#“despite everything it's still you” something something

[maskedbyghost]

it's a happy ending, i promise!

The first thing Simon registers is pain.

A dull, burning throb in his ribs, a sharp sting along his jaw, and the constant, nagging ache of his wrists tied behind the chair he’s strapped to. The room is dimly lit, damp with the scent of mildew and blood—some of it his own. He keeps his breathing even and controlled, despite the way his head pounds from the last hit they landed.

A man steps forward, cracking his knuckles. "You’ve killed a lot of our people, Ghost." The way he says his name makes Simon's stomach churn. "You really thought that wouldn’t come back to bite you?"

Simon doesn’t answer. He’s learned silence is its own weapon.

The man chuckles and gestures to one of his men, who rolls a small television stand into the room. The screen flickers to life, static at first, before it settles on an all-too-familiar image.

Simon’s house.

His breath stills. The camera angle is high—hidden, probably in a corner of the living room. And there she is.

You.

Moving around the kitchen, completely unaware. A soft glow from the stovetop lights up your face as you hum to yourself, stirring something in a pot. Simon can almost hear your voice, that familiar melody you always hum when you’re cooking.

Ice settles in his chest.

"You see," the man continues, circling Simon like a predator, "an eye for an eye. You took our people from us. Now we take something from you."

The screen changes. Another angle. The front of the house now, where three men slip through the unlocked door like shadows. They move fast.

"Now, we could just kill her," the man muses, crouching beside Simon. "But where’s the fun in that? Maybe we start with a few fingers. Maybe a knife to that pretty face."

Simon jerks against the restraints, the chair creaking beneath him. His muscles coil with panic, and rage. His voice is muffled against the tape over his mouth, his heart hammering in his chest.

He watches as the men move closer—one creeping toward the kitchen doorway. He wants to scream, wants to warn you, to do something.

And then—

You turn.

And everything shifts.

The first man lunges.

You sidestep easily, grabbing a pan off the counter and slamming it into his face so hard he crumples instantly. The second man barely gets a hand on you before you spin, kneeing him hard in the gut before driving an elbow into his throat. He staggers, gasping, and you grab a knife from the counter, plunging it straight into his chest.

The third man hesitates.

Simon can see it—hesitation—as if he just realized this isn’t the easy job he thought it would be. He tries to pull a gun.

But you’re faster.

You twist his arm, forcing the gun toward his own leg before squeezing the trigger. He howls, dropping to his knees, and you grab the knife from the dead man’s chest, slashing the last attacker’s throat in one clean motion.

Silence.

The only sound is your heavy breathing.

The room Simon is in is frozen. No one speaks. No one moves.

"What the fuck," one of the men behind the camera mutters.

Simon can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. His body is still tense, his pulse still erratic, but his mind is caught between disbelief and something close to admiration.

He didn’t know you could do that.

Hell, he didn’t even know you knew how to throw a punch properly, let alone take down three armed men like it was nothing.

On screen, you quickly search the bodies, taking one of their guns and their earpiece. Then, without missing a beat, you grab your jacket and bolt out the door.

The man next to Simon snarls, grabbing a radio. "Find her!" he shouts. "She couldn't have gone far!"

Simon lowers his head, exhaling through his nose, swallowing down the relieved laugh bubbling in his throat.

That’s his girl.

It takes hours for you to track Simon down. Hours of listening in on enemy radio chatter and moving with the precision you never thought you’d need outside of training. Your heart pounds, but your hands remain steady as you grip the stolen gun.

When you finally pick up on the radio chatter—"Move the prisoner to the safehouse outside the city"—you know exactly who to ask for help.

The moment you contacted Price, he didn’t even hesitate. "We’re on it," he had said, and that was that. Now, as you move through the safehouse with the Task Force, the sound of suppressed gunfire fills the air as they clear the rooms.

Your thoughts are simple. Find Simon. Get him out.

When you reach the back room, you kick the door open so hard it nearly flies off the hinges.

Simon lifts his head at the sound, and the sight of him knocks the air from your lungs.

He’s tied to a chair, his wrists raw from the rope digging into them. There’s blood at his temple and a bruise darkening along his cheekbone. His mask is gone, and his hair is damp with sweat. But it’s his eyes that stop you in your tracks—sharp despite the exhaustion, locked onto you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.

"Jesus, Simon," you breathe, already moving.

You reach him in seconds, hands shaking as you rip the tape from his mouth.

"Fuckin’ hell, love," he rasps, his voice hoarse.

"You look like shit," you mutter, and his lips quirk up at that, just a little.

"Feel like it too."

But you’re already working, fingers fumbling at the knots around his wrists, trying to ignore the way they’re rubbed raw. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you? How bad is it—"

He cuts you off.

"Marry me, woman."

You freeze. "What?"

"Marry me." And there’s no hesitation in his voice.

You blink, mind struggling to process. "Simon, are you concussed?"

"Dead serious, love," he mutters. His head tilts slightly, eyes flicking to the doorway behind you. "Get me outta this chair first, then we’ll talk rings."

Behind you, a low chuckle sounds. "Well, that’s one way to propose," Price comments, stepping into the room.

"Should we give ‘em a minute?" Soap adds, grinning.

You don’t even look back. "No, because I’m gonna kill him."

