alastor first arrives in hell. Mimzy narrates how people dismissed him. How he wasn’t taken seriously. And then, proceeds to imply that targeting overlords for his radio show was to show said strength. Because Alastor was not someone to be dismissed.

And this characterization furthers in the episode itself: Alastor immediately has some beef with Lucifer because he’s a far more powerful being who wanted to dismiss his presence in the first place, preferring his daughter. Where they then have a pissing contest musical number, and Alastor generally dislikes him afterwords. My man even wipes his hand on his shirt after shaking his staff.

Not only that, but when Husk even IMPLIES that he’s not strong enough to handle whatever Mimzy has gotten herself into this time, that he’s still someone on a leash, he rampages on a killing spree to prove that he’s “still the baddass radio demon”.

This isn’t even mentioning when Carmilla said she wasn’t curious as to why he was gone. He needs to be important, to be noticed.

I understand that Alastor is genuinely someone who must prove themself and show their strength. It’s probably why he became a serial killer in the first place.

However, I think there’s a deeper intention with solely targeting overlords—one of his only contracts is with Husker, an ex overlord. The question would also be, why would he not put husk in his radio show as well?

Clearly, based on the fact that he warns him that Mimzy is just using him, that she’s a fake friend, they at the very least were amicable with each other. At some point. Maybe even still are. They STILL banter. And this isn’t to say it’s some weird “I’m in love with my kidnapper uwu” situation, this happened well before they were in a contract together in the first place.

Not only that, but Husker earned his souls, and therefore his power and overlord status, through gambling. He didn’t have some big scary industry, he wasn’t trapping people in these forever deals because they had no choice, he gained these through the unethical means of others. Maybe… Alastor believed that the ways in which he dealt souls, were different.

I can’t help but think that the company entirely surrounding taking away consent is the ONE COMPANY/THREE OVERLORDS that Alastor simply does not fuck with.

Not only that, but the only other overlord he’s friendly with is one that… just genuinely helps the people she employs? Just give them advice? Makes it THEIR CHOICE to march with someone else into battle? I love Rosie.

This isn’t to say Alastor is some saint that cares super oober deeply about consent. He doesn’t. If he did he wouldn’t be associating with overlords in the first place. He wouldn’t be taking advantage of people in such lowly positions.

All of this is to build the argument that Alastor does not own souls, nor associate with people who own them in irresponsible or unnecessarily cruel ways.

And, to further this point, Alastor most likely thinks it’s stupid in the first place.

In the pilot (which I understand isn’t COMPLETELY canon but it’s still Alastor’s character so. Whatever) Alastor almost immediately tries to jump Charlie with a deal. Work at the hotel, in exchange…?

But notice that this does not include ownership of her soul. At all.

In episode 7 before Charlie makes her deal, she asks, “You want…my soul?” And while he has this weird radio-y affect that goes all over the place while he says “your soul”, he also immediately replies in the most babying voice ever “Heavens no!” Like the very idea of needing her soul was silly. Ridiculous. Idiotic.

And, not only this, but when Vaggie bursts in to try and “save” her, he also rolls his eyes as he says “oh relax, she still owns her soul.” Again, babying. Infantilizing. Ridiculous.

It, again, feels like he doesn’t take the concept seriously. Like he thinks they’re almost too easy. To me, it’s clear he never wanted her soul. He’s always been far more interested in what Charlie can do for him, and what she can do with her dream.

Owning Charlie’s soul would simply give power over her, and her alone. Even in the interpretation that he “wants more power” she’s still just one person, one soul, one hell born. It’s so small inmemorable in the grand scheme of things. If he really wanted power through means of souls, he would fight the upward battle of capitalist destruction that is the overlord monetary system.

SO THIS IS ALL OVER THE PLACE, AND I ALSO WANTED TO WRAP THIS UP WITH ALASTOR’S TRUE MOTIVATION BEING DISRUPTING POWER—but this is also far too long and I’ve been writing for like. An hour straight lmao. I need a break and I wanna post this. So.

[xyywrites]

How to write believable enemies-to-lovers dynamics.

Enemies-to-lovers is a beloved trope, but it’s also tricky to execute. The transformation from animosity to love needs to feel organic, not forced. 

1. Establish the Initial Conflict

Give your characters a solid, believable reason to dislike each other. It could be ideological differences, personal betrayal, or clashing goals. The conflict must be significant enough to justify their animosity.

“You stole my promotion. Do you have any idea how hard I worked for it?” “You mean the one you weren’t qualified for? Grow up, Lena.”

2. Show the Nuance in Their Dislike

Enemies don’t always have to hate each other completely. Maybe they grudgingly respect one another’s skills or admire each other’s dedication, even if it drives them crazy.

“For someone so insufferable, you sure know how to shoot straight.” “And for someone so arrogant, you’re surprisingly not dead yet.”

“She’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” “And yet you can’t stop watching her, can you?”

3. Create Forced Proximity

Give them a reason to spend time together despite their dislike. Forced proximity allows them to see past their assumptions and grow closer.

“If we don’t get this presentation done by morning, we’re both fired. So, shut up and start typing.” “Only if you stop chewing on that pen. It’s distracting.”

“You’re bleeding.” “Yeah, and whose fault is that?” “Mine, obviously. Now sit down so I can patch you up.”

4. Allow Their Views to Shift Gradually

The transition from enemies to lovers isn’t instant. Let them experience small moments of vulnerability, trust, or understanding that slowly chip away at their hostility.

“You think I wanted this? That I enjoy being the bad guy?” “I didn’t think you cared.” “Well, maybe I do.”

“You fight so hard for your people.” “You do too. I guess we’re not so different after all.”

5. Use Banter to Build Chemistry

Snarky, sharp dialogue is the lifeblood of enemies-to-lovers. Their verbal sparring should reveal their personalities, highlight their tension, and hint at deeper feelings.

“Careful, you almost sounded like you cared about me for a second.” “Don’t flatter yourself. I care about not dying, and you happen to be useful.”

“If you were half as smart as you think you are—” “I’d still be twice as smart as you.”

6. Show the Cost of Falling for Each Other

Enemies-to-lovers works best when there are stakes. Their relationship should challenge their beliefs, goals, or loyalties, forcing them to make difficult choices.

“If I help you, I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for.” “Then why are you still standing here?”

7. Add a “Breaking Point”

There should be a moment where their growing feelings clash with their existing animosity, leading to explosive tension.

“You lied to me!” “What did you expect? You’re the enemy!” “Not anymore. Or at least, I thought I wasn’t.”

“Why do you care what happens to me?” “Because I can’t stand the thought of losing you, okay? Happy now?”

8. Use Physicality Subtly

Small gestures can reveal their shifting feelings—hesitant touches, lingering glances, or protective instincts.

“Watch out!” He shoved her out of the way, taking the brunt of the explosion. “You idiot. You could’ve been killed.” “Yeah, but you’re okay.”

She caught him staring at her, his usual scowl softened. He looked away quickly, muttering something under his breath.

9. Build Toward a Satisfying Payoff

Enemies-to-lovers works because of the build-up. Don’t rush the resolution. Let their relationship evolve naturally before culminating in a moment that feels earned.

“I don’t want to fight you anymore.” “Neither do I.” “Then come here.”

10. Maintain Their Individuality

Their love shouldn’t erase who they are. They’re still the same people who clashed in the beginning, but now they’ve grown to understand each other.

“I’m still not letting you win.” “Good. I’d be worried if you did.”

“You’re still annoying.” “And you’re still impossible. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”