#the sun is out god is smiling and life is good

[cinnxmxngxrl]

could you do something like joel’s love interest has strict parents and joel waits for her RELIGIOUSLY and proves to her that he’s a risk worth taking for but then the angst part is that the parents verbally and mentally abuse the reader into thinking joel will leave eventually but joel sees through her and offers her freedom by running away together. he gives her a life without fear❤️

“Run Away”

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist here

Summary: When your controlling and religious parents forbid you from being with Joel, he offers you the chance to run away with him.

WC: 5-6k

Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, dirty talk, fingering, virginity loss, praise kink, creampie, grinding, inexperienced reader, undisclosed age gap, emotional abuse, misogynistic comments, religious beliefs, controlling parents, no outbreak

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You didn’t even know how you and Joel had become this—whatever this was.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Hadn’t even seen it coming. But now you couldn’t imagine your days without that invisible thread tying you to him, pulling you closer. It was terrifying. It was thrilling. It was the only thing that felt real.

Maybe it started months ago, when your parents hired him to fix a leak in the roof. A simple job. A stranger with a toolbox. But the way he looked at you—quiet, steady, like he already knew what you were hiding behind all that silence—set something off in your chest. The way he moved was deliberate, careful. Every swing of the hammer, every step on the roof—he did it like it mattered. Like he was trying to fix something more than just a leak.

It began with stolen glances. You’d bring him fresh, homemade lemonade after hours spent working beneath the brutal Texas sun. He’d smile, say thank you in that low Southern drawl that wrapped around your ribs like a rope. Another time, he’d cut his finger on a piece of jagged metal, and you’d rushed to help him, gently cleaning the wound with trembling hands and bandaging it while pretending not to notice the way his eyes never left your face.

At night, you’d lie in bed thinking about him. Thinking about the way sweat soaked his T-shirt, clinging to his broad chest and outlining every hard-earned muscle. The veins in his forearms. The callouses on his hands.

And God—his hands. So much bigger than yours. So rough. So capable. You imagined what those hands would feel like on you—rough against the softness of your thighs, warm against your bare skin. You pictured the way he might say your name, slow and deep, the way his eyes might darken if you touched him the way you wanted to

You didn’t quite understand what you were feeling at first. You’d never felt this way before. About anyone. Heat would pool low in your stomach. You’d press your thighs together, trying to relieve the ache, but it only made it worse. The slickness, the need—it terrified you.

Your parents would’ve gone ballistic if they ever found out the kind of thoughts you were having about him. Or any man, really. Because thoughts like that were sin. Especially for a girl.

Especially for you. The good daughter. The quiet one. The one who never talked back, never raised her voice, never strayed outside the lines they drew for you. You were meant to stay pure. Untouched. But every thought you had of Joel was a knife slicing through that expectation.

Your mother had caught you staring once—just standing by the window, watching Joel as he worked with sweat beading on his brow. There was something primal in it—watching a man work with his hands, muscles flexing beneath sun-warmed skin. It made your pulse stutter. Made your throat go dry.

“You wanna end up like your sister?” she hissed, voice full of disgust. “Pregnant and alone without a man because she couldn’t keep her legs closed?” She’d looked at you like you were something dirty. Something broken. “Go to your room. Now.”

The shame hit you like a slap. But beneath it, deeper still, was defiance. A flicker of something fierce. Because even if she saw filth in your desire, you’d never felt more alive than when Joel looked at you like you were something he wanted.

And so things stayed the same. For weeks.

You kept your head down. Pretended to be the obedient daughter they wanted. Pretended Joel wasn’t all you could think about.

Until one weekend, your parents left town. A rare thing. They were too overprotective to leave you alone often, but they trusted you. Thought you were too docile, too submissive to ever disobey.

That Saturday evening, there was a knock on your front door.

“Hey, m’sorry to bother you. I needed to pick up my toolbox before I leave,” Joel said, standing on the porch.

He was standing there, golden in the setting sun, hands shoved in his pockets like he wasn’t sure if he should be there—and all you could think was yes. Yes, please, come in. Stay. You’d let him in without hesitation. He walked through the house like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“So… I guess the job’s all done now,” you said quietly. There was a hint of sadness in your voice, something vulnerable. You’d enjoyed having him around. Just seeing him made your day better, made life feel like there might be something more beyond your parents’ rules.

Joel offered a polite smile. “All done. Roof’s fixed. Shouldn’t be givin’ y’all any more trouble.”

You hesitated, your heart thudding in your ears. Then, in a whisper, “I liked having you around.”

He paused, toolbox in hand.

“You, uh… thanks for the hospitality.”

He turned to leave.

“Joel, wait,” you blurted, stepping forward, your fingers twitching at your sides. “Please… stay. My parents are out and… I’d like some company.”

You didn’t know where the words came from. That shy, quiet girl who never spoke unless spoken to—she was gone. Replaced by someone bolder. Someone hungry. You were starving for connection. For warmth. For the one man who made you feel like you weren’t just a shadow in your own life. He looked at you like you mattered. Like you weren’t something to be scolded or hidden.

That night, Joel stayed. You watched a movie together, ordered food. Laughed. And when he finally stood to leave, he leaned down and kissed you. Soft. Gentle. But filled with tension—weeks of craving packed into one breathless moment.

His lips were dry and warm, hesitant at first—like he was waiting to see if you’d pull away. You didn’t. You leaned in. Melted. Every nerve in your body lit up like a struck match. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim. A confession. A promise.

It was your first real kiss. Not some silly little peck on the lips behind the church when you were eight that had you believing you were going straight to hell. This one meant something.

He kissed you like he wanted to fix every broken thing you never spoke about. And in that moment, you believed he could.

After that, Joel came whenever he could. Stolen moments while your father was at work and your mother was busy volunteering at church. Even if he could only stay for thirty minutes, he came. The drive from his place to yours took longer than the time you had together. But that never stopped him.

Every time he showed up, you felt like you could breathe again. Like you were alive. You counted the minutes together like treasure—every touch, every laugh, every brush of his hand against yours a kind of salvation.

He’d hold you close, bury his face in your hair, and inhale deeply—like your scent was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You loved how small you felt in his arms. How safe. Like nothing could touch you when he was there. He smelled like cedar and sweat, like hard work and comfort.

Sometimes he brought you sweets. The kind your parents never let you have. “Too many chemicals,” they said. Sometimes he’d take you for a ride in his truck, the windows rolled down, his hand resting on your thigh. Those touches were everything. Not sexual, just grounding. Reassuring. The weight of his hand on your leg told you: I’m here. You’re mine.

No matter what you did together, it always left you with that glow. That warmth that stayed long after he was gone. Like his touch lingered on your skin. Like his voice echoed in your chest.

But you felt guilty sometimes. You couldn’t offer him much. You couldn’t give Joel what he deserved. You couldn’t go with him on real dates, couldn’t sit across from him at a diner booth and laugh over milkshakes, couldn’t walk down the street with your fingers laced together in the open air like a normal couple.

You couldn’t even kiss him without glancing over your shoulder, checking the curtains, your breath hitching at the sound of every creak in the floorboards.

You wanted to show him off. You wanted to stand beside him proudly, chin high, heart full. You wanted to tell the world, he’s mine. You wanted everyone in that suffocating little town to know that this was the man that loved you.

But the world wouldn’t let you.

Your parents wouldn’t let you.

So you kept him a secret, tucked into the corners of your heart.

“Why don’t ya let me talk to them?” Joel had said once, tracing soft circles on your arm with his fingers.

“You don’t know them like I do,” you whispered. “There’s nothing you could say that’d change their minds. They’re too stuck in their own ways.”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” And he kissed your forehead like that made it all okay. And for a moment, it did. His lips on your skin felt like a shield. Like maybe he could protect you from everything—even your own family. Even yourself.

That same day, while kissing on the couch, you’d let your hands slip beneath Joel’s shirt. You didn’t plan it. Your fingers just moved on instinct—drawn to the heat of his skin, the strength beneath it.

He didn’t stop you. Not at first. His breath hitched when your fingers skimmed across his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch. He let you straddle his lap, his hands firm on your waist.

You could feel him beneath you—hard, unmistakably aroused, pressing against the soft heat between your thighs through too-thin layers.

And still, neither of you said a word. You just looked at each other—his pupils blown wide, your chest rising and falling in tandem.

Eventually, like always, he’d gently pull back.

“It’s getting late,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I should go before your folks come home.”

This time, you didn’t let the moment die. You reached for the buckle of his belt, fingers trembling but determined. He caught your wrist. Gentle. Careful. But firm, and placed your hand back on your lap.

“Did I do something wrong?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“No… no, baby. It’s not that.” He let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours.“It’s just… not now. I don’t wanna rush it.”

“But I want to,” you said softly. “It’s not like you’re forcing me.”

“I know. I know. And I want it too. But not tonight.”

Things were as good as they could be under the circumstances. Bittersweet, but yours. Until everything shattered.

A pretty little box, tied in a ribbon, with a folded note tucked neatly inside:

For the sweetest girl in town –Joel

He exploded. You’d never seen him like that. He grabbed you by the shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He shook you like he was trying to knock the sin out of you.

“Please stop! Dad, you’re hurting me!” you cried.

“What the hell’s gotten into that head of yours?” he yelled, rapping his knuckles against your skull like it was a door. “Is there anything even in there?”

“I told you,” your mother snapped. “We failed with this one too. She’s a filthy whore just like her sister. What did we do wrong?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The shame crawled up your spine like ice water, seeping into every crevice of your body. Your cheeks were wet, your throat closed, and all you could do was stand there—frozen. Trapped. Worthless.

“What do you think he wants, huh?” your father spat. “You think he loves you?” He laughed bitterly. Cold. Cruel. The sound scraped across your skin. “What do you have to offer? You’re just a stupid little girl.”

“All a man like that wants is your body,” your mother added. “And once he has it, he’ll throw you away.”

“It’s not like that! He loves me! You don’t understand!” you sobbed.

“You’re a disgrace. As a woman. As a daughter,” your father growled.

His fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself not to hit something. “Going after a man like that. You should be ashamed, acting like a worthless slut.”

“She is a worthless slut,” your mother sneered. “That’s why she acts like it.”

“No respectable man wants a girl like that,” your father said. “An easy woman with no self-respect. You’re an embarrassment.”

Then he yanked you by the arm and threw you into your room, locking the door behind you.

Neither of them spoke to you for two whole weeks. They wouldn’t even look at you. They acted like you didn’t exist.

You cried into your pillow every night, the silence of the house louder than any scream. You couldn’t see Joel. Your mother quit her church duties so she could stay home, always keeping an eye on you. You weren’t allowed to go anywhere alone. Couldn’t even close your bedroom door.

But every evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, you’d press your forehead to the cool glass of your window. And there he was. Joel. Leaning against the hood of his beat-up truck. He never stayed long, just long enough for you to see him. To know he hadn’t left.

He’d smile, mouth the words “hello baby,” and even though you couldn’t hear it, you swore you felt it in your bones, in your chest. He never missed a night. He never gave up on you, always showed up religiously.

He waited. Every single day.

After a month, the frost between you and your parents began to thaw—but only barely. They still hovered, still watched you like a hawk circling prey. Your mother called every half hour when you left the house, her voice tight with suspicion masked as concern.

But little by little, they let the leash loosen. Just enough to breathe.

And all you could think about—what you ached for—was Joel. His touch. His voice. His arms around you. But all you could think about—what your body ached for—was Joel.

The way he looked at you like you were something he chose, not something he stumbled into.

You were starving for him. And this time, you weren’t going to hold back.

It was now late in the afternoon. Your mother had gone to a bake sale at church, claiming she’d be gone for hours. You’d told her you’d stop by to help later, maybe sell some cookies, smile at the neighbors. But that had been a lie the second it left your lips. You had no intention of showing up. You’d already made your mind up—heart racing, pulse hammering beneath your skin. You were going to see Joel.

It was your first time taking the bus, and the nervousness made your stomach twist the entire ride. Your legs bounced, fingers twitching in your lap, trying to ignore the looks from strangers around you. When you finally got off a few blocks from his place, your hands were trembling, but you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You needed to see him.

The moment he opened the door and saw you standing there, his eyes went wide, like he didn’t trust they were showing him something real, and then he wrapped his arms around you. So tight. So desperate. It felt like he was trying to fold you into his body, like he could take you somewhere safer just by holding you close enough. You could barely breathe, and you didn’t care.

He held you like a lifeline. Like maybe if he held you close enough, he could shield you from the world. Or drag you into his chest and keep you safe there forever.

He held you like a lifeline. Like maybe if he held you close enough, he could shield you from the world. Or drag you into his chest and keep you safe there forever.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” His voice cracked with awe, like he’d been dreaming of you and didn’t believe this was real.

“I needed to see you, Joel, I—”

“I missed ya so much. You have no idea,” he said, clutching you tighter. “You’re all that’s on my mind. Day and night.”

He didn’t wait. He kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Like he’d been starving for you. His mouth found yours like a man breaking a fast, starving and half-mad with need. His kiss was messy, frantic, breathless—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands in your hair, on your hips, everywhere.

Heat surged through your chest, through your spine. He kissed you like he thought you might disappear again.

His arms lifted you, half-carrying you into the house as the door slammed shut behind you. You didn’t even notice where he was taking you—you just knew his mouth was on yours, and nothing else mattered. You ended up like you always did, tangled together on the couch, lips moving frantically, hands already searching.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, hungry and trembling. You dragged your palms across heated skin, over the rise of muscle and the scars that told a hundred quiet stories.

He shuddered under your touch, a sound tearing from his throat—low, rough, involuntary.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you again,” he said against your lips. “Felt like I was gonna die without you.”

“Me too… I need you so much, Joel,” you breathed, dragging his shirt off and tossing it to the side. Your lips latched onto his neck, hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses leaving trails of fire in their wake.

“Mmm, baby, you gotta stop with that,” he rasped, breath shaking.

“I don’t wanna stop.” Your voice was already thick with want, your hips pressing down into his without you even thinking. And then you felt it—his hardness, thick and hot beneath you, pressing right against your core. You gasped and rolled your hips, needing the friction, the contact, the relief.

“Fuck—enough. That’s enough for now,” he said, voice soft but edged with warning.

“Please… it feels so good,” you whispered, your hips still grinding on the bulge in his pants. You couldn’t stop. It felt too natural, too right—like your body already knew what it needed, and it was him. Only him.

“Baby, I don’t want you doing anything you’re not ready to do. You don’t owe me anything. Not like this. We’ll do it when you’re ready.”

“It’s not that,” you said, sitting up to look him in the eyes. “I want it. So much. And I’m ready, Joel. I promise. I am.”

His gaze searched your face, so serious and gentle, like he needed to be absolutely sure. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. A hundred percent.”

He stared at you for a moment longer, as if he were memorizing every part of your face—your swollen lips, the blush in your cheeks, the vulnerability in your eyes. His jaw flexed. You could see how much it meant to him, how he was holding himself back, terrified of crossing a line.

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. Then, with careful hands, he eased you back against the cushions. The way he looked at you—like you were something sacred—made your heart twist painfully in your chest.

He hovered over you, kissing your neck, your collarbone, whispering, “Is it okay if I take this off?” as his fingers tugged gently at your shirt.

“Joel,” you whispered, “I want you to take everything off.”

He growled, low in his throat, and your shirt joined his on the floor. His hands were everywhere—reverent and hungry—cupping your breasts, lips finding your nipple, sucking with a hot, eager mouth.

His palms were rough, calloused, and warm as they molded to the shape of your tits like he was memorizing every contour. His mouth was fire—wet, open, relentless—his beard scraping your skin as his tongue flicked and circled, teasing the delicate peak with a maddening rhythm.

The sensation sent a shockwave through your whole body. His tongue was slow at first, teasing, swirling around the sensitive bud before latching on again, sucking harder, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

You gasped, back arching, overwhelmed by the newness of it all. Your nipples pebbled under his tongue, thighs squeezing around his waist, trying to ground yourself. It was all so much—so electric. You were trembling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And you’re giving yourself to me, such a good girl.”

His lips trailed lower, kissing down your stomach, tongue teasing over your skin. Every nerve ending in your body was alive, lit up, aching for him. His hands undid your pants, dragging them down slowly, deliberately, until you were bare beneath him. Your legs trembled. You felt exposed. Vulnerable. You’d never been this naked in front of anyone.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice soft as a prayer. “We can stop whenever you want, yeah?”

Your fingers dug into the couch. The air was cold on your skin but his eyes were molten, and you felt like you were glowing beneath him. You should’ve felt shy, but with him looking at you like that? Like you were the most perfect thing he’d ever seen? You just felt wanted.