Simon snorts, and somehow, despite everything, that tiny sound makes your chest ache.

Your fingers work faster, finally loosening the ropes enough for him to yank his arms free with a hiss of pain. The second he’s out of the chair, your hands are all over him—checking his bruises, pressing against his ribs to see if anything gives under your touch.

He catches your wrist. "I’m fine."

You glare up at him. "You’re not fine."

"M’fine now that you’re here."

And there it is again—that way he looks at you, like you just flipped his entire world upside down and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

You shake your head, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, exhaling hard. "You scared the hell out of me, Simon."

His hand slides up your back, fingers curling into the fabric of your jacket. "Didn’t know you could fight like that, love."

"Yeah, well, I don’t advertise it." You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. "Didn’t think I’d ever need to."

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Lucky me."

"Lucky you," you agree, voice softer now.

Simon’s thumb brushes against your cheek, and there’s something raw in his expression. "So, that’s a yes, then?"

"To what?"

"Marry me."

"Simon—"

"You literally just saved my ass. Killed three men in our kitchen. Lookin’ downright stunning doin’ it." He squeezes your waist. "Think I’d be an idiot not to put a ring on you."

You stare at him, pulse thudding in your ears. "Simon, you’re literally bleeding out right now."

"And?" He tilts his head slightly, looking at you like he’s already made up his mind. "Still waiting on an answer, love."

You groan, pressing your fingers to your temple. "Can we please get you out of here first?"

"So that’s a yes?"

"It’s a 'get moving before I knock you out myself.'"

His smirk is lazy, but there’s something warm in his eyes, something real. "Close enough."

Behind you, Soap snorts. "Bloody hell, that was the least romantic proposal I’ve ever heard."

Price sighs. "Sort it out later. We need to move."

You shake your head, but when Simon tugs you just a little closer before letting go—you know he already knows your answer.

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

@daydreamerwoah

[sonrium]

After seeing the boy shoot what look like star bolts and green beams from his eyes, Starfire is convinced he is a lost Tameranian.

Thankfully, he doesn't seem to be hostile once he finishes with a strange piece of technology that sucked in a glowing creature while speaking a language Starfire had never heard before. Starfire flies over to him, excited at the prospect of meeting another from her planet, but as she approaches, he backs off, eyeing her wearily in the air. She tries speaking in her native tongue, but his weariness transforms into confusion.

She understands the problem immediately. He must be from one of the distant regions of Tameran. "Kiss. Kiss. For language, you must kiss." Starfire points at her lips, tapping them.

There was no comprehension on his face, but he moved closer, clearly curious at what she was trying to say. He must have been from the truly isolated tribes to not know such a basic skill. Even if he didn't do it right, it would allow her to speak his language.

Deciding a demonstration would work best, she takes his hand and leads him back to the top of Titans where the rest of the Titans are waiting.

Hearing Starfire speaking in Tamerainian, they keep silent and wait. This is when Starfire pulls Robin forward, kisses him the way she had when she first arrived on earth to learn his language. She points for the floating boy to do the same.

The boy is taken aback even backing up a little in shock, but Starfire repeats everything while gesturing more emphatically with each repetition.

Until the boy approaches Robin and Starfire, clearly absolutely lost and bewildered with the situation, but willing to go along with it. Before anybody can react, he grabs Robin by his shirt and kisses him. Everyone is momentarily stunned by the action.

Pulling back, he asks in perfect English, "So... why did I need to do that?"

"Why is it always him?" Beastboy crosses his arms, "Why can’t I be the one to get a little smooch action from a cute alien? Save some for the rest of us Boy Wonder." He grumbled.

Robin, cleared his throat, "It was for you to learn English... or a language we could understand for communication."

"Huh? Why didn't you just ask? My English is fine despite what my grades say. I just didn't have a clue what she was saying.” The mysterious boy pointed at Starfire. “I still don’t get what the ‘kissing’ was about."

Raven facepalms without a word. Honestly, she should have expected that.

"You are a Tameranian, are you not?"

"What's a Tameranian?"

Huge shit-eating grins spread across Beastboy's and Cyborg's faces. They look at each other and nod in sync. Arm in arm they start singing. "Boy Wonder and Wonder Boy, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G~"

Starfire clasps both of her hands over her mouth with a gasp. "I give you many sorrows, dear Robin. I believed him a Tameranian and intended to be the participant of the language transfer."

"No. It's okay." Robin tries to salvage what was left of his dignity, but it was somewhat undermined the red spreading on his cheaks and the laughter behind him. Turning to the newly dubbed Wonder Boy, he inclined his head. "I'm sorry for the confusion. We should have checked before subjecting you to such embarrassment."

A wide grin spreads across Wonder Boy's face, "I wouldn't call that kiss an embarrassment, but it definitely needs work. Try using more tongue next time."

Cyborg and Beastboy collapse to the floor in howls of laughter at Robin's expense. It was rare for them to find anything to tease Mr. Perfect with. Now, they had the best ammunition they could have ever imagined.

The Wonder Boy, who they learned was named Danny, turned out to be a pretty cool dude. He had a truly insane number of powers, but he never joined in their battles. He mostly came by to hang out occasionally.

But his impact was always felt even when he wasn't around. Every time any of the titans spotted something flying, be it hero, villain, meta, alien, flock of birds, chunk of miscellaneous debris, one of them had to ask Robin if he planned on kissing this one, too.

Raven was the only one to spare him from this torture. That was until two months after the incident. They all lay in the debris field of one of their most difficult battles yet. It had been an incomprehensible mass of tendrils and colors their brains couldn’t understand from beyond reality that drifted across the city. They were all too exhausted to do much more than breathe and stare up at the reddening sky as the sun set.

The silence was eventually broken by Raven, "You should have tried using tongue this time."

"Not you too!" Robin buried his face in his hands, letting out a sobbing groan. 'They have to get tired of this eventually.' He told himself. It was his only comfort and salvation.

They never get tired of it.

(the above is based on mine and a few other people's comments on the original post. I just fleshed it out a little :)

Starfire can learn any language via kissing someone. This is great news as the glowing specter teenager in the Titans Tower is speaking in a language no one can understands (ghost speak). Bad news: The team does their best to explain to the ghost this so they can communicate with him easier and Danny is VERY confused.

[chxnsgirl]

방찬 ─── right there

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬[ minors do not interact! ] daddy!chan x afab!reader . praise kink , daddy kink , fingering , reader is just obsessed with chans hands dhjfhdjk

a/n ๑ now hear me out. i have been reading @hyunjins-orange-slice-too fics about daddy channie and oh my lord it activated my daddy issues so hard. i wanted to write something that appeared in my mind not too long ago before work hehe

♡ masterlist

you lay, cuddled up next to your boyfriend, chan, while watching a movie together in bed. he had his arm wrapped around you tightly,  lightly rubbing your side, his eyes still transfixed on the screen in front of you two. 

you and chan had been dating for a few months. it was still new, and you two had just established a new relationship dynamic, one that was mostly your idea. you trusted him, with all your being, but you’d be lying if you said he didn’t still make you shy. 

chan was easily the most attractive guy you had ever been with. he radiated sex appeal without even trying, and he so naturally led the relationship. he took care of you and your needs, always pampering you, spoiling you. but it wasn’t just the fact that he did everything for you–he was beautiful, too. 

you loved everything about his appearance. his plump, soft lips, his pretty, sculpted nose, the pretty little moles on his face, his big, broad shoulders. everything. 

but there were some parts that made your thighs press together and slick coat your panties.. 

you made a mental list about those favorite parts of chan, and you lived for sneaking glances at them whenever you could. you were so thankful he liked being practically naked at home, so you could always sneak little peeks at his waist, which you adored. it was so toned, and so kissable, your mind always wandered to naughty places when you saw it. 

his biceps and forearms also turned you on. you loved the days when chan would come home from the gym and his veins would be on display after an intense workout. 

but your favorite things to look at.. the things you looked at more than anything else?

his hands. god, his hands. they always made you all blushy and squirmy. his fingers were long and knobby, the outside of his hands were so veiny and pretty. his skin was pale, and gorgeous, and his nails were always manicured and well taken care of. 

they were so masculine, but something about them.. seemed delicate. when he’d braid your hair for you, or help you into your pajamas for the night, those hands took care of you. and somehow, that turned you on even more. 

and that’s why, as you watched his hands rub your side, so softly, so tenderly, you felt your tummy twist and your core get tingly. 

you pressed your thighs together and curled up, trying your hardest to ease the tingling sensation between your thighs. you needed friction, bad, because for some reason all the thoughts you had about chan–and his hands– just would not go away.

he noticed your squirming, and finally his attention was on you. “are you okay, baby? are you cold?” he asked you, his voice oh so soft. you shook your head, heat creeping onto your cheeks. “i’m okay..” your voice was even softer, just barely over a whisper. 

he watched as you fidgeted with your sweater sleeves, tucking your hands inside them and trying to make yourself smaller somehow. he could tell something was up, he knew you all too well, despite the short time you two had been together. 

it was obvious something was bothering you. “are you sure? you wanna change into something more comfy?” he turned to face you, his hand retreating from around you only to be replaced by his other one, which was now resting on your hip.

you shook your head no, looking up at him with your pretty, twinkly eyes. 

his fingers flexed against your hip, warm and grounding, but the slight pressure only made the ache between your legs more unbearable. you swallowed, feeling small under his gaze as he studied you carefully, his brows knitting together.

"baby," he murmured, tilting his head, "i know something’s up." his voice was patient, coaxing, like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to open up. "tell me what’s on your mind."

your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. you felt so silly—so needy—but chan had a way of making you feel safe, even when you were drowning in embarrassment.

you shook your head quickly. "it’s nothing," you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

chan hummed, unconvinced. his thumb started rubbing slow, lazy circles into your hip, making your skin feel hot beneath the fabric of your sweater. "nothing?" he echoed, the tiniest smirk ghosting over his lips. "sweetheart, you’ve been squirming for the past ten minutes, and i don’t think it’s because you’re uncomfortable."

your breath hitched. he was right, of course, but saying it—admitting it—felt impossible. you squeezed your thighs together instinctively, and that was all it took for chan’s smirk to grow, his fingers giving your hip the gentlest squeeze.