“I won’t ask you to stop,” you said. “I want it all, Joel.”

“Just relax f’me,” he said as he settled between your legs, pushing them gently apart. “I’m gonna get you ready, babygirl. We’ve got all night. No need to rush.”

His fingers hooked under your underwear and pulled it aside. You were soaked. Embarrassingly soaked. He groaned.

“God—that’s the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

The way he said it made your belly clench—filthy and reverent all at once, like he was worshiping at an altar.

Your cheeks flushed deep red. His bluntness, the way he said those filthy words with reverence—it made your head spin.

“You’re so wet, baby. It’s all soaked,” he muttered, staring at you like he was hypnotized.

You squirmed, embarrassed, instinctively covering your face with your hand.

“No, no,” he said gently, pulling your hand away. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” you asked shyly.

“Yes. Means I’m doing my job right. Means you’re getting ready to take me.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, and you nearly jerked off the couch. Your hips bucked, chasing his touch, your body burning for more. He started rubbing slow, deliberate circles. The feeling was like nothing you’d ever known. You couldn’t quite understand such pleasure. White-hot, intoxicating, overwhelming.

“Feels good, love?” he asked, his voice low and patient.

“I—it…” you moaned, breath hitching. “It feels weird.”

He chuckled softly. “Bad weird?”

“N-no… it’s good. K-keep doing it.”

“Just relax, love. Don’t think. Just feel.”

You closed your eyes and let yourself go. Let his fingers carry you. Let the warmth spread and grow and gather. You’d never known sex could feel like this. You’d been taught it was about biology—about duty, about giving men children. Never about this. About trembling and pleasure and the way your thighs started to shake as he circled your clit again and again.

Suddenly, the pressure snapped. It tore through you like a wave crashing against the shore. Your body arched, a ragged cry escaping your lips. You didn’t fully knew what was happening in your body, but you felt the world stopping for a second.

He slowed his fingers and leaned over you, smiling. “Jesus, you look like an angel when you’re cummin’.”

“I-I don’t know what that was,” you gasped, eyes still wide.

“You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

You shook your head.

“Did you like it?”

“It felt so intense… like nothing before. God, it was amazing.”

He beamed, proud and hungry. Then his tongue flicked out, dragging a long, wet stripe up your slit. You shivered violently. It felt filthy and perfect and everything in between.

His mouth was merciless—tongue exploring every inch of you with patient, devastating precision.

The wet, firm drag of his tongue against your hypersensitive skin sent you reeling again, your back bowing with a gasp. He didn’t rush—just tasted you, slow and deep, letting his tongue slip inside you before licking up to your clit again.

“Mmm, you taste amazin’,” he growled. “Delicious little cunt.”

“Joel… I want your—”

“I know. We’ll get there. But I need to work you a little more. Gonna be a good girl and let me use my fingers?”

“Y-yes.”

His middle finger circled your entrance before sliding in. You gasped, the stretch making your body tense.

“You’re so tight, baby. You gotta relax if you wanna take my cock.” His voice was low, guiding. “Just breathe—yeah… slow breaths. Just like that.”

You forced yourself to breathe, your chest rising and falling in shaky rhythm. He eased his finger in deep, letting it rest for a moment before starting to move, slow and steady. The rhythm was hypnotic. Each stroke of his finger brushed something deep inside you that made your toes curl. You could hear how wet you were, the slick sounds obscene in the quiet room.

Then he added a second.

You whimpered. The stretch burned—but it also made you moan. He pumped his fingers in and out, watching your face, gauging every sound, every twitch of your body. It was almost too much—so full, so thick inside you—but the burn was addictive. Your hips started to rock on instinct, needing more, desperate for what was coming.

“You think you can take another one, love?”

“Yes—yes, please, Joel.”

His third finger pressed in. Your walls clenched, thighs shaking. He curled them just right, searching until he found the spot that made you gasp. Then he kept hitting it, slow and focused, coaxing more slick out of you, letting you fall apart all over again.

“I think you’re ready, baby… you’re all pretty and opened up f’me.”

He sat back, unbuckled his belt, and dropped his pants and underwear. And then you saw it—his cock, thick, hard, flushed red at the tip, leaking clear fluid. Your breath caught.

The sight of it made your pulse thunder in your ears—huge and heavy and veined, the head glistening, twitching as he stroked himself.

“We can stop if you want.”

“I want to. Please. Keep going.”

“I know it looks scary, baby. But I promise I’ll be real gentle. I won’t hurt you.”

He stroked himself slowly, one—two—three slow strokes, then guided the leaking tip through your folds, slick gathering on his cock as he dragged it through your soaked heat, teasing your clit with the swollen head. You were dripping for him, open and trembling, your body aching for the stretch of him. He positioned himself on your sweet hole.

“Just breathe, okay? I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low and tender, a deep rumble that vibrated through your bones, steadying your nerves. And then he started to push in.

It was too much. Too big. Too overwhelming. The blunt pressure at your entrance forced your body to open inch by inch, your inner muscles fluttering in protest and desire. Your hands clawed at the couch cushions, closed eyes squeezing. Feeling the pain of being split open. It felt like pressure, heat, stretch—every inch of him pushing you wider, deeper, fuller. You couldn’t stop the little sob that slipped out.

“Oh god—shit,” he groaned. “You have no idea how fuckin’ good you feel. So warm and tight… Jesus—Tightest little cunt I’ve ever felt.”

You whimpered. your thighs shaking, chest rising and falling with short, gasping breaths.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked, voice thick with concern.

“I’m alright… don’t stop.”

He kept his thrusts slow, gentle, controlled. Each push was deliberate, patient, giving your body time to bloom around him. He didn’t rush. He wanted you to feel every second, every inch, to take him fully, sweetly.

Only the tip first, only a little at a time, inch by inch. Letting your body get used to him. He wanted you to have the best experience possible, wanted you to enjoy it.

“My love… so good f’me. Doing so good. Takin’ me so good… Letting me fill you up all full and nice.”He breathed, voice trembling with restraint.

He kept carefully slamming into you, scared to hurt you. But you adjusted to him slowly. Your body learned him, molded around him, grew greedy for the stretch.

“Takin’ your virginity like this—fuck, baby, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.” He murmured, brushing your hair from your face.

The pain began to blur into pleasure, enjoying the way he felt. The stretch faded into fullness. Every slow drag of his cock against your walls made you clench tighter, made your toes curl and mouth fall open. Each time he pulled out even slightly, your cunt ached to pull him back in, to feel that deep pressure again. You couldn’t believe something so big could fit inside you. Could feel so good.

“Harder, Joel,” you whispered. “Please… harder.”

And he gave it to you. Hips slamming forward, the sound of his skin smacking yours echoing in the room, wet and rhythmic.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. So damn brave, lettin’ me have this first. So proud of you.” He muttered, pride and hunger thick in his voice.

It was deeper now, his cock bottoming out inside you. Your body welcomed him with every thrust, greedy, slick, shaking. Your head lolled back against the couch cushion, lips parted in ecstasy.

“You take this cock like it was made to be inside you,” he grunted. “Your cunt was made to take me.”

The filthy praise made your walls flutter, your nails dragging down his back in helpless, desperate pleasure. His name spilled from your lips over and over as he rutted into you—hard, needy, like he was trying to pour himself into your soul.

“I’m close, baby… I’m really close,” he panted. “Gonna pull out—”

“Inside,” you said quickly, clutching at him. “Inside, Joel.”

His hips snapped forward one last time, and he groaned loud into your neck as he came, deep and hot, emptying himself inside you with everything he had, painting your walls in white. You felt every spasm of his cock, every pulse of heat flooding your core. It made you gasp, your body clenching tight around him, milking him dry.

He didn’t pull out. Not right away. He stayed deep inside you, cradling your body against his, like he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart even for a moment. His skin was damp with sweat, his breath warm against your temple. He just held you, breathing hard, brushing his fingers through your hair. Slow, soothing strokes, like he was trying to memorize the texture of you, anchor himself in the reality of what had just happened.

“You okay?” he asked softly. “I didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?”

“I’m good—I…” You suddenly felt overwhelmed, a flood of insecurity creeping in. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm?” he murmured, looking down at you.

“I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t very good. I’ll get better and then—”

“No,” he said, cutting you off. “Don’t even think that. Not for a second.”

He cupped your face, stared into your eyes. There was nothing but honesty in them, nothing but fierce, protective love. As if he could see every ugly thing you believed about yourself and wanted to tear it all down.

“Doin’ this with you was the most amazin’ thing in the world.”

Then he kissed you. Your cheeks. Your nose. Your chin. Your forehead. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, meant to heal. To tell you wordlessly that you were enough. That you were everything.

“I promise you,” he whispered, “I’ve never felt this good. Not ever.”

You stayed there, without any rush, any care in the world. Just being in his arms, safe. The weight of him on you was grounding. Protective. As if nothing could touch you so long as he was near.

His heartbeat thudded slow and steady beneath your cheek, the warmth of his chest wrapping around you like a blanket, anchoring you to the moment. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside, the weight of your past, the fear of the future—it all slipped away in the comfort of his hold.

“I don’t want you goin’ back there…with your parents,” his voice was soft, you could feel the tremble in it “Come live here with me.”

“As if they’d ever allow it,” you said quietly. You knew all the risks. Their control. Their wrath. The strings they’d pull. The shame they’d sling like daggers.

“Then let’s run away. Together. Just you and me, startin’ over somewhere else.”

“Joel—”

“No. Don’t Joel me. Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t do it. You’ll be free, we’ll be happy together.”

“Because you’ll get bored of me. And you’ll leave me. And then I’ll be all alone.”

The confession fell from your lips before you could stop it, your voice cracking under the weight of your deepest fear. It was the kind of truth you never meant to say out loud, the kind that lived in the corners of your mind and poisoned everything good. The words felt like blood drawn from a wound you thought you’d hidden well. Your throat tightened. Eyes burned. You couldn’t look at him.

“Did they tell you that? Did they make you believe that bullshit?” He said it with anger—not at you, never at you—but at them. His voice was shaking, laced with fury that anyone had made you feel so small, so disposable. He hated the ones who planted that fear in your head like poison. His jaw clenched, and you felt it where your cheek rested on his chest. His hands were gentle even as his voice shook.

“Baby, I love you more than I love myself. What do I have to do to convince you?”

His hands braided your hair softly. Each motion was careful, reverent, like he was weaving pieces of you back together. Undoing all the harm they’d done, knot by knot. Each stroke of his fingers through your strands was a vow. The kind of tenderness you’d never been given. Not once. You closed your eyes and let the slow rhythm calm you, ground you.

“You’re the most important thing in my life, my top priority. All I want is to keep you safe and happy. You know I’d do anything for you.”

“When?” you asked him, barely above a whisper. The question trembled in the air like a fragile thing.

“You pack your things and let me worry about the rest. I’ve got you.” His voice was low, full of certainty. Not a single hesitation. Just a promise, and you knew, right then, he’d burn the world to keep you safe with him.

And part of you wanted him to. Wanted to watch him light the match, watch it all go up in flames, just so you could finally be free—with him.

A/N: Soo, to the person who requested this, I really hope i didn’t let you down and it was everything you wanted and more. Thank you so much for your request!!🫶🫶

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[firelilyfox]

Some girls think it's cute

Thunderbolts: Bob x Female Reader

Summary: Bob has a HUGE crush on you and no talent in talking (shy king)

Warnings: none really. sfw. fluff overload. passionate kissing.

Words: 2k

Like always: leave a heart if you like or a comment or ideas :) all is welcome!

_____________________________

The sun rises over the skyline bringing New York to life again. 

Bob is already standing in the kitchen making coffee to survive the upcoming challenges for today: don’t break anything while training with Bucky, staying awake through the boring lectures by Yelena and most importantly… not having a stroke as soon as he sees Y/N. 

Multiple times this week Bob had severe problems to even breathe when you would enter the room or - god help him - standing within an arm length away. Every time you laid eyes on his nervous face he was already looking at you and the way you smiled because of it … he felt his heart skipped a beat. Or five. 

Worst of all: the others noticed. 

„Mornin’ Bob“, Bucky grumbles from across the huge kitchen slash dining hall. 

Bob looked up and sighted in relief (or disappointment). „Good Morning.“ 

„I bet you wish I had lovely curves and longer hair. Don’t ya?“ He said mockingly. And the pale skin in Bobs face turned instantly red. Bucky barks out a laugh. 

„Jesus this is too easy.“ He grabs himself a cup with his metal hand and poured some coffee in it. „You seriously have to work on your pokerface if you plan to keep this a secret.“ 

„I don’t know what you’re talking about“, Bob mumbles ashamed. 

Before Bucky could say anything else the elevator makes a soft ping sound and Yelena stepped inside the kitchen. One step behind her … there where you. 

„Hey Boys what’s up!“, Yelena shouts with a big smile. „Ready for some training with your favorite sparringpartners?“ 

„C´mon Yelena give me at least five minutes to enjoy my coffee before I’m going to kick your ass off the mat“, Bucky mocks. 

Bob couldn’t even hear the half of the conversation the two soldiers were having because he was way to focused on you standing there right in front of him. And now he sucked up every move you body was making while coming over to him. 

„Good morning Bob“, you said with a little rasp in your voice wich made it obviously that Yelena had just pulled you out of bed. „I’m so tired. No clue how they have so much energy at this time of the day.“ 

Bob swallows hard. Your hand lays right next to his while resting on the kitchen counter. „I-I… Yeah no clue.“ He wants to sink into the ground. 

For a second you just look at him, trying to figure him out, then you hit him with a shy smile. „You look good this morning … I mean you uhm - you look well rested.“ 

Bob froze solid in place to stare at you. He wasn’t able to move at all but his powers were totally going nuts. Heat sizzled beneath his skin and without noticing he mirrored it to Buckys full cup of coffee. Wich was bubbling now. He put the cup down, smiling knowingly and gave Bob a brotherly pat on his shoulder. 

„We will be down in a minute. You girls go ahead and we will meet you at the sparring halls.“ With a meaningful look Bucky gives Yelena a sign to not ask anymore questions. She smirked and grabs Y/N by the elbow to drag her away from Bob. 

After the girls had left the room Bob blinks multiple times to make sure he didn’t just dreamed that. 

„Well, I know for sure that you didn’t cook my coffee because of Yelena so … yeah. Work on that pokerface or tell her that you like her.“ 

Bob runs his hand through his hair. No point in denying it any longer. „I tried but every time I- I just … i go tongue-tied.“ 

„Some girls think it’s cute.“ 

Bob sighs. „I don’t want her to think I’m cute.“ 

**Downstairs**

It was even harder for Bob to focus while he is being forced to sparr against you. The rule is to not use any powers (especially for him because … well he could blow this entire building up within a heartbeat) so his only chance not to completely collapse as soon as he blocks some of your kicks was pure self control. 

After hours of hard training Yelena and Bucky decided that it’s enough for one day and made their way up to the quarters again. You and Bob stayed. 

„You are getting better and better each day Bob. Hard for me to keep up.“ The amusement in your voice sends a warm feeling right in his heart and fills his stomach with butterflies. 

„I just copy what I see. You have … you are … uhm I mean“, Bob stutters. Cursing himself for sounding like a damn toddler not being able to form a whole damn sentence. „You are amazing.“ The words escaped is mouth before he could think twice. 

You give him a thankful smile. „That is very sweet of you to say.“ 

Bob doesn't know how to respond to that so he stays silent. Wrenching his fingers nervously, trying to make eye contact without starring at you. 

„I - uhm“, Y/N starts. „I should go up and take a shower. But would you like to watch a movie later?“ 

A wide smile appears on his face. „Yes! I mean uh yeah sure. The others wanted to watch this uhm historic drama I think … I dunno how its called … but yeah if you want we can sit there together. I mean …“ His tongue gets all tied up again while trying to sound not to exited. 

Y/N giggles. „No that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to watch this historic thingy with the others. I wanted to ask if you would like to watch a different movie with me.“ 

Maybe the coffee were never able to stop a stroke from happening. Did he really just hear what he think you said? You wanted to watch a movie with him … alone? 

„But … there is only one home theater?“ 

„Yeah. But we could watch it in my quarters … if you like to come over?“ Your voice gets a silent as if you weren’t sure if Bob would like the idea. 

He swallows. Blinks. Then swallows again. „Y-Yeah. I would like that.“ 

**Later that day**

He flexed both of his hands before he finds the strength to knock at your door. With one last quick look at the corner of his eye he sees the entire Thunderbolts standing at the end of the long hallway pointing their thumbs up and smiling. Bob gestures to make them go away but that’s when the door swung open and suddenly he forgets about the nosy roommates. 