"that’s what i thought," he murmured. he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low rasp. "use your words, baby. tell daddy what you need."

heat flooded your cheeks. your fingers curled into the hem of your sweater, twisting the fabric as you tried to find the courage to say it out loud. but every time you opened your mouth, the words dissolved on your tongue.

chan, ever patient, pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something unreadable—something that made your stomach flutter. "sweetheart," he murmured, his other hand sliding up to cup your cheek, thumb grazing over the heat there. "you don’t have to be shy with me."

you exhaled shakily, lashes fluttering as you tore your gaze from his. "i just… i…" the words clung to your throat, refusing to come out.

chan didn’t push—he never did—but he didn’t let up, either. his hand slid from your cheek to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at him. "you want my hands on you, don’t you?"

a small whimper left your lips before you could stop it. you nodded eagerly.

chan chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement and something darker. "that’s my good girl," he praised, brushing his lips over your forehead. "all you had to do was ask." his hand trailed lower, rubbing under your ass and squeezing your thigh. you let out a soft, tiny whine, scooting closer to him subconsciously. 

you and chan had been taking things slow, but he read you so well. he was very attentive to you and your body language, and he knew. he knew you wanted him. “tell me, baby,” he began, rubbing your thigh gently. 

“where do you want my hands?” he asked, his voice smooth and coaxing. 

you blushed even darker, looking down at his hand. you pointed to your skirt, between your legs. “here,” you finally said, your voice no louder than a whisper. 

chan’s expression softened at your cute confession, but his eyes darkened even more. you watched as his hand slid up your thigh, lightly rubbing the fabric of your panties. he could feel how slick you were, and it even coated his fingertips through them. he let out a soft groan, looking down at his fingers. 

“baby,” he started, going back to rubbing the outside of your panties. “you’re so wet for daddy.. how long have you been wanting me?” he asked softly.

your breath hitched as chan continued to rub slow, deliberate circles over the damp fabric, his fingers pressing just enough to send shivers rippling through your body but not nearly enough to satisfy the ache that had been building inside you for so long.

how long had you been wanting this? too long.

you blushed even darker. “too long, daddy.”

your mind had been consumed by thoughts of his hands since the very first time he touched you. the way they wrapped around his water bottle at the gym, veins prominent and flexing with each squeeze. the way they skimmed over your back when he pulled you close, warm and strong, fingers splaying out possessively against your skin. the way they cradled your face when he kissed you, firm yet gentle, making you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

but this—this was what you had fantasized about most.

the feeling of his fingers between your thighs, his touch slow and teasing, unraveling you without even trying. you could barely breathe as he traced along the soaked fabric, a soft hum vibrating through his chest as he took in the way your body trembled beneath him.

"that long, huh?" he mused, his voice filled with something dark and knowing. he pressed his fingers against you a little more firmly, his touch still unbearably slow. "my poor baby… waiting all this time for daddy to take care of her."

a needy whimper left your lips before you could stop it, your hips instinctively shifting toward his touch.

chan chuckled, his other hand coming up to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. his fingers, those beautiful, skilled fingers, moved with the lightest pressure, barely enough to satisfy the craving that had been burning inside you for months.

"you love it, don’t you?" his voice was smooth, teasing. "you love my hands on you."

you nodded quickly, your breath coming out in soft, shaky pants.

he smirked, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before dragging down to your chin. "show me, then," he murmured. "show me how much you love them, baby."

overcome with a sense of boldness, you looked down and pushed your panties down, along with your skirt. chan helped you, of course, tugging them all the way down and tossing them toward the end of the bed. he leaned back against the headboard again, pulling you onto his lap. “let’s see this pretty pussy, hm?” he hummed, kissing your cheek. 

chan’s hand was warm and steady as he guided your thigh apart, his fingers pressing firmly against your soft skin. he used his other to splay out on your tummy, holding you steady against him. his touch alone sent a shiver up your spine, anticipation coiling deep in your belly.

“there we go,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker. “that’s my good girl.”

your breath hitched as his hand trailed down, fingertips barely skimming over your inner thigh. the contrast between the strength in his grip and the delicate way he touched you made your head spin. his hands had always been like that—firm, controlling, yet unbelievably gentle when they wanted to be. it was intoxicating.

you watched, mesmerized, as his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns against your skin, his touch setting fire to every nerve in your body. the veins along the back of his hand flexed with every movement, the ridges of his knuckles shifting as his fingers explored, teasing and unhurried.

“i think about this all the time,” you confessed suddenly, your voice barely above a breath.

chan’s hand stilled for a brief moment, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. “oh?” he tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “tell me, baby. what do you think about?”

you swallowed, cheeks burning, but there was no turning back now. “your hands,” you admitted, breathless. “i think about them all the time… how they touch me, how they feel…i think about your fingers, too…” your voice faltered as he flexed his fingers slightly, reminding you just how close he was to giving you what you craved.

chan let out a low chuckle, clearly pleased by your confession. “you love them that much, huh?” his thumb brushed against your thigh, slow and deliberate. “i see the way you watch them, sweetheart. you think i don’t notice?”

your heart pounded. he had noticed?

chan leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “every time i touch you… every time i hold you… you get all shy and squirmy.” his fingers traced teasingly close to where you ached for him most. “you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

you nodded quickly, unable to deny it. “yes…”

chan grinned against your cheek, his hands tightening around you possessively. “then let me give you what you’ve been dreaming about, baby.”