You were wearing a oversized shirt of a band he never heard of and one of your shoulders was showing. Your legs were covered in a tight black leggings, wich does not leave much for the imagination. With your hair tied up in a wild bun you looked very comfy.

„You look stunning“, he said with a scratchy voice. Bob could see that Yelena clutches a hand over her mouth and Bucky modding in approval. Ava and Walker trying everything in their power to keep Alexei from making any sound and he wanted to disappear in thin air. It was like having you parents watch you talking to a girl for the first time. 

Basically its exactly what was happening right now. He was thankful that you couldn’t see them from your position. That would make this even more awkward. 

A soft pink appears on your cheeks. „Thank you. Come in.“ 

Bob follows you inside and scans the room with one long look. It felt cozy and warm. In every corner was a plant and books were lying around on the different surfaces. The Tv were the only source of light wich made it even more … private. 

He catches you looking at him. „I like it. It looks like you.“ 

„I look like a room?“, you ask in confusion. 

„Pretty.“ He says, surprised by his own confidence. Never had he felt so brave talking to you but standing here in the middle of the room, that belongs to the girl he adores … makes him feel safer than ever. 

The two of you decide to watch a movie about something funny. Then you choose to watch another movie about something with much action scenes and fast cars. After that you decide to watch another movie wich you totally forgot what it was about because while being all cuddled up on the bed, you are getting closer with each passing minute. By the time the third movie was playing, your legs were laying across his lap and Bob has managed to almost naturally lay his arm around your shoulder, touching the small of your back softly. 

„I think that you are pretty too“, you whisper so silent that he almost missed it. 

„What?“ 

You raise your head from his shoulder to look at him. „You called me pretty earlier. And I think you are pretty too.“ 

„You were thinking of this for the last couple of hours?“ Bob asks in disbelieve. 

You nod. „I think about you quiet often.“ Your eyes dart down to his lips when they part in surprise. Bob notices not sure what it means. 

„Why?“, he finally whispers. „Why would you do that?“ 

You look away while clearing your throat. „Oh uhm - I - ignore what I just said. Sometimes I just say weird stuff.“ A nervous chuckle escaping your mouth, trying to cover up the embarrassment. 

Bob wants to slap himself across the face. Why couldn’t he have said something more ... well something more intelligent maybe? For fucks sake he were lying in a bed with the girl he was into head over heals and she told him hat she thinks about him and all he had to say to that was; Why?!  

Work on your pokerface or tell her that you like her. Buckys voice ringing in his ears with what he said earlier that day. He had to choose between them. 

But Bob didn't choose, because there is only one right answer. 

And he never wanted to have a pokerface. 

He gathers all his courage and hooks one finger under your chin. Gently forcing you to look at him. „I think … about you too. Quiet often Y/N.“ 

His thumb brushes over the soft skin of your bottom lip. „You do?“ Your voice was nothing more than a whisper asking him that. And he nods. 

Painfully slow his palm cups your cheek, long fingers touching the spot right beneath your ear, pulling you closer. „I have trouble to think about anything else.“ His lips brushes yours soft like a feather as if he was asking for permission. You lean into the kiss to deepen it and all of the hesitation falls of Bobs shoulders. His hand on your back holding you close to him and the other on find its way to your throat. Not to squeeze it, but to worship the sensitive skin. His lips calming yours. Your hands wander over his chest into his hair. 

The kiss wasn’t wild. It felt soft and gentle and passionate. You felt like falling and flying all at the same time. And he felt like he could finally breath again without trouble. Like you were the air he needs to stay alive. 

A sudden crack interrupts the intimate kissing. The window to your left is now having a huge dark line wich stretches all from the bottom left to the top right corner. 

„Was that …?“, you ask a little breathless. Bobs head falls back and he closes his eyes shut out of embarrassment. This cannot be happening. „Robert Reynolds, did you just crack my window?“ The amusement in your voice was unmistakable. 

„I’m afraid so.“ He sighs. „I’m sorry.“ 

You shake your head. „I think its cute.“ 

His eyes fly open in disbelieve. „You think I’m cute?“ 

„It’s not a bad thing“, you say and kiss him again. „I think it’s cute that I can make you loose control a little bit.“ 

He never saw it this way. He thought that being seen as cute meant to be weak and that he would never had a chance to get out of the friend zone. But apparently being cute is not at all a bad thing. So if the girl in his arms - and out of his dreams- thinks he is cute… then he wants to be cute for her. 

[orimuraa]

• Give me your love - OT7 ↳ ┊: blind - enhypen

𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆the first i love you with enhypen ⨾

۶ৎ ot7!enhypen x fem!reader┆tooth-rotting fluff┆petnames, kisses, the “L” word┆wc 914

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i wanted to give you all a fic since you have all been patient with me during finals week! so here you go! i still have a bug fic i’m working on so stay tuned for that too!

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 - 이희승

the moon light illuminated your bedroom perfectly, the open window causing the curtains to flow. it was just perfect. you were wrapped in heeseung’s arms, your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. you two weren’t sleeping yet, more like…soaking in the presence of each other. “i think i love you. no- i know i love you angel,” heeseung whispers, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. your breath catches and you feel your heart speed up. “i love you too seungie,” you smile into his chest, feeling a bit shy. “god, say it again please,” he begs, kissing the top of your head. “i love you, i love you, i love you,” you giggle, heeseung planting a kiss on your face every time you said it. and you were never planning on stopping.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 - 박종성

it was a hot day, the seoul sun sweltering down on the city when he said it. you and jay were lying on his kitchen floor, trying to escape the heat, and laughing about some stupid memory. “i love you, princess,” he blurts, tilting hid head to look at you. for a moment, you felt time freeze, and all you could think about was those three words. with a smile, you turn back to him. “i love you too, jay,” the smile on your face only getting bigger. he pulled you closer to him, leaning over you to press his lips against yours. “i will love you forever baby,” he whispers against your lips. and you couldn’t help but fell the exact same way.

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒖𝒏 - 심재윤

“thank you for letting me stay here jakey,” you smile, settling down into his bed. you had had a rough day and jake decided that it was jot a good idea to let you be alone in your sorrow because “it would be un boyfriend-ly” of him. “sweetheart! i told you! i will always let you crash here, m’kay? i love you so much and i would never forgive myself if i didn’t treat you well,” he rambles, his cute little lip jutting out into a pout. but as soon as the words left his mouth, both of you froze. “jake- i-” “i’m so sorry sweets, i swear i wasn’t trynna make you uncomfortable it just slipped out and i-” “shut up, i love you too dumb dumb,” you giggle, kissing him to seal his lips. “god i love you so much.”

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 - 박성훈

“today was so amazing hoonie, thank you,” you smile softly, turning to face sunghoon before heading into your apartment. “anytime, princess. i always enjoy your company,” he winks, stepping closer to you and pulling you in by the waist. for a minute, you lips hover each other and the whole world stops around you. “i love you,” he whispers, almost like the words came out on their own. “i love you too hoonie. i think i have for a really long time,” you mumble against his lips. sunghoon finally seals the gap and presses his lips to yours. “then the feeling’s mutual.”

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 - 김선우

the moment you knew you loved kim sunoo was when you were lying in bed, rotting away from a cold when all knock was heard at your door. you had trudged your way over to it, peaking out to see who it was. you were immediately greeted with the sight of your lovely boyfriend, holding a bag of medicine and food. “hi baby! i’m here to nurse you back to life!” he said cheerfully, walking into your apartment. it took you a minute to process it and you almost started crying from how touched you felt. “i love you,” you confess, smiling once you got the words out. sunoo almost got whiplash from hoe fast he turned to look at you, a huge smile on his lips. “oh baby, i love you so much more than you can imagine!”

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒐𝒏 - 양정원

jungwon had had an especially bad day and he couldn’t wait to just get home and let you cuddle him till the worries disappeared. when he unlocked the door, you immediately embraced him, knowing about his mood. “hi my wonnie,” you greet softly, kissing his nose before taking his bag. “i’ll put this away, just go wash up, okay?” you say, unpacking his bag. he just nods sleepily, heading off to go wash away the bad day. when he finally makes it to bed, you’re already there, waiting to give him cuddles and countless kisses. you hold him tightly, your face buried into his chest, and you hand softly playing with his hair. it’s soft and you almost miss it, but you hear it. “i love you ynnie,” he whispers, almost like it’s a secret. you just smile to yourself before saying: “i love you too wonnie.”

𝑵𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒊 - 西村 力

you were out stargazing with ni-ki—something you two did ever since the start of your relationship. it was a quiet night and the summer air was just enough to keep you warm enough. “little love? wanna know something?” he says after a pause of silence. you hum. “i think i’m in love with you. your heart stops for a second before rapidly beating. “i love the way you laugh, and the the way you smile, and the way i just can’t get enough of you. you drive me insane but in a good way,” he continues, his voice soft yet serious. “ki…i- i don’t what to say..i love you so much too,” you reply, having a loss for words. “good, cause i wanna be your forever.”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic, @woniefication, @melodiessvy, @soona-huh, @kiwicup, @yuuuraaa

[pazziiiiiiii]

Hey guys sorry this took so long I just had some stuff going on but trust me imma get some more chapter out faster. Please give me more feedback and recommendations for the next chapter. ILY!!!

CHAPTER 6

In had been a week.

Seven days since the gym incident. Since Paige collapsed on the court and scared the shit out of everyone, including Azzi, who had never sprinted so fast across hardwood in her life. Since Paige and Azzi had that convo in their room late at night. Since they both got their hearts broken.

But things were… different now.

Not better. Not fixed. But different.

Paige was back in Azzi’s room, not the guest one. She still didn’t talk about what happened, and Azzi didn’t push. It was like some unspoken agreement had settled between them: we will not talk about it, but we will try. Try to be normal. Try to laugh again. Try to forget that there was something thick and sharp wedged between them that neither of them had the words—or the guts—to name.

Azzi noticed the change slowly. The way Paige started lingering in the kitchen longer, joking with Katie again, half-heartedly but trying. The way she didn’t pull away when Azzi’s arm brushed hers on the couch. The way their eyes would meet and hold for a second too long, before one of them—usually Paige—looked away like the glance had burned her.

Azzi didn’t know what the hell they were doing.

But she wasn’t about to mess it up by asking.

Not again.

⸻

Paige could feel it happening—this slow return to normal, this pretending. And part of her hated herself for going along with it.

But after what happened at the gym, after she passed out like some dramatic ass mess in front of everyone, she didn’t really get a choice. Katie had told her she was “worried” in that way moms do that sounds gentle but cuts deep. Azzi had barely let her out of her sight for a day and a half. And even now, a week later, Paige could feel the eyes on her.

But Azzi wasn’t pushing anymore.

And that made it easier to breathe.

They still didn’t talk about what Paige had said before—not the full thing, not the part about her dad and what he’d screamed at her before she left. They didn’t talk about why she’d shut down, why she’d spent three weeks avoiding Azzi’s gaze, or why it made her stomach twist every time Azzi smiled at someone else.

They didn’t talk about Devon.

God, Paige hated even thinking his name.

It wasn’t like Azzi had said they were dating. It wasn’t like she’d even said she liked him. But she’d gone out with him. Smiled on FaceTime with him. Talked about the dinner like it was fine. Like she was fine.

And maybe she was.

Because Paige was the one who wasn’t.

⸻

“You coming to the park later?” Azzi asked, her voice casual, tossing a basketball from hand to hand.

Paige glanced up from the couch, where she was half-heartedly tying her sneakers. “Maybe. Gotta finish this shit first.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about your math packet?”

“I don’t,” Paige muttered. “But your mom said if I didn’t get it done today, I’d be on kitchen duty for the rest of the week.”

Azzi snorted. “Alright, fair.”

Paige watched her turn to head toward the door, and something in her chest clenched. “Wait.”

Azzi paused, hand on the doorknob, and looked back.

“I’ll come.”

Their eyes met for a beat. Azzi’s mouth lifted, just barely. “Cool.”

⸻

The sun was dipping low by the time they got there, casting a gold haze over the court. A few neighborhood kids were already playing, but they made room when they saw Azzi and Paige show up with that casual swagger only hoopers carry.

They ran a few games, and it was good. Easy. Familiar in the way only basketball ever really was. Paige found herself laughing without thinking, brushing sweat from her brow, cursing under her breath when she missed a shot she shouldn’t have.

And Azzi was just—Azzi. Confident and steady. Elbows sharp and eyes locked in.

Paige couldn’t stop watching her.

At one point, Azzi caught her staring and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Paige looked away too fast. “Nothing.”

Azzi didn’t press. Just smiled to herself and called next game.

⸻

That night, they lay in their beds—separate, even though they were in the same room again. Paige stared at the ceiling, letting the dark swallow her up.

“Hey,” Azzi said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming today.”

Paige’s throat tightened. She almost said of course. She almost said I miss you. She almost said too much.

Instead, she just mumbled, “Yeah. No problem.”

⸻

The next day felt more like summer than quarantine.

Katie grilled lunch in the backyard, and the air was full of that hazy warmth that made everything feel slower, softer. Paige sat in the shade, half-asleep with a plate of food on her lap, and let herself forget.

Forget that her dad hadn’t called since she left.

Forget that he probably wouldn’t.

Forget the ugly pit in her gut that still came back every time she remembered what he’d said. You better not ask her, or you can stay there forever.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe that was what she wanted.

⸻

Later, when Azzi flopped beside her on the grass, Paige didn’t move.

They lay there in silence, watching the sky.

“I’m not seeing him anymore,” Azzi said suddenly.

Paige blinked. “Who?”

Azzi gave her a look. “Devon.”

Paige felt her stomach lurch. “Oh.”

There was a pause.

“Just so you know,” Azzi added. “It wasn’t serious.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

Azzi rolled onto her side, eyes searching Paige’s face. “You really didn’t?”

Paige stared up at the clouds, willing her voice not to crack. “No. I figured he wasn’t your type.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed. “And what do you think my type is?”

Paige’s heart thudded once, sharp. She swallowed.

“Dunno. Just… not him.”

Azzi didn’t say anything for a while. Then: “You don’t talk to me the same anymore.”

Paige flinched.

Azzi sat up, knees drawn to her chest. “I know you’re trying, I do. But you still pull away.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Paige sat up too, brushing grass from her legs. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me get it.”

“I can’t.”

Azzi’s voice was tight. “Why not?”

Paige looked at her. Really looked at her.

Because if she told her the truth—if she said I feel like I’m disgusting for thinking about you the way I do or my dad thinks I’m a freak and maybe he’s right or I’m terrified you don’t feel the same—it would ruin everything.

So she said nothing.

Just stood and muttered, “I’m gonna shoot around,” and walked toward the driveway hoop.

Azzi didn’t follow.

⸻

That night, Katie knocked gently on their door when it was just Paige inside.

“Got a minute?”

Paige nodded, unsure.

Katie sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been through a lot, kiddo. I want you to know this house is a safe place.”

Paige’s throat tightened. “I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

Paige clenched her jaw. “I don’t need to be fixed.”

Katie’s voice softened. “I didn’t say you did.”

There was silence.

Then Paige muttered, “It’s just different here. You all—care. You ask. At home, no one asks.”

Katie touched her shoulder lightly. “Then maybe it’s time you start expecting better. From the people who claim to love you.”

Paige didn’t know what to say to that.

So she didn’t say anything at all.

⸻

The next morning, things were normal again.

They had cereal side by side at the counter, feet touching under the stools. Azzi stole Paige’s spoon just to be annoying, and Paige told her to fuck off with half a smile.

Later, they walked to the park again.

And when Azzi tripped on the sidewalk, Paige caught her elbow without thinking.

Their eyes met.

Neither of them said anything.

But the tension—god, the tension was still there, electric and terrifying.

And neither of them could look away.

[chadobi]

“Hi guys! I promise I’ll get to your requests, but honestly—before I fall asleep, I just had such a good idea😂! I hope you’ll like it!”

“Date Night, Sewer Style”

Bayverse Donatello x Reader

|Fluff| Crack|

Donatello had never sweated so much in his life.

And technically, turtles didn’t even sweat.

But as he adjusted the third string of dollar-store fairy lights (rigged to a janky power converter he swore wouldn’t explode this time), he was dangerously close to short-circuiting himself. Emotionally, at least.

Everything had to be perfect.

Well—as perfect as it could be when your first official date with your crush took place in an underground sewer lair.

But still. He tried.