he nuzzled your hair, holding you against him as his fingers were reunited with your wet heat. he gently rubbed a finger up your slit, gathering wetness before pulling away, showing off the string of arousal connecting his finger to your wet lips. the sight alone made your cunt clench. 

his fingers returned, rubbing circles on your clit, making your thighs tremble and your head spin. “mmm..” you moaned quietly, leaning back against his chest. a proud smile spread onto chan’s face as he listened to the combination of your moans and the slick movements of his fingers working on you. “does that feel good, baby?” he hummed, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. 

you frantically nodded, squirming even more on his lap. he chuckled, his fingers leaving your clit to circle your entrance. “can daddy feel inside, sweetheart?” he asked, rubbing your tummy with his other hand softly. you nodded, opening your thighs more for him. he kissed your cheek before slowly sliding a finger inside you. 

he let out a soft groan. “baby,” he pumped it in and out of you gently, listening to the beautiful, lewd sounds of your pussy. “you’re still so tight,” he muttered, moving his finger faster. you whined, pushing your hips down and against his hand. he chuckled, slowly adding another finger. “whiny baby.” he teased you, pumping his fingers nice and moderately, rubbing the gummy spot inside you. 

it felt so good you nearly cursed, but you didn’t, saving yourself a scolding from your daddy later. you let out a mewl as his fingers worked you over and over, making a pit form in your tummy and your thighs get all tense. “daddy,” you whimpered, turning your head to look up at him. “hm?” he responded, not fingers not stopping. “it feels so good,” you moaned softly, your brows knitted together and your lips swollen from biting them. 

he leaned down and kissed your lips, pressing his thumb to your clit at the same time. you gasped into the kiss, and he used the opening of your mouth to swipe his tongue inside, dancing with your own. he could feel your cunt clenching around his fingers, and your legs were squirming so much more, he had to hold you down firmer. 

“daddy..” you broke the kiss to whimper. “i think i’m.. i think i'm gonna cum..” you panted, looking down at his hand once again. 

chan’s grip tightened as he held you in place, his fingers working you with expert precision. the way he moved—slow, deliberate, teasing yet firm—made your head spin. your entire body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ignited by his touch.

“yeah?” chan murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “you’re gonna come for me, baby?”

you nodded frantically, your breath coming in soft, desperate pants. your fingers clutched at his wrist, not to stop him, but to ground yourself, to feel the strength in his hands that had been driving you crazy for so long. the veins along his forearm flexed beneath your grip, a beautiful contrast of power and control.

“look at you,” he cooed, his tone full of praise. “so worked up just from my hands… you love this, don’t you?”

your whimper was all the confirmation he needed. he smirked, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as his fingers kept moving, relentless and intoxicating.

the tension in your body coiled impossibly tight, every muscle trembling as the overwhelming sensation built inside you. your mind was hazy, filled with nothing but the feeling of him—his hands, his touch, his voice guiding you to the edge.

“that’s it, baby,” chan whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “let go. let me feel it.”

with one final flick of his fingers, the pressure inside you snapped, sending waves of bliss crashing over you. your breath hitched, your body shuddering against him as the pleasure washed through you, leaving you boneless in his arms.

chan held you through it, his hands never leaving you, rubbing slow, soothing circles along your skin as he murmured soft praises against your temple. 

“you did so good, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. 

as you came down from your high, you curled into his chest, still breathless and dazed. chan chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @nickgurl4life

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

A continuation of this post

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me :)

Doey & Player who's not all there

★ Doey is very concerned when he first sees the state you're in. He closely watches your behavior, just to be careful. You don't seem dangerous, only a little unstable and deeply troubled.

★ When Poppy wants you to keep going, he puts his foot down. There is no way you're going outside the Safe Haven, not when you're like this. He stands his ground and refuses to let you leave. This starts an argument with him and Poppy.

★ But before getting into it, he brings you some small comforts. A blanket to sleep with and a cup of water. He personally delivers them to your tent. Then going into the generator room where he and Poppy talk.

★ "They're not just tired, Poppy. They're exhausted. Just look at them! They need time to recover." Even though Poppy doesn't like it, she can't do much to go against him. And there is no denying that they all could use a break.

★ When the Player roams the Safe Haven, they sometimes forget what they were doing. They might start searching for Doey but get distracted by the toys, losing track of their goal. Then start doing something they did as an employee.

★ You fret over the small toys, all of them are so dirty! Despite everything that's happened, you're still incredibly gentle with them. Carefully wiping down the hard plastic surfaces and bushing out fur.

★ Doey really appreciates it when you try to tidy up the Safe Haven, he can never find the time to clean. Chances are you don't remember doing it. But it's appreciated nonetheless.

★ Occasionally, you have moments of clarity where you tell him about wanting to go home. Reflecting on what got you into this mess. These moments break him. He knows what that feels like. All of them do.

[goldfades]

crazy cat people───joe burrow⁹

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had always been cat people—dogs were just too high maintenance, too needy. but you were never in a hurry to get cats until one night, joe finds a cat on a roadie and decides to bring her home.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | literally nothing but cat dad joe, and dog slander (JK!! not really, but we all know joe likes cats better). inspired by this clip.

The thing about Joe is that he’s always been a cat person.

You figured it out on your second date when the conversation somehow derailed into a passionate debate about why people automatically assume dogs are superior. It started off as a joke—some exaggerated takes for the sake of banter—but then Joe hit you with a well-structured argument about the independent nature of cats, their low-maintenance lifestyle, and the way they choose their people rather than blindly loving everyone.

“You ever seen a cat follow some random stranger home just ‘cause they waved at it? No. That’s some dog behavior.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No self-respect.”

That was the moment you knew he was the one.

Well, not actually, but it definitely solidified your interest. Three years later, the two of you were still going strong, bound together by an undeniable connection, a deep understanding of each other’s quirks, and a shared stance that dogs—while undeniably adorable—were just a little too much. Too excitable. Too dependent. Too… needy.

“We’d be cat people,” you had declared one night while curled up on the couch together, his arm draped lazily around you. “Like, if we were to get a pet.”

Joe hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, but I feel like we’d be picky about it. Can’t just have any cat. Gotta be one with personality.”

“A little bit of an asshole,” you added.

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

Despite countless conversations about what you’d name your hypothetical future cat (the list had ranged from elegant, sophisticated names like Theodora to complete chaos like Little Shit), you never actually got one. Between Joe’s insane schedule and your own busy life, it never felt like the right time. You weren’t the type to impulsively adopt an animal just because it seemed like a cute idea—you took responsibility seriously. Joe was the same way.

But that didn’t stop you from sending him TikToks of cats daily. And it definitely didn’t stop him from pausing the TV anytime a cat appeared in a commercial, just to point and go, “That one’s kinda cool.”

It was just one of those things. A little inside joke, a shared fantasy, a part of your relationship that existed in theory but had yet to materialize.

Until Joe came back from a road trip with something unexpected.

Something small. And furry. And wrapped in the hoodie he had worn on the plane.

A cat.

He met your wide-eyed stare with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, funny story…”

--

It was one of those quiet, in-between days where everything felt a little dull without Joe around. You were used to it by now—his road trips, the stretches of time where you had to keep yourself entertained—but no matter how well you adjusted, the house always felt bigger when he wasn’t in it.

You filled the day the best way you knew how. Running errands, grabbing coffee from the spot down the street, making small talk with the barista who always remembered your order. You spent an unreasonable amount of time in Target, browsing the aisles aimlessly, tossing things into your cart that you definitely didn’t need but convinced yourself were essentials.

A candle? Necessary. A new throw blanket even though you already had five? An investment. A little ceramic dish shaped like a cat’s face? Joe would think it was funny.

By the time you got home, the sun was beginning to set, casting the living room in soft golden light. You went through your usual routine—changing into something comfier, throwing your hair up, and scrolling through your phone while curled up on the couch.

Joe had texted you earlier to say his flight landed on time, but you weren’t sure when he’d actually walk through the door. Traveling always took it out of him, and sometimes he lingered at the facility longer than necessary, just to settle back into the routine of being home.

So when you heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking, you perked up, setting your phone down.

Joe was home.

You stood, stretching a little before padding over to greet him—only to immediately freeze in place.

Because Joe Burrow, your extremely predictable, routine-driven boyfriend, was standing in the doorway holding a cat.

Not a cat carrier. Not a box from the pet store with a new cat inside. No, he was physically holding a cat in his arms, cradling it like some kind of newborn wrapped in the oversized hoodie he had worn on the plane.

“Uh…” You blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. “Joe?”

Joe, looking far too casual for someone who had just walked into your shared home with a whole animal, shot you a sheepish grin.

“So, funny story…” He shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the tiny creature, who—shockingly—seemed completely unbothered.

You didn’t say anything. You just stared. Because what the hell were you supposed to say?

Joe cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels. “I found him at a gas station. In, like… the middle of nowhere.”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“Yeah. Just… chilling. No collar, no tags, nothing.” He looked down at the cat, then back at you, as if that explanation was supposed to justify the fact that he had apparently just kidnapped an animal. “He walked right up to me. Super chill. Thought, you know, maybe he needed a home.”

“You—” You ran a hand down your face, processing. “So you just… took him?”

Joe shrugged, completely unbothered. “No one stopped me.”

You stared at him, then at the cat, then back at him.

The cat—a small, scrappy-looking thing with fluffy black fur and bright green eyes—gave the smallest little stretch before curling back up into the fabric of Joe’s hoodie, as if this was the most natural situation in the world.

A sigh left your lips, half-exasperated, half-amused. “You stole a cat.”

Joe scoffed. “I didn’t steal him. I rescued him.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you check to see if he belonged to anyone?”

Joe paused. “I mean… he was alone.”

“That is not an answer.”

“Well, no one else was around,” Joe defended. “It was late. Freezing cold. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “So your solution was to bring him home?”

Joe, completely unrepentant, grinned. “Yeah. He’s cool, right?”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers against your temples before shaking your head.

This man.

This six-foot-four NFL quarterback who spent three years claiming you guys would be extremely selective about what kind of cat you got, had apparently abandoned all standards the second a gas station stray blinked at him.

And worse? You were already kind of attached.

Because the damn cat was still curled up in his hoodie, looking completely at peace, like he had already decided he belonged here.