He’d spent the last four days meticulously planning: lighting, music, “ambiance.” He even tried making a “fancy” dinner—homemade pizza with toppings that sounded gourmet (fresh basil, sun-dried tomatoes, goat cheese… okay, the cheese was questionable, but he tried). Mikey had offered to help, which he swiftly declined. That boy couldn’t even say “romantic” without breaking into a slow jam.

Donnie glanced at the table he’d set up—well, two stacked crates with a patterned cloth April had donated—and nodded to himself. Good. Cute, even.

Now all he had to do was—

“Donnie?”

Your voice echoed lightly from down the tunnel, and he froze. Panic. Actual panic.

He rushed toward the entry, slipping on a wrench, nearly tripping over a power cord, and still somehow greeted you with a strained, “Hey! Hi! You made it!”

You raised an eyebrow at the flurry of movement. “Everything okay?”

“Yes! Yes. Just final touches. Nothing exploded.” He cleared his throat. “Yet.”

You grinned and looked past him, eyes widening at the sight.

“Oh my god…”

His stomach dropped. “Too much?”

“No,” you said, smile blooming like sun through cloud. “It’s adorable.”

You stepped into the little setup, taking it all in: the soft fairy lights strung between old pipes, the flickering candles (he had triple-checked for open flame hazards), the folded napkins that looked suspiciously like they were made from Splinter’s spare meditation towels. And the pizza—slightly overdone, artfully arranged with what looked like… a parsley garnish?

Donnie wrung his hands. “I wanted to make it special. For you. I know it’s not exactly… rooftop dining.”

You turned toward him, and your expression softened into something so warm, he thought he might short out completely.

“I love it.”

He blinked. “You do?”

“Donnie,” you said, stepping closer, “you strung fairy lights over sewage pipes. That’s effort. And it’s very you.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

You sat, and he joined you—awkwardly, knees up too high because the crates weren’t made for his build—but you didn’t seem to care. You chatted as you ate, complimenting the pizza (which honestly wasn’t bad), and Donnie slowly relaxed. His jokes got bolder, your laughter louder, and somewhere between a half-hearted toast with soda cans and a rambling story about the time Raph accidentally set the punching bag on fire, he felt it—

That thing. That maybe-this-is-actually-going-well thing.

And then—

BOOM

The lights went out.

Dead.

Complete darkness.

“…Oh, come on,” Donnie groaned, leaping up.

You stifled a laugh as you heard him fumbling with wires and muttering to himself.

“Give me a sec! I just need to reset the backup capacitor!”

“Take your time. I’m just here enjoying the ambiance,” you said, waving vaguely into the void.

Somewhere, a wire sparked.

And then—

BOOM.

Loud music blasted through the tunnels—loud, cheesy, and undeniably Mikey.

“YO, IT’S DATE NIGHT, BABY!” Mikey’s voice rang out as he slid into the room, wearing a velvet jacket, heart-shaped sunglasses, and carrying a boombox blasting “Let’s Get It On.”

Donnie froze mid-repair. “MIKEY—”

“I brought the vibe, bro!” Mikey declared, already moonwalking. “Your love life needs a soundtrack!”

“ You swore you wouldn’t interrupt!”

Mikey winked. “Technically, I’m enhancing.”

From somewhere deep in the lair, Leo’s voice echoed in the distance like thunder.

“Michaelangelo I SWEAR TO SPLINTER-”

“Can’t hear you, bro! Love is louder than rules!”

You were doubled over laughing, covering your face while Donnie looked like he was deciding between rage and resignation.

Eventually, Leo stormed into the room, glared at Mikey, and yanked the power cord. Silence.

Leo pointed at Donnie, then you. “Sorry. Carry on. Pretend this never happened.”

He dragged Mikey away by the shell as Mikey yelled, “BUT I WAS GONNA DANCE WITH THE MOP AGAIN!”

Donnie slumped onto the crate next to you, face in his hands. “This is a disaster.”

You nudged his arm. “This is hilarious.”

Silence returned. Flickering emergency lights buzzed overhead, casting a warm orange glow.

Donnie exhaled hard and slumped back onto his crate.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered. “This was supposed to be—cool. Smooth. Romantic.”

“It was,” you said.

He glanced at you.

You were still smiling, soft and amused.

“This is… all so you, Donnie. Smart and sweet and a little chaotic. And that’s exactly why I like it.”

He stared at you, heart thudding.

You reached for his hand—large, calloused, still trembling from stress—and squeezed gently.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

His breath caught. He ducked his head, cheeks flushed.

“I really like you,” he said, voice low. “I’ve liked you for a while. But I didn’t think someone like you would ever want to come down here. Let alone eat sewer pizza with me.”

You smiled. “Donnie… I’m here because it’s you. And you didn’t have to do all this to impress me.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Really. But… I’m still gonna brag about the candlelit sewer date to April.”

He laughed—sharp and sudden and so real it made your chest ache a little.

Then, slowly, he leaned in. Not a kiss. Just resting his forehead gently against yours. His free hand came up, brushing his knuckles along your cheek.

“You make all of this feel… okay,” he whispered.

You smiled and leaned into his touch.

“So do you.”

And in the soft hum of faulty lights, surrounded by chaos and candles and leftover jazz still buzzing faintly through the walls, Donnie kissed your cheek—shy, careful, reverent.

It was imperfect.

And completely perfect.

[forsaken-headcanons]

Ok so im a FIRM believer in there being two spawns, heavily inspired by yin and yang.

Ok so the spawnpoint symbol looks kinda like the sun, right? So people made a “moon” spawnpoint symbol. And that inspired me to split the spawn into two. 

The Light Spawn is represented by the Sun Spawn and is the masculine Spawn. He is thought of to be the god of Life, Rebirth, the Sun/Daytime, and Evil. On his own, he represents the light of rebirth. Knowing one has a second chance, people tend to get more risky, so he also represents the sin that can be caused by carelessness those with a second life may exhibit. He is the one that grants second lives and judges whether one is worthy of it. 

The Dark Spawn is represented by the Moon Spawn and is more feminine. She is the goddess of Death, the Afterlife, the Moon/Night, and Good. She represents the eternal void that is the afterlife and the peace that comes with death. She is thought to comfort the recently passed and to guide them through life after death. 

One Spawn cannot exist without the other. Rebirth cannot exist without Death. The Afterlife cannot exist without Life. Day cannot exist without Night. Good cannot exist without Evil. It’s like yin and yang.

NOW!! We all know the survivors get revived in the lobby after rounds. How does this happen?? Simple!! The specter is forcing the Light Spawn to do this for him!! Heh.. He also is the one providing Two Time a new second life every round. The Light Spawn doesn’t want to do this, but the specter is another god and is much more powerful than he and the Dark Spawn are, only being beat by Telamon and Noli (noli and specter lore eventually trust)

Because the Light Spawn is missing during Forsaken, the Dark Spawn is suffering.

Two Time’s cult worshipped both Spawns, but some members focus more on one Spawn than the other. There is slight tension between worshippers because of this, but they try to ignore it because it’s “not what They would want”

The cult knows the Light Spawn is missing. The Light Spawn only disappeared shortly after Forsaken began, before Two Time was forsaken, so they know He’s not present. This doesn’t stop them from believing He’s out there somewhere, still watching over them.

The cult celebrates the Summer and Winter Solstices as holidays, usually preforming some sort of animal sacrifice to the Spawn it’s associated with (Summer for the Light Spawn, Winter for the Dark Spawn) WHICH is where I choose to believe Azure’s sacrifice came from. They believed the Light Spawn came down to them about a week before the Summer Solstice and told them He required a human sacrifice this year, and requested they do it themselves. Humans haven’t been used for decades after the cult learned the Spawns appreciate animals more. The Spawn never really said this to them, they hallucinated the whole thing. You can imagine what happened next. 

Aanyway thats all for now smiles uhh noli, specter, and maybe more telamon content soon. Im also working on more shit for the hybrid hcs because like. Thats my whole name. Im not god anon. Im  — Hybrid anon

holy fuck. we might've seen the moon spawnpoint you were talkibg about btw! back to the headcanon tho HOLY FUCK???? TS IS SO PEAK WTFFFF HYBRID YOUR WAY OF THINKING IS MAJESTIC

o heayh. YOINK. SKEDADDLES AWAY WITH A SUSPICIOUSLY HEADCANON-SHAPED BULGE IN OUR POCKET /SILLY

wanna comment more on this guhsadhlasd. vro. the dark spawn not being forsaken makes so much sense too... there is no solace after death. no afterlife. no comfort of the true night sky. the kindness of the real world is long gone, replaced by the repulsive disnature that is this horribly everlasting purgatory. what the fuck. hey hybrid cinderblo

[just-some-random-blogger]

Can i request some cregan, like reader having her first time with him?

A/N: i know you said *HAVING her first time, but im not in a smut mood. I AM IN A CREGAN MOOD THO. this has been holed up here for a while now, so anon, if ur reading this, sorry no smut but I hope you like fluff. edit: the fic died and now im sad so the fic is sad pls i hate hormones

Frosty Lips

As a girl, you never imagined you would one day be wed to the to the Warden of the North. As a grown woman, you can't imagine ever being in the arms of another.

Cregan Stark x Reader | 500< | cw: fem!reader, fluff, smitten!Cregan, domestic life, typos, etc.

Tagging: @aneurins-barnard because her gif is LICHRALY the reason why I wanna write at all EVERYONE SAY thank you eli. also @arabellasleopardcoat HI!!!! LOOK ITS CREGAN!

Cregan rubs your bare shoulder and kisses the spot that connects to your collar. He rubs your arm, adjusting the blanket on you.

It was late, and he knew it. From the way the sun shone from out the window, he figured it was possibly noonday already.

He slowly pulls away from you and for the fourth time, you pull him back into your chest, groaning in disapproval.

He feels your head shake. A sighs yet again, though devoid of any actual frustration; his eyes were brimming with endearment and amusement as he watches you pretend to sleep.

He sighs.

You rub your cool hands down his bare back and he rubs his nose into your neck as a response, mumbling, "we must wake, my heart."

He speaks your name, meaning to sound vaguely threatening.

You frown and crawl atop him, "no."

"Gods be good," he mutters, clenching his teeth as you kiss his jaw. It was a losing battle, there was no way he was going to push you off, not when you were so warm and wanting.

"Must we rouse?" you mutter, "aren't I owed more time with my lord?"

Cregan's breath hitches.

You snake your arms around him, "we've just had our wedding night."

"Aye," he strokes your hair, "and I want for nothing more than to stay in your arms."

"..."

"..."

"... but?"

Cregan grunts, "but..." he rubs your back, "Winterfell will not stand without its ward."

You lift your head up.

The pouty frown you give him pokes a hole into his heart. It was not just a showy frown to get him to stay a little longer, you looked troubled. He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, "what's wrong?"

Taken off-guard by his question, you mask your expression with a pantomime of your original pout, "the ward of Winterfell does not warm my bed..." you nuzzle your face into his neck, "my husband does."

Cregan sighs as he clutches your head. He murmurs against a kiss on your hairline, "if you are worried the ward of Winterfell would forget about his wife, you are sorely mistaken."

A beat passes.

He rubs your shoulder as you draw aimless shapes on his skin.

"And what if the Lady of Winterfell does not do her duties well?"

He shifts to see your face.

"What if she makes a mess of everything she wishes to help with?"

Your glassy eyes make his brows furrow. He takes your hand and kisses it, "then I would be glad to have a lady who wishes to help me at all."

Your lip wobbles.

"And I would stop gifting her sweeties because she no longer deserve them."

You snort and slap his chest.

He smiles, glad the jest wipes the rueful look upon your face. He kisses the top of your head, "come, my bride. Let us make a mess of things together."

[xxaraaq]

𝙀𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙮 𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨

Wc | 0.7k

cw | none, just fluff

Toji x Black! reader

A/N | I got drunk last night and wrote this, then I woke up this morning and edited it a little. So i hope you enjoy!

Toji had known he was going to marry you long before this morning came. But today, today had solidified the notion that you would be his wife sooner than later.

It was early, and he was tired. Fresh off his shift, he had slept through all four of his alarms set to get Megumi up and ready for school. “Shit.” He had rushed out of the comfort his bed provided, heavy footsteps padding against the cold wooden floors as he made his way through the narrow hall, lightheaded and still halfway asleep as his hand rose to scratch his nape.

“Megumi.” His gruff voice echoed out into the empty room as he pushed through the door. 

Empty.

“What the hell?” Confused and still weary, he sighed, making his way throughout the house, seconds feeling like hours as his fatigued body dragged itself all from room to room. Then he heard it, a soft sound he couldn’t quite recognize emanating from the kitchen. He turned the corner to see megumi sat still, fully dressed with his backpack in hand as he watched you make his lunch. You yourself look like you had just rolled out of bed, glasses crooked on your face and bonnet half strewn up.

 God, you were beautiful, he thought.

It was from out of a movie, misty sun rays hitting your face near perfectly as you made whatever sandwich, he couldn’t tell, you were making, calm smile on your face as you hummed to whatever song you had told the Alexa to play.

It was all so perfect.

“Dad. Megumi's small voice cut through the peaceful quietness. Toji didn’t say anything in return, simply grunting a hello that his son had heard enough times to understand. ‘Hey baby,” Your voice is the last thing to fully wake him as you press a kiss to his cheek. “Could you drive him to school today? I wanna try to get an extra hour of sleep in before I get ready for work. Sleep had not fully left you yet, evident in the way you melted into him as he pulled you into a lazy hug. He hummed in response, and he could feel your smile on his collarbone. Another kiss to your temple, he lets you go as you finish packing it snug in his bag before pressing a gentle peck to his forehead. 

“I love you megs, have a great day today.” You wrap you robe tight against your body after he hugs you goodbye, and Toji basks it all in. You’re such a kind soul, too good for him, and yet you took the life he handed you and turned it into this; all tender mornings and gentle goodbyes.

“Go start the car, I’ll be out in a minute.” He rests himself against the counter, taking a few seconds to just look at you. “What? Is there something on my face?” You’re already wiping near your mouth and cheeks when he takes your hands into his, pulling you flush against his broad chest. “I love you so much.” He rests your head in the crevice of your neck, breathing in your scent. “I love you too.” You hum, swaying the two of you back and forth in a simple dance. He stands to his full height, craning  is neck down at you. “Is something wrong?” Your hands find their place on his cheeks, rubbing the pad of your thumb over his scar in a soothing manner. He shakes his head no, taking a moment to himself to truly take you in. “You’re so beautiful.” 

You’re caught off guard, eyes widened in surprise as a smile rises on your lips. “Well thank you very much.” You laugh, kiss him once more on the corner of his mouth. The two of you held each other, all smiles and gazing into each other's eyes until the obnoxious honk of a car horn is heard from the driveway. “Brat.”  He sucked his teeth in annoyance as you pulled back from him. “Go take the boy to school, Toji.” Your laughter filled the air as you started cleaning up the remnants of your sandwich making escapade.   

As he walked out the door to his impatient son and a car whose horn is much too loud, all he could think about was how long it would be for a morning as serene as this one to come.

He also thought about how beautiful a bride you would be as you walked down the aisle towards him.

-Nene

[wooahoe]

to be an alien by jihye bae. — jeon wonwoo x oc

the streets are filled with memories that haven't dried; love is nothing more than a meaningless lament

suddenly it rains without warning, and then it stops; blame this rain, or better yet, blame myself

怪天氣 (strange weather); an ode to the man who will never be my bias

dory’s notes: this one…if you’ve been reading my yapping long enough you know that this one is a long time coming. i have poured my blood and sweat and tears and soul into this fic ON GOD IM GONNA TAKE A BREAK but pls enjoy!

also @rosiemain hiiii it’s jiabae and here is the wonwoo fic :) sorry it’s so late !! life takes a toll 😔😔 have fun reading!

wc: 3.2k (with a/n)

teaser — mlist — @maestro-net

—

rain. heavy fog, honey-baked pretzel sticks. headphones tangled in pockets, r&b in languages she barely knows. a familiar presence at her side.

bae jihye looks up, and smiles lightly.

jeon wonwoo smiles back.

he opens the umbrella, and holds it up so that it covers them both.

“ready?”

“nah. not really.”

he pauses.

“too bad.”

—

moving to korea wasn’t an easy decision. for starters, the country is dying. as the elderly get older and the young start to decline in number, the cultural traditions and practices of korea begin to fade away. we’re losing ourselves to the workforce, our language is disappearing, and the country is slowly collapsing in on itself. but i came here anyway. why, i’m not sure. but hopefully i’ll find the part of myself that’s been missing for so long among the bustle and summer air of seoul. from to be an alien, prologue

the first time she meets him, it’s in one of hybe entertainment’s many conference rooms.

she wonders for a moment if accepting this job was a good idea, but brushes the thought away immediately after the door opens and thirteen men file in through the door, followed by a familiar face.

she stands, smiles at the manager, and then turns to the newcomers and bows politely.

seventeen, one of hybe’s most popular idol groups. third generation powerhouses, the theater kids of kpop, the self-producing idols that have inspired every generation after them.

oh, and also one of the most chaotic groups in kpop ever.

and she’s supposed to help manage them? oh, god.

“let’s get this meeting started, shall we?” their manager claps his hands. jihye fidgets with hers nervously, but a small smile from jeon younghwan has her placing her hands in front of her, and bowing once more.

hello, my name is bae jihye. it’s a pleasure to meet you.

she takes a deep breath and translates the words in her head.

“안녕하십니까, 저는 배지혜 입나다. 반갑습니다.”

the boys nod, some nodding their heads or bowing in return, and one by one they introduce themselves.

에스쿱스, 최승철. 윤정한. 홍지수, 조슈아. 문준휘; 호시, 권순영. 전원우. 이지훈, 우지. 이도겸, 이석민. 김민규; 서명호, 디에잇. 부승관; 최한솔, 버논; 이찬, 디노.

s.coups, choi seungcheol. yoon jeonghan. hong jisoo, joshua. moon—no, wen junhui; hoshi, kwon soonyoung. jeon wonwoo. lee jihoon, woozi. lee dokyeom, lee seokmin. kim mingyu; s—xu minghao, the8. boo seungkwan; chwe hansol, vernon; lee chan, dino.

jihye watches as the boys process the information of a new person joining their management, and the loss of their old translator.

“잘 부탁드립니다.”

please take care of me, i look forward to your cooperation.

her silent plea for help cuts the tension in the air, and it falls for a moment, but their leader — s.coups — is the one to put her mind at ease.

“저희와 함께 일해 주셔서 감사합니다.”

thank you for working with us.

she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in.

maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

—

when the sun sets and the sky slowly gets darker and darker until it’s black and all of a sudden you see the universe. for a fleeting moment you realize how small you are in the vast expanse of infinity, until a gentle hand wraps around yours and you enjoy the beauty once more from where i describe seventeen’s voices but not in the way you expected

kissing wonwoo feels like descending. not falling, not exactly, more like…slowly drowning in water

wonwoo is the moon, quiet, melancholy, but also a steady constant

—

—

the first time wonwoo asks about jihye’s mother, they’re at the pool in a hotel near one of their tour stops.

wonwoo is usually eloquent. he knows how to speak, and he does it well. he just prefers to observe rather than add to the conversation, and when you have bandmates and entertaining as the members of seventeen, could you blame him?

but when you stress the usually…well, nobody’s perfect.

“do you miss her?”

great going, wonwoo, asking the cute girl who’s also your translator if she misses her dead mom.

“all the time.”

jihye leans forward, gripping the edge of the pool with her hands, legs creating small ripples in the water. she sighs, and smiles sadly.

well. sadly is an understatement, because there’s just something about it.

when it comes to her, wonwoo thinks, there’s no such thing as a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. because even when she’s grieving, the smile crinkles the corners of her eyes with a sort of disconnected fondness. her lips curve ever so gently, and the slight chub of her cheeks bunches up, and if you weren’t looking closely enough, you’d think that she was perfectly fine.

but wonwoo is looking closely. he sees the slump in her shoulders from years of bearing the weight of her grief. he sees the pain in her eyes, the soft chocolate melting away to reveal bitter coffee, black and sharp. he sees the resignation, the years of waiting for someone to take her place, only for her to realize that it’s impossible.

and he might be imagining things, but he feels something, too.

he feels her heart.

it’s not breaking. no, it’s already been broken. it feels more like a dull ache, one that never goes away. it’s the kind you get from staying up too late, the kind you get when you haven’t had your coffee in the morning. it’s bearable, but then again it’s not. because it’s overwhelming, as if someone had torn out your heart and shoved it back in, leaving the blood spilling out into places it shouldn’t, overflowing and you can feel the pressure building and god, it’s terrifying.

and eventually the terror fades, and wonwoo can breathe again.

it takes him a couple of minutes to realize that he’s not feeling her heart. no, that’s all him.

“hello? jeon wonwoo? you good?”

his head snaps towards hers, and he tilts his head in confusion.

“ah. sorry. just…thinking.”

jihye smiles again, and it’s still sad. but a different kind of sad, one where the pain is fleeting and much less intense.

“about what?”

“just…does it ever get better?”

she chuckles dryly.

“I’m…not sure. i haven’t gotten there yet.”

“oh.”

the silence that falls between them is far from comfortable.

“how old were you?”

“twelve. you?”

“twenty-six.”

twelve years old. how do you move on from losing your mom at twelve?

“you don’t.”

wonwoo looks over at jihye. she’s drawing on the surface of the water with her finger, shapes disappearing as soon as they’re made.

“i’m serious. it’s never going to go away.”

“that’s…comforting.”

he’s supposed to live with this gaping hole forever. oh god.

and the swell of fear rises again.

“it is, actually.”

wonwoo looks over at her, confused.

“how?” he asks, almost incredulous.

jihye smiles wryly, as if she’s about to share a joke that only the two of them will understand.

“well. she’s always going to be a with you, in that small, broken piece of your heart.”

wonwoo frowns.

“that’s morbid.”

she laughs.

“yeah, i’ve been told that i have motherless behavior.

“that’s…oh my god.”

she smiles apologetically. “sorry.”

wonwoo shakes his head, still in slight shock.

“it’s okay. coping mechanism?”

she nods.

“i guess if the pain never goes away, then that means you never forget her.”

jihye’s smile sinks, and wonwoo furrows his brows, concerned.

“i don’t remember her. not as much as i wish i did.”

“oh.”

he doesn’t want to say i’m sorry. because what good would that do?

“are you…okay?”

her lips purse together and her cheeks fill with air. she lets out a breath, slowly, in a way that almost resembles a sigh. it’s cathartic, wonwoo can tell, but he can also see that there’s still some pain left behind.

maybe this is what she means by it never leaves you.

“nah. not really.”

jihye turns to look at him.

“but i will be. and you will, too.”

wonwoo flushes lightly, and he feels the heat dust his cheeks. whether it’s from her attention or his disbelief, he’s not quite sure.

all he can muster out is an “i hope so.”

she smiles.

“i know so.”

—

the korean word for ‘foreigner’ sounds a lot like the word for ‘alien’. this hurts more than it should. the harsh reality is that i don’t belong anywhere. i’m too asian to be fully accepted into american society; kids pulling the corners of their eyes, my peers’ comments about my ‘sickly pale skin’, high school teachers telling me to open my eyes taught me that my features were too foreign. but i’m not korean enough for seoul, either; my accent is too american, phrases are from an unrecognizable dialect, and my some of my words aren’t even korean, but japanese. from to be an alien, chapter one

the first time that jihye and wonwoo try to cook together is a fucking mess.

the rice is somehow burnt, so they have to make a new pot; wonwoo overcooks the bulgogi, jihye almost slices her finger off, and by the time they both have all of the ingredients together, they’re a hot mess.

it couldn’t possibly get worse, could it?

(spoiler alert: it does)

“can you pass me the takuan?”

wonwoo pauses his chopping beside her, confused.

“takwang? 그건 뭐야?”

what is that?

jihye shoots him a weird look.

“takuan, the yellow crunchy 무.”

wonwoo lets out a soft ‘oh’ at her explanation.

“you mean danmuji?”

she frowns.

“what’s danmuji?”

wonwoo frowns.

“that.” he waves a hand towards the sweet and sour pickled radish.

now it was her turn to frown.

“wait a minute. if you call that danmuji then what do you call this?” she waves a hand over to the fish cakes.

“eomuk.”

jihye’s frown deepens.

“not eodaeng?” wonwoo’s mouth forms a soft oh in silent understanding.

“jihye, the words you’re saying are the japanese terms for them. not the korean ones.”

her eyes widen, and she shakes her head in disbelief.

“are you sure they’re not, i don’t know, some sort of satoori?”

wonwoo shakes his head.

“no, i’m sure. when i was younger, every time i said eodaeng instead of eomuk, i got scolded.”

jihye slowly puts the knife down, an unreadable expression on her face.

“are you okay?” wonwoo asks, worried.

“i…” don’t know, she wants to say, but the words won’t move past her lips.

but then again, how does one explain what it feels like to have their language stolen from them?

it doesn’t make sense. her head feels like it’s spinning, and she feels a shock of panic shoot through her body. if eodaeng and takuan are japanese, then how much of her korean is actually korean? how much of her ‘culture’ is real and how much of it is just lies?

“what the fuck, man.”

wonwoo just blinks in slight confusion.

“i’m supposed to be your translator and i don’t even know the korean word for fucking pickled radish.”

she says that last part in english, and wonwoo places his hand on her shoulder.

she lets out a sob.

he pulls her close.

“괜찮아요?”

are you okay?

“몰라요.”

i don’t know.

wonwoo just holds her, the kimbap long forgotten.

—

jeon wonwoo is for those that are lost, the ones that feel as if they don’t really have a purpose, the ones that are racing to catch up with the fast-paced world of today. the ones that always feel like they’re being left behind, the ones that hate change, the ones that wish they had more time. jeon wonwoo is for the ones who just want to fall asleep and never wake up, the ones who wish they would just disappear. the ones who hide the scars under their sleeves, the ones who always run out of gum, the ones who hide their sobs in their pillow and wish they would just fade away. jeon wonwoo is for the ones who don’t want to die but don’t know how to live anymore. from user @wooahoe’s tumblr drafts

—

his breath catches and he rushes towards her, ignoring the way she ties to shove him out and pulls jihye into a tight hug. she lets out a sob, and he just holds her tighter.

“please, never scare me like that again,” he whispers and she just hugs him back tightly.

“i-i’m so sorry.”

“yah,” he pleads weakly, sobbing into her shoulder. “yah. never do that to me again.”

she just cries into his shirt, and he lets her. he just wishes she’d said something sooner.

“i’m sorry,” she whispers again.

for not being able to trust you, for being scared to love you, for all the things i wish i could tell you.

for being broken, for not being what you deserve.

“don’t be sorry.” wonwoo leaves a gentle kiss on her head, and she thinks she might shatter right then and there.

there are no warning signs blaring in her head around him, just comfort.

and wonwoo thinks he feels her heart start to cry.

—

rain. heavy fog, honey-baked pretzel sticks. headphones tangled in her pockets, r&b in languages she barely knows. a familiar presence at her side.

he opens the umbrella, and holds it up so that it covers the two of them.

“ready?”

“nah. not really.”

wonwoo pauses. jihye sighs softly, hoping that the release of her breath is enough to release the pressure that’s been building up inside of her chest.

“that was a joke, woo.”

he sends her a side eye, and she knows full well that he’s not convinced. he tells her this, and she lets out a dry chuckle.

“fine, you got me. let’s go.”

“are you sure?”

jihye clutches the urn in her hands. it’s the first time that she’s brought it out of the box, and it weighs heavy in her hands and her heart.

“it’s been seventeen years, wonwoo. she deserves it, whether i’m ready or not.”

“she’d want you to be okay, love.”

at this, her eyes well up with tears. she fights to keep them down, but it’s no use.

he places the umbrella on the floor gently, and pulls her into a hug. it’s warm, gentle but firm. she feels water coming to rest on the top of her hair, and it takes a few moments for her to register that it’s not the rain, but wonwoo’s tears.

—

you pierce my soul. i am half agony. half hope. tell me not that i am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. from persuasion, jane austen

there’s a knock at her door, and jihye gets up to answer.

wonwoo smiles from the doorframe, and places the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter.

slowly, the two of them begin to start a process that neither would have thought they’d be able to do; apples are cut and placed to face the east and pears to the west, an array of dried fish and side dishes arranged in a slightly disorganized manner. it’s clear that neither of them really know how to do this, but they’re trying.

it’s the first time that either of them are attempting to do charye, after all.

the two of eventually kneel in front of the table, a picture of jihye’s late mother sitting next to wonwoo’s. they bow, and it takes a few moments before her tears fall to the floor. the two sit back up, and wonwoo is the first to speak.

he speaks in soft whispers to his mom, and it’s only once jihye blinks most of her tears away that she realize he’s turned his gaze towards her.

she whispers a word of apology before talking through her own tears.

“hi, mom.” everything she wants to say, everything she needs to say is stuck in her throat.

so she introduces wonwoo instead.

and when her tears have run dry and the food has been eaten and the small wooden table is put away, jihye lets herself cry in wonwoo’s arms.

and he lets himself cry in hers.

— 끝 —

a/n: this fic is dedicated to every single person who is struggling with coming to terms with themselves. i really do hope it gets better, for all of us.

there is genuinely so much i want to say, but i’ll try to keep it short. this fic really is the product of my blood, sweat, and tears, and i really do hope you enjoyed reading this. even tho it’s so incredibly booty 😞😞

being korean is fucking hard, especially when you’re a 교포 — a korean immigrant or a descendant of one. i won’t go into too much detail here, but once you’ve been at the butt of one too many bts jokes, then you really start to feel like nobody really gives a shit if they’re racist to you or not. because your people are quiet about it. they won’t say anything, and besides, the stereotypes aren’t even bad! everyone thinks that you’re supposed to be smart, and pretty, and have good skin and quiet.

which is why it’s okay if they comment on your eyes, or your metabolism, or anything else associated with the extremely tiny korean gene pool. because the stereotypes aren’t harmful if they believe good things about you, right? the jokes are just jokes, get over it.

hopefully you can see where i’m going with this.

my korean-american experience is chronicled by the few excerpts of jihye bae’s to be an alien. but, dotted throughout the fic, there are multiple quotes from other books, lyrics, and even some (fake) texts between wonwoo and jihye. and that’s because sometimes, our own words fail us. sometimes the best way to express something isn’t the most conventional, and sometimes words don’t work at all. and that’s something i had to come to terms with while writing <<strange weather>>. on the other hand, i am absolutely in love with the concept of web weaving and wanted to try it out and see if it would work in fic form? so uh. yeah.

wonwoo has never really been my bias, which is funny, because he might just be my favorite member. well. not my favorite, but he’s definitely got a special place in my heart. and maybe it is because we’ve suffered similar trauma, and maybe this is why i continue to save some room for him in my prayers. but it makes you feel less alone to know that someone out there understands your pain, especially in the wake of bereavement, when you feel more alone than ever. i did lose my mom around the same age that jihye did, and i wish i had someone to help me through the grieving process. even if it was just my friends, but alas, that wasn’t the case. i really do hope that wonwoo has someone that he can talk to about all of this, someone that understands his pain and can help him through it.

i hope you guys enjoyed reading this, and if you made it to here, thank you so much, really: a lot of jihye’s story is my story (i only realized much later that her name ended up being jihye bae, and my main is jiabae. crazy, huh?)

taglist: @sousydive @starshuas @mary1618rosie-blog @bath1lda @dreamingofpcy @iris65 @wonushy — wanna join my taglist?

[kayywaiii]

good person !! ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

{prohero!izuku x neighbor!reader}

summary : after a particularly shitty night and a heroic sleep rescue leaves you keen over a mysteriously kind man, you find him again after a run in with his very not allowed cat.

mood song : carnival - the cardigans (- w - )

words : 3.3k wrds

warnings : light cursing, FLUFF, kissing, tan curly haired izuku agenda, mentions of scars+injury, crushing izuku, light themes of stalking, (not really tho) izuku goes feral for reader, reader has a dog, izuku has a cat, next door romance

authors note: i literally stopped a wip for this bc i just saw the vision like in my near future ... also like i made this cute banner and for what now i had to finish it !! also i was probably riding on the motivation of knowing izuku's the number 4 hero now uh hell yeah

You weren’t making it to class on time tomorrow, you were sure of it. 

God, could their arguing get any louder? Why this late at night? What could it possibly even be about?

Something about rent… and then something else about another girl. Then an entire monologue about heroes and villains… was this guy serious? You stared at your apartment ceiling, two pillows pressed against your ears and a hopeful thought that a lighting strike would just take both of them down ringing through your head. Maybe then you could get a full night's rest, or at the very least, enough for your class tomorrow morning. You promised to yourself that you weren’t normally that violent, just particularly sleepy– and to be fair to them you weren’t a fierce arbiter of the complex rules either. There were three:

No Loud Noises After 10pm Keep Respectful of Complex Property  Absolutely No Pets 

It’s not like you strictly followed all three… you were housing a small dog, Kiwi, even though your landlord made it personally clear that there were no pets allowed. And you tried to get rid of her a few months ago when you first moved in, you really did. But her floppy ears, spots on her cheeks that were reminiscent of freckles, and lightly browned fur had you swooning, and before you even knew it, you were already hiding her toys during inspections. 