You sighed, waving them both inside. “I can’t believe you.”

Joe grinned, stepping past you and into the house, clearly taking that as a win.

“Should we name him?” he asked, already making himself comfortable on the couch, cat still in tow.

You groaned.

“Oh my God.”

The first night with Miss Honey felt strangely natural, like she had always belonged here. Apparently, you guys had been misgendering her the whole time.

After the initial shock of Joe casually waltzing into your home with a stray cat, the two of you got to work making sure she was okay. A quick check revealed she was mostly healthy—just a little underweight and carrying a few ticks, which you carefully removed while Joe held her still, murmuring soft reassurances. Despite being a random cat from a gas station, she was surprisingly chill about it, blinking up at you with those big green eyes like she already trusted you.

“This is insane,” you had muttered, brushing your fingers through her soft fur.

Joe, stretched out on the couch beside you, smirked. “Yeah, but you love it.”

You rolled your eyes because, of course, he was right.

That night, the three of you curled up on the couch and put on Matilda, your mutual comfort movie. Joe made popcorn, you pulled out the throw blanket you had impulse-bought earlier that day, and Miss Honey—named after the warm, soft-spoken teacher you both adored—made herself right at home between you, paws tucked neatly beneath her little body.

“She’s purring,” Joe whispered at one point, as if he was afraid saying it too loud would make her stop.

You had just smiled, gently scratching behind her ears. “Yeah. I think she likes us.”

It took less than twenty-four hours for Miss Honey to fully take over the house.

By the next morning, she had already established herself as a permanent fixture, weaving between your legs as you made coffee, hopping onto the couch like she owned the place, and—much to Joe’s delight—curling up on his chest while he lounged around watching film.

“She’s got good taste,” he mused, running a slow hand down her back.

You, sitting cross-legged on the floor sorting through your Target bags from yesterday, shot him a look. “You mean ‘cause she likes you?”

Joe grinned, glancing down at the cat who was currently making biscuits against his hoodie. “I mean, can you blame her?”

You snorted. “Unreal.”

Still, you had to admit—Miss Honey really did love Joe.

At first, you thought it was just convenience. He ran warm, he was still for long periods of time, and his heartbeat was steady enough to lull anyone to sleep. But over the next few days, it became clear that her attachment went deeper than that.

She followed him from room to room, her tiny paws padding against the hardwood whenever he moved. If Joe was at the kitchen counter making breakfast, Miss Honey was right there beside him, tail flicking lazily. If he was tying his shoes by the door, she sat next to him, watching intently like she had somewhere to be, too.

It was ridiculous.

“She’s obsessed with you,” you pointed out one night, arms crossed as you watched her bat playfully at the drawstrings of his hoodie.

Joe grinned, scratching under her chin. “Yeah, but don’t be jealous.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the warmth blooming in your chest.

Because, truthfully, you loved it.

You loved that she trusted him. Loved that this cat—who had spent who-knows-how-long fending for herself—had chosen you both, nestled herself into the space between you like she had been there forever.

It didn’t take long for Miss Honey to establish a routine.

Every morning, without fail, she woke Joe up first. Not you—Joe.

You learned this the hard way when you woke up one morning to a quiet, disgruntled “Jesus,” followed by the sound of Joe shifting beside you. Blinking blearily, you turned over, only to find Miss Honey perched delicately on his chest, staring down at him like she was assessing whether or not it was time for him to get up.

“Babe,” Joe whispered, voice still thick with sleep. “Your cat is harassing me.”

You stifled a laugh, rubbing your eyes. “She’s your cat too.”

“Yeah, well, tell her to chill.”

Miss Honey, completely ignoring his complaints, took that exact moment to lean down and press her tiny nose against his, like a little wake-up kiss.

You melted on the spot.

Joe groaned, but even half-asleep, he couldn’t hide his smile.

From then on, it became a thing. Every morning, she woke Joe up first, then trotted to the kitchen like a little queen expecting breakfast. She had a schedule, and she stuck to it.

By the end of the second week, she had also taken over bedtime.

One night, you were finishing up in the bathroom when Joe called out from the bedroom, amusement lacing his voice.

“You’re getting replaced.”

You stepped into the room, brows furrowed. “What?”

Joe tilted his head toward the bed, where Miss Honey was curled up on his pillow, perfectly nestled into the space where your head usually went.

You crossed your arms. “Unreal.”

Joe smirked, patting the mattress beside him. “Sorry, babe. She called dibs.”

You shook your head, sliding into bed anyway, and—because Miss Honey was the most spoiled creature on the planet—you let her stay.

She purred contently between you, tucked snugly between your bodies, and Joe reached out, running a slow hand down her back before catching your gaze.

“I think she was meant to be ours,” he murmured, voice soft in the dark.

Your heart swelled.

Because he was right.

At first, Miss Honey had been a little more drawn to Joe. It wasn’t anything personal—she liked you just fine—but there was something about him that had her stuck to him like glue. Maybe it was his warmth, or the steady way he carried himself, or the fact that he had been the one to scoop her up from the cold and bring her home.

But after a couple of weeks, things started shifting.

It wasn’t sudden. There was no grand moment of realization where she decided, Actually, I love you too. It was slower than that—small moments that gradually built into something solid, something certain.