So, maybe it felt a little hypocritical to wish death upon the couple on the breezeway outside. Still, you had half a mind to go out there and lecture them until they both worked out whatever grudge they had against each other. A dog was one thing, especially if she never barked, not even once. But these people outside— they did a whole lot of barking. And you almost got up too, clad in your pajamas and all, ready to stumble into the outdoor hallway and curse until your point got across.  But a voice, smooth and decadent interrupted their yelling, so sweet you could practically hear the soft smile he wore. The man coaxed the both of them not only to calm down, but apologize too. And… god, was he making them hug? You were baffled by the sheer volume of the diplomatic people skills this person must have been sporting, you were sure it must be their quirk. Whatever it was it got them quiet enough for you to drift off to sleep, sullen and dreaming about a man that would whisk you away with a smile.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

A shuffling at your window the next morning awoke you, dazed and confused after the best sleep in your life. Something about that guy’s voice just brought you there, damn there hanging off your twin sized bed and drool swept against the inner corner of your mouth. You lifted your head, running a hand over your hair before sliding off your bed to make a quick coffee. You muttered something about a breezy shower and– was the sun shining a little brighter this morning? You swore your copious amounts of house plants looked fuller with life today, your posters of various heroes illuminated and basking in the glory of the bright sun. You swore your small studio looked bigger in a sense, more light as you took out your takeout from the fridge. You stood at your counter, shoveling noodles into your mouth and breathing in this much needed– and much limited– time of peace. 

Another shuffling at the window just above your bed startled you, setting the takeout box down and climbing on top of the bed built into the nook of your room between the apartment and bathroom wall. A small cat purred at your window, eyes wide and big and brown, brushing its fur at the glass. It meows loudly, putting its paw over the hatch and seemingly gesturing you to open your window. Candles and small potted plants lined the ledge of the window, making it hard for you to find the lock to click it open. When you finally did, the small thing leapt through the opening and straight onto your bed. You scoff, bewildered. You weren’t the only person in the complex breaking the rules, you guessed. 

“Hey there, sweet thing…where's your owner?” You scrunch your eyebrows together, watching the cat hop down from your bed and stretch over your floor like it owned the space it sat. It let out a soft meow, large eyes blinking back at you as it skipped over your furniture and picked at your plants. Then, that voice– rugged and clearly fatigued called out from the open corridors outside. 

“Neko?” He spoke, the sounds of clattering pots and keychains ringing from right outside your apartment door. He swore faintly when a pot shattered on the ground. Swept potting mix scattered under your door at the attempt of a makeshift cleanup, the whoosh of stray dead leaves catching the cat's attention and it scratched at the door.  “Neko, come on– I’ve got work…” 

“Is that you? Are you Neko?” You mumbled, clicking open your door. Reflected green shot across your vision, sun rays passing through his curls and painting your apartment walls like the Sistine Chapel. A light breeze whisked past the green’s hair and led your eyes to his tan, freckled face, one that knocked the thoughts right from your skull. He smelled of vanilla and freshly groomed puppies, like something soft you could just flop into, sleep for a little while. He swore, eyes widening at your sudden appearance, and carding a hand lightly through his tresses. Then he groaned, trying to brush white broken clay shards into his gloved palm. 

“Crap, I’m– I’m so, so sorry… I’ll replace this.” He hurriedly muttered, flicking his head down and furrowing his brows in contained frustration. Your breath left your body, face warming in silent attraction as you cleared your throat and leaned over him to check the damage. Hundreds of tiny bits of argil sat at his feet, littered across the breezeway and towards the edge of the corridor. Bits of thick pieces you’d hand painted sat face up on the concrete, and so did the small bud that had been slowly inching towards the complex ceiling for weeks.

“Don’t… stress about it, ‘s fine. Not your fault I was too lazy to take it inside.” You choke up and force a smile, playing with a pimple on the base of the back of your neck. God, you knew you were jittery, watching him stand to his full height and cup the pieces of pot in his clunky gloves. You were hardly able to force out a coherent sentence, nevermind keep up a steady conversation with your next-door neighbor. 

Here he was, donning his hero armor and flowing yellow cape that he barely tucked under grey sweats. Chunky red shoes and gloves that clanked against his midriff, and the designs on his chest were faded and worn out. “You’re– Deku… aren’t you?” 

“Ah–Izuku,” He gives you a soft smile. “I, uh…  don’t think there’s a need for titles, we’re neighbors.” You dorkily nod, keeping your eyes anywhere but his. His presence felt overpowering, yet friendly, fit for the number four hero who not only rocketed in the ranks, but in popularity too. 

“Oh– well, thank you.” You curse internally, wishing this morning would already end. He chuckles, and that only seems to make it worse for the raging embarrassment seeping deep into your chest. He lets out an exasperated huff, shaking his head and keeping a strict eye on the doors down the hall. “I should be thanking you for sweeping this little one up.” He scoops his cat up from the floor beside you before opening his door and pushing him into the room. “He likes to roam.” A fond grin crosses his face.

“Actually– I wanted to thank you… for last night?” Your eyes bounce back up to his, taking in the way his biceps flex with every indifferent movement. Your neck heated up when his yellow scarf, faded and caked in dirt stains, fluttered behind him in the chilly spring wind. And God, you wished he was still tired and didn’t notice your shameless, obvious– and oh so necessary– ogling of him through his hero costume. “It was you wasn’t it? I– was actually able to get the best sleep.” You gushed, fighting the urge to drop to your knees and thank him raucously until the neighbors filed a complaint. It was just that important to you. Your sleep, that is. 

 He stared at you for a moment, before looking at his shoes in modesty and giving you a weak thumbs up. “It’s… no problem, really. It’s still kind of my job even if I’m off the clock.” He shuffled his feet and looked away, curt wind rushing through your thin sweater and making you shiver like a stray dog. You nodded awkwardly, about to retreat back into your studio when his voice called out again.

“I’ve got another way you could thank me!” He suddenly and practically yelled at you, catching a wrist in his blushing hand before dropping his fingers and clearing his throat.

You paused, eyes widening as you looked back at him. His face was visibly red, eyes darting with a nervousness you’d never seen displayed on a pro hero. You flushed, lashes fluttering and you felt so sick. Were you seriously about to throw up in front of him like this?

“Sorry?” You manage to mumble.

“Would…a date be okay?” He swallowed hard, bringing a calloused, gloved hand to his neck and playing with a curl. Your fingers clenched around the handle of the door, blinking in surprise and pure confusion as he watched you carefully, awaiting an answer. The silence was deafening, save for the soft meow and scratching of Neko at the door and the calm breeze whisking past the both of you in waves. Something about his clear nervousness calmed you, giving you enough courage to nod and say, “That’d– be great.”

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

Izuku never had great luck with his words, his passionate spiels saved for the nassiest of villains who’d he believed deserved redemption. He just wanted to be a good person, someone that people regarded as a good man, like All Might. With that, his love for saving others always speaks for him, quickly leaving his mouth in perfect and persuasive sentences. With you, however? It was the most challenging thing he’s ever attempted. It'd been months before he finally spoke to you, and he was sure you hardly even knew he lived there due to your clearly starstruck expression. He’d watched you move in, heard you cursing up a storm over university homework, lugging in packages of dog food– which he knew you weren’t supposed to have. And yet still, he only hyped himself up in the expanse of his apartment, opting out of actually getting to the part where he might ask you out.

And so, he only watched you from afar– that was until today, when he’d haphazardly left his bedroom window ajar for his cat to sneak out and hop onto the flower boxes from flat to flat, keen on taking a rest in a particular someone’s bed. And now here you were, Neko languidly stretching at your feet like he hadn’t just ruined Izuku’s life. 

And Jesus did you look pretty, a thin sweater flanking a tank and pj pants hanging low on your hips. That was it, his life was ruined. He had no idea what to say to you, you who now looked at him with what he could only guess was annoyance at his breaking of your pot. And then you gave him a smile, assurance lacing your tone and a familiar excitement prevalent when you spoke again. 

“You’re Deku, aren’t you?” 

That just about killed him. And you were oh so pretty when you spoke– and when you thanked him profusely– that just about killed him too. 

Izuku scoured his brain, unable to flip through carefully picked notes and instead having to remember ounces of dating advice from Kacchan and Kirishima. His palms sweated and he brought them to wipe on his sweatpants. God, he felt like a highschooler again, that same dork who stuttered over every syllable. Kacchan would be confident, wouldn’t he? Loudmouthed, cocky– there was nothing keeping him from what he wanted. Izuku just had to channel all that. And that should be easy, right?

Shit, she’s walking away! He grimaced, feeling bile rise in his throat, catching your wrist, tongue finally betraying his mind’s first thoughts. 

“I’ve– I’ve got another way you could thank me.” He swallowed and allowed himself to meet your gaze, if only for a split moment. 

“...Sorry?” 

“Do you want to go out with me?” He tentatively asked, breach catching in his throat at your stricken expression. Your face was red, eyes widening in either shock or pure amusement. A cold wind passed, a moment passing seemingly even longer than that. And his breath all but left his body when you nodded and spoke, a smile widening on your face. 

“Okay.”

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

His apartment was quaint, similar layout to yours, save for the bathroom adjacent to his small bed. It was a wonder he could even fit in it, you thought, looking over his height and large arms as he stood at his kitchenette opposite of the door. This setting was a lot more intimate than the first few of your dates a few months ago, your first one being to a nice restaurant, and then a lunch picnic at his agency. He always said he wanted to cook for you, which is why now, a few months into your relationship, he finally felt confident enough to do so.

 The room smelled of sizzling chicken and boiling noodles, the green bouncing from appliance to appliance muttering recipe ingredients to himself. You watched from the small arm chair he’d forced you to take a seat in, a practically offended look on his face when you offered your help.

“Are you kidding me?” He’d gawked. “Sit, I’ll cook for you.” 

So, instead you stared at pictures hung high on his apartment walls, some of his mother and others of his former classmates. Dynamight still wore his signature scowl, even as a teen, and Shoto timidly smiled for the camera. Izuku, clad in his UA uniform beamed bright, messy curls hardly kept like bright, flickering fire catching a swift air. It reminded you of your friends at secondary school, enthusiastic and eager for the world the new heros had promised. And Midoriya’s passion all but reassured you that promise would be kept. 

A short curse came from the man and the sound of glass shattering made your eyes flick up to him, his eyebrows scrunched tightly wound as he tried his best to flick the pain from his hand. You rose, quickly moving to where he was crouched near a broken glass jar and a large gash was present on his palm. Neko stretched atop the counter, eyes slit and a guilty meow coming from him. You sank next to Izuku, looking over his wound and bringing a cloth hanging from the oven to his cut. “Thanks…” He muttered, an embarrassed look in his eyes when they finally flicked up to you, to your sympathetic focus. He had to admit though, you looked really pretty up close like this. 

“Damn Neko.” He chuckled and you followed suit, helping him up and to his bathroom. It was a simple four by four, the mirror decked with motivational sticky notes and inspirational All Might posters. He blushed even more, clearing his throat and coming to a stand in front of the mirror, standing taller over the posters. “Bandages?” You asked, too preoccupied with his palm to tease him about it. “Under the sink.” He answered, voice cracking and eyes widened when you sat him down on the toilet. A comfortable silence washed over you and you as you rushed warm water over the previously used cloth and pressed it to his hand. His hands were warm, soft– apart from the countless scars littering his skin. This one, this one was just another notch added to his countless array. 

“I never pegged you for the rule breaking type, Midoriya.” You raised an eyebrow, giving him a teasing smile and he gave you a soft one back.

You rummaged through his cabinet while he watched in barely contained awe. He held his wrist, now dripping with blood and a swallow bobbing his throat as he nodded. “He’s a stray. It was cold– and it was raining… I couldn’t find it in me to leave him alone.” 

“That… sounds just like you… actually.” You chuckled, running the cloth under the water again and watching the clear liquid turn crimson. 

“What, a hero?” He wore a half-hearted smile, eyes flicking between you and his palm.

“Mm… a good person.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, breath slowing while he watched you press the bandage across his rough skin. He didn’t wince, not because it didn’t sting, but because he couldn’t help but redirect all his senses to you. His chest warmed, spreading throughout and up his throat like a liquid. You were too good and apparently you thought he was too. 

“A good person, hm?” 

“Of course.” You hummed, oblivious to the rising warmth of his cheeks and the goosebumps prickling on his skin. Did you not know how much you affected him? 

And he can’t help but lean down and capture your lips with his, leaving his bandage half lifting in the hurry of his passion. He pressed his hand to your thigh and then under it, effectively lifting you and on to his lap. Izuku tilted his head, delving deeper as you cup his freckled cheeks and giggle a soft, surprised sound. 

“Izu–” 

A strangled groan left his lips at your nickname, a knowing grin smiling into his mouth. You pushed back with just as much fervor, running your fingers over his scalp and sinking them deep into his curls. You whined when he pulled back, pressing chaste pecks to your neck and collarbone and cheek, seemingly drunk off the mere thought of you. His eyes were glazed over, hair tousled from your fingers running through it and he kept pulling you closer like you were about to disappear. He’s clearly timid, shy– but he clumsily presses his lips onto yours like he’d known to do this his entire life. 

It’s only when he hears the smoke detector ringing that he pulls away,  slipping you off his lap. He presses another kiss to your face before going to the kitchen where smoke pillows, lifting off the now burnt food and straight into the detector. He curses once more, fanning away smoke like his life solely depended on it, trying to calm the device before it annoyed the neighbors enough to contact the landlord. He carded a hand through his hair, watching you softly giggle at the entire fiasco. He let out a somewhat dejected sigh, giving you a sloppy grin and sliding across the room to cup your face. 

“I’m– sorry about dinner, love.” He exhales, but can’t help but give you more kisses on your jaw and cheek. He seemingly couldn’t pull away, large hands locked onto you like a wayward lifeline. 

“It’s cool, Zu… let's order takeout, mhm?” 

And Neko yawned, meowing in agreement atop his wooden dresser.

[luthqrs]

EMILY PRENTISS in CRIMINAL MINDS 2x16 | ‘Fear and Loathing’

[snail-day]

You can do this, Satoru. It’s just your wedding. Just the day you’ve been dreaming about since the moment she first smiled at you. Just the person you’re terrifyingly in love with. Who’s about to walk down the aisle and change his life forever. A day he's been dreaming since he first met you

He’s standing at the altar, trying to act normal. Cool as a cucumber. Like his knees aren’t locked and his palms aren’t sweating through his white gloves. Fidgeting with the cuffs of his dark tux every two seconds. Trying not to cry. Trying really hard not to cry.

His baby blues are not looking at the double doors. Nope. Not even glancing. He’ll cry if he does. He knows he’ll cry.

And then the music starts.

You appear.

And he’s a goner.

His breath punches out of him like someone knocked the wind from his lungs for the first time. You’re there. Radiant. Soft. Shining in a way he doesn’t even think the sun could compete with. And you’re crying. Oh god, you’re already crying.

He panics. Internally. Loudly.

Don’t cry, baby, please don’t cry, he begs in his mind, like he can will the tears away just by loving you hard enough. Your bottom lip is wobbling. Your hands are clutching the arm of your dad a little too tightly that his poor father-in-law is wincing. You freeze halfway down the aisle. Staring at him, practically on the verge of sobbing.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate.

He moves before anyone can stop him, taking long strides right to where you’re standing, wide-eyed and trembling. The officiant laughs under their breath and says something like, “Looks like the groom’s meeting the bride halfway,” but Satoru barely hears it. His entire world has narrowed down to you.

“You okay?” he murmurs, cupping your face with both hands, his thumbs rapidly brushing your tears away. You sniffle. Nod. Barely.

So, obviously, he does the only thing he knows how to do: he teases.

“Didn’t know I was marrying a crybaby today,” he whispers, smiling crookedly, voice cracking just enough to betray how close he is to sobbing.

You swat his chest, laugh-wheezing through your tears, and he swears his heart nearly gives out. He wants to kiss you so badly, but it’s not time yet. Not technically. So instead, he holds your hands and walks you the rest of the way down the aisle, like maybe if he stays close enough, your nervousness won’t win.

He doesn’t remember the vows.

He doesn't remember the rings, or if his voice shook when he said “I do.”

But he remembers you. Every second of you. The way your fingers squeezed his like you were scared and excited all at once. The small little hi you spoke during the speech about you two coming together. The way your smile finally broke through the nerves when he mouthed mine during the ceremony.

He’s pretty sure he blacked out for the kiss. All he knows is that when it happens, the world goes quiet. All that’s left is you and him and the overwhelming realization that he gets to love you for the rest of his life.

And later, when he’s holding your heels in one hand and you in the other, dancing barefoot on the reception floor under fairy lights, he’s still chanting the same thing in his head he did the moment you walked down the aisle:

Be good. Be good. Don’t cry. Be normal. You’re married now. This is real. Don’t freak her out.

But also?

Holy shit. She’s mine.

[mintyys-blog]

Could you write about Oliver having a silly childish crush on Mark's girlfriend?

OLIVERS LITTLE CRUSH | mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS:

Oliver wasn’t slick. Not even a little.

From the moment Mark’s girlfriend walked through the door with that casual wave and sweet smile, his tiny Viltrumite heart did something weird. It did that fluttery thing he read about in those “How To Be A Human Boy” books Debbie got him. He was eight—he didn’t know why he suddenly wanted to comb his hair, stand up straighter, or help carry the groceries. But he did.

She ruffled his hair once and called him “bud.”

That was it. That was the moment Oliver decided he was in love.

He’d follow her around the house like a puppy, offering her snacks, attempting to flex his very non-existent biceps, or offering to fly her places even though his flying was still wobbly. The entire time, Mark would be in the background, arms crossed, watching his little brother try (and fail) to flirt with his girlfriend.

“Hey,” Oliver said one afternoon, cheeks red and fists at his hips, standing in the hallway. “You, uh… you ever think about dating someone a little younger? Like, way younger? Hypothetically?”

She blinked at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Like how much younger are we talking?”

He held up eight fingers. “This many.”

Mark nearly choked on his juice from the kitchen.

“Oliver,” she laughed, kneeling to his level, “that’s really sweet, but I think your brother might have dibs.”

“I knew it,” Oliver sighed dramatically, slumping against the wall like a wounded hero in a space opera. “Curse you, Mark. You’ve stolen the love of my life.”

Mark didn’t even look up from his sandwich. “Yeah, well—get in line, short stack.”

“I am the line!” Oliver snapped back, tiny arms flailing. “I’m the future!”

His “future wife” leaned over and kissed his forehead, and Oliver immediately went stiff, eyes wide like he’d seen the face of God.

He didn’t speak for the rest of the day. Just floated around the living room, dazed, hands clasped over his forehead like he was holding in the memory forever.

Mark leaned over to her and whispered, “You broke him.”

She grinned. “Don’t worry. He’ll bounce back. Eventually.”

And he did—mostly. Though for the next week, he kept calling Mark “rival” and insisted they duel at dawn. With pool noodles.

It was evening now, the sun bleeding out behind the clouds, casting soft golden light through the living room windows. Mark stood by the door as she slipped her shoes back on, brushing her hair behind her ear while he leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, that half-smirk on his face like she belonged to him and he knew it.

Oliver sat curled up on the stairs, head resting on the banister, scowling like the world had personally betrayed him.

“Alright,” she said softly, adjusting her bag. “I’m heading home. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You better,” Mark murmured, voice low and fond.

She reached up, fingers gently gripping his jacket as she kissed him goodbye—quick, warm, familiar. Just a soft press of lips that made Mark’s smirk stretch into something goofier.

Oliver’s tiny fists clenched.

“Ugh.” The sound slipped out before he could stop it.

She turned to look over her shoulder, surprised, spotting him glaring from halfway up the stairs with his cheeks puffed out like a grumpy balloon.

“Oh, Oliver,” she laughed, walking a few steps toward him. “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

“I’m not mad,” he grumbled, crossing his arms and turning his head away with a sniff. “I’m just disappointed. In your choices.”

Mark barked a laugh, already heading toward the kitchen. “Here we go.”

She knelt at the base of the stairs, smiling gently. “I’ll see you later, bud, okay? You gonna be good for your brother?”

“I’ll think about it,” Oliver muttered, still not looking at her. “But you should know… you’re missing out. I would’ve let you play video games first.”

She laughed, reaching up and ruffling his hair one more time. “Tempting. But I think Mark’s got me beat in a few other areas.”

“Gross,” Oliver groaned, dramatically throwing his head back on the stairs like he couldn’t believe this was his life.

Mark passed by again with a glass of water. “If it helps, she kissed me on purpose.”

“UGH!”

The door shut behind her, and Oliver sighed so deeply it sounded like heartbreak.

He sat there in silence for a long second before calling out, “I still have better aim than you!”

Mark’s voice came from the kitchen: “Not for women, you don’t!”

[targaryenluvs]

DELICATE

pairings: dark!coriolanus snow x innocent!wife!reader

warnings: erm we’re back at it with another dark corio! possessiveness, literal murder, threats, vulgarity, nc touching -dumbification/babying, emotional manipulation and vulnerability, sexual undertones and thoughts, ownership?? NOT PROOFREAD

summary: coriolanus had to marry. lucky for him one of the most eligible girls of the capitol was up for grabs. only problem? he hoped his cold exterior would keep her away but nothing broke her sweet spirit. what happens when he finds himself being drawn to her light? and how far was he willing to go to keep it untainted and all to himself?

word count: 2.09k words

a/n: i swear i can only think of dark ideas for him because he is practically crayz - i loved this concept tho so enjoyyyy - annoyed i can’t find any post-lucy gifs snd i’ve already used the other one help me plz

taglist: @sleepydang @aspieundercover @darktrashsoulbear @3lliesrifle @rafeysbafey @zejjef @themorriganisamonster @cryfordemie @winterblu2 @earthangel-111 @taylarxse @alexameliamg @katastrophic04 @jjggdfvvy @joshwifeyslaymamaballs @10ava01 @kis9na @princessdaella @princessloveweird @prettybiching @justacaliforniandreamer @bxtchopolis @witchafterz @har-rison-s

PART TWO

coriolanus wanted nothing more than a relaxing night. he’d been at a campaign meeting for about four hours and he’d gotten absolutely nothing out of it.

he was in the right mind to fire them all and work it himself but he knew he couldn’t. all he wanted was to go home, have a bath drawn for him, eat dinner with you and go to sleep.

coriolanus had seen a number of weird things in his life but nothing was weirder than seeing you, hanging up the laundry to dry. you’d stopped him in his tracks but hadn’t yet noticed his presence as you hummed to yourself and went about your business. after staring in confusion for a few minutes he cleared his throat, “y/n. what are you doing?” you turned towards him with a smile, “it’s christmas! so i sent the staff home for the rest of the day so they could be with their families. don’t worry i had them prepare your bath, dinner and everything else. there were some things left to do so i thought, why not do them myself? i cleaned my room and yours, ironed the previous batch of laundry and placed them away, dusted the library and i was hanging up the laundry until you showed!” you beamed as you continued to hang the clothing.

coriolanus took a seat on one of the lawn chairs as you continued. he decided to watch you, to make sure you were okay. because who on earth wants to do laundry? that was the very reason you had so many servants. but here you were.

“you can head inside corio, no need to wait for me!” you said sweetly. coriolanus was a strong man, always rational. but god when you spoke so sweetly to him- no. “there’s no need, i’ll wait till you’re done.”

the sun was hanging low as the last rays illuminated the dining room. you’d set out candles, flowers and other pieces on the table. back home you loved setting the table, until your father would reprimand you for doing something you didn’t need to. what will people say if my daughter is acting as a servant?

but right now you felt at ease.

you had a good life. good friends which were rare to find in the capitol. good family and a good husband. he was proper, took care of you in every way, even if he didn’t love you, you were grateful to be married to someone you liked. admired. you’d heard whispers of corio’s childhood, his depleted resources and poor upbringing. but you couldn’t care less. he was more of a man than anyone you knew. and he was extremely pretty, your parents would’ve probably married you off to whomever they thought would help with social standings so this match? a lifeline.

coriolanus kept himself in check. he was up for presidency, his name and wealth restored and he was respected and feared. you were a diamond in the rough. whilst all the other girls in the capitol were, special, to say the least, you weren’t like them. first of all, he could tolerate you. like you even. you were exceptionally smart, well-read and spoken, respectful of those worthy but even those beneath you. you were kind, not the fake kind of the capitol. kind to everyone, helping everyone however you could.

and to him it was more than perfect. someone kind would be easy to have, easy to be married to. he knew from the second he saw you as marriage material that you’d never endanger those around you. you cared, enough to put your happiness to the back of the line. you’d be easy to control. after the wedding he expected you to be clingy, desperate for his love and affection. as any girl would from their husband, but you kept your distance. you didn’t push yourself on him, you did your duty. you did what was required and more. but you always listened, listened to him.

so he assumed you’d be easy to be married to, but he was always in awe of you. your sweet smiles every time you passed eachother in the halls, in the morning at breakfast and at night for dinner. always catering to him.

“what should i wear?” “you can choose.” “you tell me.” “it’s your choice.” and god did it inflate his ego. you were always asking about him, how his day was, what he did, who he saw etc. but it wasn’t just small talk, you were always listening. absorbing his words like a sponge, wide eyes, head nodding along dumbly. he loved it. and over the year he found himself, caring, on the inside at least.

every time you’d go out there were hungry eyes consuming you. your face, body everything. and he wanted to personally pluck out each eyeball and feed it to their families. so again, overtime, he’d shield you, protect you. his sweet wife who knew nothing of what the others wanted to do to her. a hand on your back, an arm around your waist, a peck on your forehead and his large red coat around you. all for show right?

he wanted to puke.

the smell of cabbage wafted to his nose and he was oh so close to putting this fist through the wall. who on earth-

you were humming, again. “corio!” your voice was music to his ears, corio, no one said it to him anymore. not even tigris. but he only liked, only wanted it to come from you. “dinner is served, some of your favourites are here. i asked tigris what you use to eat as a kid. ooh, you never told me you liked cabbage, me too! guess that’s another thing we have in common.” you beamed as you walked over with a bottle of wine, “tell me when to stop.”

he eyed you up the entire time. trying to catch a fleck of disgust whilst you ate, andddd, nothing. you weren’t lying, you actually liked it. he swallowed his own fear and began to eat.

“mm, i was wondering what you wanted me to wear tonight? i’d like to match corio, if that’s okay with you.” corio smiled slightly, “i would like to match. i have something i would like you to wear tonight sweetheart.” your eyes darted forwards as the word fell, sweetheart.

you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face, he only used terms like that in public. and based on his reaction afterwards, of which there was none, it meant that he probably didn’t even realise. or he did, you could never read him.

the red dress did things to coriolanus. the idea of you in it has his head spinning, but to actually see you in it? he wanted to throw you onto his bed and never let you out.

but to you it looked as if he was studying the dress rather than looking at you in it. “you look good.” you grinned, “thank you corio! i love your suit, you look very handsome.” you straightened his suit as he looked over your shoulder, your back was bare. “do you have a throw?” you quickly nodded and picked it up from the dresser. “good.” you already got a million stares in ordinary clothing, tonight was going to test his patience and anger.

the gala was gorgeous. for once there wasn’t ugly statues and weird color matches. a clean and pristine white hall, chandeliers, gold accents.

your heels clicked on the floor as coriolanus held his arm for you. “your hand please.” corio stared, waiting for your further explanation. “when we link arms your arm is too high for me. i end up with my arm at my neck.” you laughed as he lent his hand, which you gladly took.

stares and compliments at every corner of the room, everyone was looking at you two. the future president and first lady of panem. a match made in the capitol. you and coriolanus made the rounds, talking to present sponsors, potential sponsors and other candidates, much to coriolanus’s distaste. after a while you realised you were sort of just standing there, so you excused yourself for a drink and a closer view of the band.

“you look, ravishing.” charles operman. a sight which no one wanted to see, but to you he was just an ex-peer of the academy. “charles! thank you, corio picked it out for me.” you’d missed the way his jaw clenched at the mention of your husband, but you were to engrossed by the angelic singer and band. “you know, i always thought we’d end up together.”

the abruptness of his sentence had you choking on your drink, “excuse me, i’m married charles. i’m sorry if you thought that we would be together, i see you as a friend. i’d hate to lose a friend.” you smiled as he got uncomfortably closer and leaned into your ear, hand on your bare back.

coriolanus’s grip on his cup was tightening as he listened to lucky drone on and on. he wanted to see the life leave charles’s eyes, maybe his head would make as a nice present for you. “excuse me.” he nodded his head as he placed his cup on a passing waiters tray. you were helpless, and he was here to help you.

his breath was hot in your ear and you could smell the liquor on him as he was grabbed from you. “coriolanus, sir.” charles mocked salute as coriolanus stared at him, maybe he thought if he stared long enough hed burn into the floor. coriolanus rarely smiled, but this one was unsettling to say the least.

“if you ever put your hands on my wife, look at her, speak to her. it will be the last time you do so. i might just call in a favor with dr gaul, i hear your fond of snakes?” charles’s eyes widened, he hated snakes. he couldn’t even watch the 10th hunger games, the second he saw the snakes he ran to the bathroom and hurled.

“when i become president, you better keep yourself in line. it’d be horrible to see your family in the games no?” charles took a step back, “you can’t do that, i’m capitol.” coriolanus drew back,

“you won’t be for long.”

you couldn’t believe your eyes, of course he’d protect you but, threatening? he’d never do it right? the shutters of cameras had you reaching for corio, “can we leave my love?” coriolanus turned to you, “of course sweetheart.”

he’d stayed up for a long time. a smile came to his face when he remembered the sound of charles’s neck snapping. the door creaking open revealed a disheveled you, “corio? are you awake?” he sat up as you released a breath.

“what is it y/n?” you took a shy step forward, “i uhm, i can’t stop thinking about charles. he scared me, i didn’t know what to do corio. i-” you couldn’t stop the tears from falling as coriolanus swiftly got out of bed, helping you into his bed. “i- can i sleep here tonight? please?”

this was definitely not how he first expected to have you in his bed, but how could he say no to you? your hair in its braid, messy and lose, puffy eyes and tear stained face. he wished he’d first seen you cry underneath him but he’d take what he could get. what he didn’t expect was for him to like this, the scene of you crying, needing him. he was the one who could help you, console you, coddle you.

coriolanus nodded as he moved back to the bed, tucking himself and you in softy, caressing your hair and kissing your forehead. god he’d held out for so long, denied himself and his feelings but having you in his arms was all he could ever want, but the idea of being in you flooded his head.

would you cry like this? would you shout and scream? did you like it soft and sweet? he couldn’t be soft and sweet, he’d savour the moment but he loved the idea of unravelling you, he’d be the only one to see you like this, him being the only one to make it happen.

you curled into his chest, like a baby. your soft cries and whimpers went straight to his crotch and soon enough you were asleep.

his sweetheart, his delicate little wife.

corios hand slipped downwards and into your pants, he promised himself he just wanted to feel but god you made it difficult. he saved you tonight, didn’t he deserve a reward? didn’t matter if you detested he had you where he liked. so he slowly rolled over and placed you on the bed.

your eyes fluttered at the change of placement but he couldn’t care less. he was done waiting.

you squirmed underneath him in your sleep but his worries faded away.

[mrshigurumasshop]

Summer Mornings | Fushiguro T. ~ the one where toji wakes up to a pretty view in the mornings

─➭ pairing: husband!fushiguro toji x fem!reader

─➭ mentions of: little bit of nsfw (boob sucking/somno), fluff

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

One thing that Toji is most thankful of are the mornings on the days he has off from work. He would still wake up before you even though he slept in and during that time before you wake up, he just admires you. His wife.

Especially on summer days.

Gods, you were a sight for sore eyes. He’s happily admitted to you that this part of you in the morning is the best. It’s your bare and most vulnerable self that no one will ever have the chance to see.

These mornings is when he’d roll over to face your sleeping form and find how your body is comfortably splayed out on your side of the bed. Your hair is in some form of disarray, one arm over your head while the other is thrown over your torso, and your mouth is open enough to let out your soft snores. He studies your face, letting his eyes graze over the blemishes and moles you have here and there. Then depending on the day he’d be able to count how many pimple patches you have decorating your cute face. Sometimes he’d count one or two star patches on your forehead or chin.

Your soft lips have a faint rose color from the lip balm you put on before you to bed every night. He swears he could die happily feeling your lips against his.

His eyes then rake down your face to your neck and chest to see how the sun hits your body just right to make you glow so naturally. If it’s really hot by the time he wakes up he’d see a very light layer of sweat on your neck and chest. The ends of your hair in the background are being lightly blown away from the fan that was placed facing the bed for more cool air. He can see that your cropped tank top and panties are doing to no little by making you cooler as you’d move every so often in discomfort.

The light layer of sweat can also be seen back on your glowing face. Your hairline has a slight glisten to it and your cheeks feel warm to the touch as he lightly caresses the back of his hand against them. The said hand would gently move down towards your chest where one of your tits had been peeking out from your top.

Fuck, your tits… is a blessing from whoever it is from above.

Toji lets out a strained groan as his fingers would graze over your perked nipple. He’d shift his body closer to yours; near laying his head on top of your chest he has to stop himself from indulging too fast but, fuck it, who cares?

Toji whimpers the second he starts sucking on your pretty tits. He can never get enough of them by having them first thing in the morning. But sucking them like his life depended on it just wasn’t enough. He’d start giving you love bites on and around your nipple as his moans. His arms are completely wrapped around your waist as he tangles his legs with yours and that’s when he hears those oh so beautiful gasps.

“Toji…,” you softly whine. Your husband moans in response as he suck a little harder while he feels your nails run through his dark hair. “Toji, it’s hott,” you whine with a laugh.

You softly tug on his hair to pull him away and he smiles up at you as he trails kisses around your nipple. “Just lay back and enjoy, pretty girl,” he then sloppily kisses your nipple not once but twice before saying, “Mmm, and good morning.”

You softly laugh out a sweet “good morning, honey,” as you let him go back into his blissful state.

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[ponderingmoonlight]

Seeing kny men shirtless for the first time

Pairings: Rengoku x fem!reader; Gyomei x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader (bonus: all hashira men x fem!reader)

Word Count: 3,2k

Warnings: this might be a little shitty so be nice pls, this is actually the first time I ever wrote for Gyomei so please please please let me know what you think! not 100% proofread 🥹🤍

Rengoku Kyojuro

“Have you seen Rengoku-san? There’s something I want to ask him about our upcoming mission.”

Tengen tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, lips unable to keep that dirty grin off his face. Yeah, surely you’re asking for a mission and not because you’re having a crush on the flame hashira since joining the pillars.

“He went outside in the gardens to view the blooming roses”, he lies oh so innocently.

A bright smile creeps up your face, heart already skipping a beat in excitement. If you were only brave enough to finally ask Kyojuro out, how easier your life would be if you’d just keep your distance to him. But the prospect of seeing him alone is enough for your mind to go blank. Hopefully, the others don’t notice.

“Thank you so much, Tengen”, you blurt out with a hasty bow before yanking out of the room.

“Didn’t he say he wanted to change since he sweated so much during training?”, Shinobu thinks out loud.

“Yeah, that’s going to be a lot of fun”, Tengen replies with a smirk plastered onto his face.

Your mind races back and forth as you make your way to the gardens. What will you even ask him? Maybe what he has planned, if he already knows something? What if you mess up? This is actually the first time you and Kyojuro got assigned a mission together. You have to make a good impression or otherwise, he won’t take you with him again.

“Rengoku-san, I don’t mean to disturb you, but I have a few questions regarding the ne-“

Your breath gets stuck in your throat immediately, feet coming to a rapid stand.

There he is, the flame hashira.

Shirtless, his upper body soaking wet while he empties a bucket of water over his head.

“Oh, (y/n)! I didn’t expect you here!”, he announces with his eyes widened.

You can’t even blink, mind going dull. You always secretly imagined what Kyojuro might look like underneath that uniform, if his muscles look as buff as they feel underneath your touch while training.

And they do.

Oh god, they definitely do.

“I-I…Tengen told me that…You’re here to see…the roses”, you blurt out, still unable to look away.

“Indeed! But before that, I really needed to change my uniform since I sweated a lot during training.”

“Yeah, I can see that”, you mumble.

“(y/n), are you not feeling well? You look quite red from afar. Allow me to check on you.”

When he suddenly starts walking towards you with his chest muscles tensing with each and every step, you feel like fainting. Of course you never doubted that this man looks good underneath that uniform, but this?

“Your cheeks are really hot”, he comments while running his wet hand up and down your cheek.

“I…I…”

Your mind is a mess, not a single thought is making sense right now. Are you dreaming? Is that really Rengoku Kyojuro standing in front of you with his abs glittering in the heat of the sun, so close that you’d be able to touch him.

“Maybe you should go and see Shinobu-“

“I’m flustered!”, you finally cry out like an idiot.

Only to regret your words immediately.

His hand stops right in its tracks, the piercing presence of his orbs forcing you to look up at him.

“Why would you be flustered, (y/n)?”, he questions innocently.

May the ground swallow you whole in hope you’ll never return. God, why does this have to be so embarrassing? You’ll definitely have a word with Tengen when this is over.

“Because I…I have a crush on you, Kyojuro.”

The words you never dared to say out loud, that lingered through your mind each and every time you saw him. Like a rock, they fall off your chest while a wave of pure panic starts rushing over you.

You just confessed your feelings to him.

Him, Rengoku Kyojuro.

“I think I need to go now”, you blurt out, already starting to turn away when Kyojuro grabs your wrist gently.

“Please don’t go, (y/n). Actually, I feel the same way about you.”

He sweeps you around so rapidly that you are forced against something as hard as a wall. Did he accidentally throw you against a wall, the nearby tree?

The second you open your eyes again, you stare at his bare chest, only millimetres away from your face.

That wasn’t a wall.

“I had an eye on you since the first time I saw you. You are just…so amazing!”, he confesses with a passion that is even unusual for him.

“Kyojuro, I…”

Your bare face touched his naked chest.

“I…”

And don’t get started on his sight, his broad chest, the muscles that flex when he grabs your shoulders passionately.

“I…I can’t…”

“What’s wrong, (y/n)? A cat got your tongue?”, Tengen jeers from behind.

All your senses seem to come back to you in the split of a second when a wave of anger washes over you.

“You little…Why did you do that!?”, you cry out while storming towards the much taller man.

“Because your face looks very flashy when it’s this red.”  

 Gyomei Himejima

To say that you are exhausted would be the understatement of a century. Being out in the scorching sun all day really took its toll on your already bruised body.

Not to mention the training methods of none other than the stone hashira himself.

Gyomei is not a stranger to you. You’ve known each other for quite some time by now, joining the demon slayer corps almost simultaneously. And that force of a man never failed to impress you.

You wrench your sweat-soaked clothes in the river while staring at your own reflection. Why are you even here, though? You might not be a hashira yet, but you trained with Gyomei countless times before. Over and over, you shoved rocks around and almost drowning in that exact river. At this point, the basic training of the corps members isn’t even enough for you to break a sweat. You find yourself shoving that rock 10 cho by now while carrying tree trunks on your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. Now that you think of it, you didn’t even catch a glimpse at Gyomei himself since being here. Apparently, the hashira training does keep him busy.

That sting of agony that pierces through your heart can’t be stopped, though. Over the span of those last years, you got to know the stone hashira better. Despite his tall and threatening appearance, he is the softest man you’ve ever known. So kind that he brought tears to your eyes more than once, so considerate that it’s hard to believe that this man lives alone.

It was inescapable for you to fall from him head over heels. And now you find yourself longing for his presence even though you know all too well that he is busy training the corps members.

“I didn’t expect to greet you here at this late hour.”

You almost trip over head-first into the water, caught by a strong hand last-minute before you take another dive into the river.

“I’m beyond sorry for scaring you like this, (y/n)”, an all too familiar voice continues while pushing you back on your feet.

Normally, the first thing you see is his demon slayer uniform and cloak draped around him in a somehow elegant way.

But not today.

You swallow hard, widened eyes blankly staring at his naked chest. This man standing in front of you…Gyomei wears nothing but his uniform pants.

“I…uh…don’t w-worry”, you stutter like an idiot, his arms still holding you in place gently.

“Did I interrupt you? I didn’t know that you were taking a bath.”

His soft voice paired with that sight in front of you. You’ve never seen him shirtless, never witnessed the way his veins pop out of his arms and how well formed he is underneath that uniform. It would be so easy to allow your fingertips a taste and let yourself discover his muscles even better, to just stretch out your hand and-

“Does it bother you that I am shirtless? I came here to take a bath myself.”

“Bother?”, you press out.

“I…I’m not bothered at all!”

“I guess I’m just a little…flustered…”

“Flustered?”, he repeats in confusion.

“If I make you feel uncomfortable, I’ll cover myself of course. I just noticed you were here and we haven’t seen each other for a long time by now.”

“I missed you”, he adds, forcing your world upside down for a minute.

Since you’ve got to know him, there was never more than friendly words between Gyomei and you. Not more than a shoulder rub, not more than motivating words from time to time. You never allowed yourself to compliment him or talk about anything apart from missions.

Until now. Until Gyomei confessed out of nowhere that he missed you.

While being shirtless

“I…missed you too”, you finally give in.

You allow your eyes a little glimpse at him. Just a little taste of his broad shoulders and how his veins stand out. Just a little something of his rock-hard abs, his enormous upper body that is usually covered by his uniform. Just one look at-

“I thought about you all the time, to be exact”, you breathe out before you even realize what you’re talking about.

“I’m feeling the same way, (y/n). Let me assure you that my heart beats just as fast as yours at the moment.”

Gently, he cups your hand with his and presses your palm against his bare chest, straight against his racing heart that pulsates against your skin.

Oh god. You feel like fainting any given minute, your very own heart pounding so hard that you might get a heart attack.

“Now, allow me to put on my uniform again so that we can have a proper-“

“Wait!”, you blurt out.

“Let’s just stay like this for uh…a little longer…”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

It’s hard to keep your palms from sweating when you know exactly where you’re going. To him, the wind hashira. The man who swept you off your feet without even trying, the man you haven’t seen in such a long time by now.

While Sanemi always kept himself busy with missions, you were assigned to a mission far away from home. It took you over a month to finally find the demon who was responsible for this mess. And eventually, Sanemi just stopped writing you letters or replying to your messages. Even though you were so sure that he might feel the same way about you, he proved you wrong.

In the most painful way.

“I can’t go any further, that’s exactly where he is”, you complain while following your crow around.

You know this path uncomfortably well, the way it leads you next to a river, through a field of strawberries. Straight into the wind hashira estate.

“Direct orders from Kagaya-sama! You need to undergo the hashira training!”

“I just returned from an exhausting mission, did you tell him that?”, you bark back only to get attacked by your stinky crow.

“So cheeky! Watch how you talk to me!”, it cries out, literally dragging you along with it while its beak bursts the skin of your cheek.

Your heart almost stops beating, pounding rougher and rougher against your ribcage with every step you take towards the wind hashira estate.

What if the man you still love rejects you? What if he breaks your heart in front of everyone else, if he speaks out those words you imagined when you waited another day for his reply?

You want to escape, want to get as far away from here as possible. But your unforgiving crow drags you with it until you find yourself at the front doors of his estate.

“Get yourself together, dumbass! Go inside and talk to him! GO!”

With one last bite it finally leaves you alone, right at the opened front door.

There’s nothing you’d like more than vanishing from this earth, to get swallowed whole. Why on earth does it have to be him first? Why aren’t you allowed to train with Tengen, Giyu, basically everyone else? Your heart races so hard inside your ribcage that it takes your breath away, eyes staring into the dark estate.

Is he even home?

You allow yourself to take a few steps into the building, to look around. No cries, no voices? Maybe he isn’t even home. Are they training somewhere else, in the nearby woods, maybe?

“Fuck!”

His voice almost sends you over the edge, forces your eyes to dart around in sheer horror. That was Sanemi, without any doubt. But is he alone?

What if he’s not?

What if he’s with a girl?

You swallow hard, the ugliest thoughts taking over your head when you hear water splashing from a room nearby.

You can’t help it. As quiet as possible, you make your way towards the room the sounds originate from, ready to find literally everything. What if that’s the reason he didn’t write you back? What if he fell in love with another woman and simply forgot about you?

Your eyes peek through the ever so slightly opened door.

And your jaw drops to the floor in an instant.

There he stands, nothing but a towel covering his private parts while droplets of water run down his naked back. Sanemi just washed himself.

But oh…

You can feel your mouth watering just by looking at the scars that cover his back, how delicious the water than runs down his neck seems.  You’re only a few steps away from that force of a man, only a few steps in order to touch him. You always wondered what his skin feels like, if his outside is as rough as his inside. And what does he smell like straight out of the shower? Does he still smell like himself? And what about his abs-

All air drains from your compressed lungs as you suddenly find yourself pinned against the wall straight in Sanemi’s bathroom.

“Why the hell are you spying on me like some little freak?”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“I…wasn’t spying”, you press out, his distressed orbs meeting yours.

Fuck, you’re screwed.

“Oh yeah? Why were you standing outside my bathroom then? I didn’t even know you were back!”

“Because you never fucking asked”, you finally bark back.

He draws even closer, lingers over you like an unpromising shadow with his naked upper body still dripping. No, you have to concentrate on the fact that you’re mad as hell right now, there’s no room for inspecting his upper body.

But his abs definitely look as good as they feel.

“You were out on a mission, how the hell was I supposed to ask? I thought you’d just let me know when you’re back”, he bites back.

“Oh, could have tried answering my damn messages, maybe? Did you ever think about that!?”

“Me answering your messages? You never replied to me!”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“What I’m talking about? I sent you countless messages and you never answered. I even asked Kagaya-sama if you died or something! I…I was so fucking worried…”

His heavy breath mixes with yours, caresses your oversensitive skin.

“But Sanemi…I did the same”, you finally mutter.

Sanemi’s chest rises and falls rapidly, a few water drops escaping the force of his skin. His oh so glowy skin. Of course you knew that this man would look good shirtless. But this? How are you supposed to stay focused when his skin turns pink ever so slightly, when his muscular chest moves like that?

“Can you stop staring at my abs and focus on me for one minute?”, he barks while flicking in front of your way too focused eyes.

You feel your cheeks heat up in an instant, glossy eyes staring at him like a caught deer. If there’s one thing that’s worse than checking Sanemi out, it’s definitely getting caught.

“Sorry, I have to go”, you mumble while pulling yourself away from him.

Only to find yourself wrapped in his naked arms even tighter.

“You’re not going anywhere. I just asked you something”, he warns you.

“Let go of me!”

“Did you…miss me?”

Your arms stop right in their tracks, widened eyes staring at his flustered face in sheer disbelief. There he stands, Sanemi Shinazugawa, straight out of the shower while asking you if you missed him?

“Yeah, always”, you reply out of instinct.

“Good. Because same.”

He doesn’t even give you the chance to second-guess your answer. In the split of a second, you get devoured by his muscular arms, your very own kimono soaking wet in an instant.

Are you dreaming?

“Wait, what?”, you breathe out.

“And you totally checked me out”, he adds proudly.

“I didn’t check you out-“

“Oh yeah?”

He lets go of you just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his delicious upper body again.

“Maybe a little bit…”

-Bonus-

You huff out in exhaustion. What the actual fuck were you thinking when you agreed on training with all hashira? Well, apparently not that you’d literally vomit all over yourself after getting hit without any mercy by all of them.

“That little fucker Shinazugawa”, you curse under your breath while stomping towards the wind hashira estate.

“I’ll kick your puny ass next time.”

Your feet drag you back to them with last strength. Rengoku, Tengen, Obanai, Shinazugawa, Tomioka…why on earth are all of them so damn strong? Super unfair.

“Have you seen how I beat the shit out of her?”, you hear Sanemi jeer from afar as well as the constant mumbling of the others.

“It wasn’t necessary to hit her this hard”, Giyu comments.

“Hell yes it was. Now that brat knows what she’s dealing with!”

All you see is red. Even though your body begs you to stop, you storm towards their voices.

“Listen up, you little shit-“

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, eyes darting around without a real aim.

There they stand. Shirtless. Every single one of them.

Oh.

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault that you’re a loser-“

Just this once, you’re actually able to ignore Sanemi’s shitty words. That toned abs Rengoku has, Tengen’s veiny arms, Obanai’s athletic build, the scars that compliment Sanemi’s muscles so well-

Why is it suddenly so hot?

“Are you okay, (y/n)?”, Giyu questions while rubbing the back of his head with a towel.

How is it possible that he looks this good underneath that loose uniform? You always expected Giyu to be rather athletic that muscular given his fast movements. But that mountain of a biceps definitely doesn’t lie.

“I…”

Not a single logical thought is left in your blank mind, eyes roaming back and forth between them.

“I need to go.”

In the matter of seconds, you disappear inside the wind hashira estate without a trace.

“Is (y/n) alright? She looked rather pale”, Rengoku thinks out loud, still staring at where you last stood.

“She was definitely checking me out”, Tengen announces proudly.

“You? Bet she was looking at me”, Sanemi jeers at the tall man.

“How are they so hot?”, you mumble to yourself while inspecting them through the window.

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