It was the way she started lingering in the kitchen while you made breakfast, winding around your ankles, soft fur brushing against your bare legs as she meowed up at you like she was part of the conversation.

It was how she started climbing onto your lap while you were reading, kneading her tiny paws into your stomach before curling up and purring herself to sleep, like you were something safe.

It was how she started following you into the bathroom whenever you did your skincare at night, sitting neatly by the sink and watching you with lazy, half-lidded eyes, as if she was deeply invested in your routine.

She was still Joe’s shadow, but you had become hers.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

“She likes you now,” Joe teased one night, watching as Miss Honey happily stretched out on your chest, perfectly content.

You smirked, scratching under her chin. “She always liked me.”

“Nah,” he mused, tossing an arm around your shoulders. “She tolerated you. Big difference.”

You gasped dramatically. “How dare you?”

Joe chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Hey, it’s a compliment. You won her over.”

And you had.

Miss Honey wasn’t just a cat anymore. She was your cat. An irreplaceable little presence in the house.

Joe, naturally, leaned into it full force.

It started with the essentials.

A bed. A few toys. Some high-quality cat food that Joe meticulously researched before purchasing. He wasn’t about to give her just anything—he wanted the best, reading reviews like he was about to draft a new teammate.

You had laughed the first time you caught him looking up “best cat food brands for digestion” on his phone.

“Joe, she was literally eating bugs two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, and now she’s got standards,” he shot back, tapping on a link. “This one’s got good ingredients.”

And that was just the beginning.

Before long, Joe was going all out—buying her the best litter (something natural and odor-free, because only the best for our girl), a selection of premium treats (“That Temptations crap is all filler,” he had said, with so much conviction you almost cried laughing), and multiple collars in different colors and patterns.

One morning, you caught him kneeling by the front door, carefully adjusting the tiny blue velvet collar around Miss Honey’s neck.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, leaning against the doorway, watching as he straightened the little golden name tag.

Joe glanced up, grinning. “She looks good though, right?”

You had to admit—she did.

But the real turning point? The sweaters.

That was unexpected.

It had started as a joke—one lazy evening, the two of you scrolling through Etsy, looking at cat accessories for fun.

“Wouldn’t she look cute in this?” you had said, showing Joe a tiny, knitted sweater in a soft cream color.

Joe snorted. “No way she’d wear that.”

Turns out, she would. And she’d like it.

The first time you slipped a tiny sweater over her head, Miss Honey barely reacted—just gave a big stretch, turned in a circle, and promptly plopped down on Joe’s lap like nothing was different.

Joe, stunned, just blinked.

“You’re telling me she’s okay with this?”

“She’s thriving,” you corrected, grinning.

And from that moment on, Joe took it as a personal mission to build her wardrobe.

Over the next week, more sweaters arrived in the mail—different colors, different materials, even a tiny hoodie with ears.

“This is getting out of hand,” you commented as Joe unboxed yet another package.

He held up a tiny lavender sweater, inspecting the material. “It’s for layering.”

You stared at him. “Joe, she’s a cat.”

Joe just smirked. “A stylish one.”

Miss Honey, stretched out on the couch, gave a slow blink, completely unbothered by the chaos she had brought into your lives.

And, honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Three months in, and neither of you could remember what life was like before Miss Honey.

It wasn’t just that she had settled into your home—she had settled into you, woven herself into the rhythm of your days so seamlessly that the idea of waking up without her little body curled between you or coming home to a silent house felt… wrong.

Mornings were different now.

Gone were the days of lazy, drawn-out wake-ups—Miss Honey made sure of that. If Joe’s alarm didn’t get him up, her tiny little paws kneading into his chest certainly did. And if he dared try to roll over and ignore her? She’d take matters into her own hands.

Or, more accurately, her own whiskers.

One morning, you caught her using her best tactic yet—pressing her nose right against Joe’s, whiskers tickling his face until he groaned and finally peeled one eye open.

“You are the most spoiled creature on the planet,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Miss Honey responded by immediately rubbing her face against his chin, purring like a little engine.

Joe exhaled a laugh, eyes still heavy as he let his fingers trail through her fur. “Unreal.”

Meanwhile, your mornings had changed in a different way.

You used to make coffee alone, sipping it in peaceful solitude before starting your day. Now? You had company.

Miss Honey had claimed her spot on the counter—perched delicately by the coffee machine, watching your every move like an executive overseeing production.

“Supervising?” you’d ask her, sprinkling cinnamon into your cup.

She’d blink, tail flicking lazily.

Joe, walking into the kitchen at just the right moment, would snort. “She’s your little manager.”

And it was true—Miss Honey was involved in everything.

She had a routine. A life. A set of unspoken rules that ran the house.

If one of you was on the couch? She was there too, curled up in the crook of your leg or sprawled across Joe’s chest. If you were cooking? She was on the floor, watching you with silent judgment, like a tiny food critic.

If Joe was watching game film, she’d climb onto his lap and stare at the screen, like she had some real thoughts about the Bengals' offense.

She had her little preferences, too. She didn’t care for loud noises but loved when Joe played music on his speakers. She always sat with you while you read, always meowed when she wanted attention, and—for some reason—seemed particularly obsessed with Joe’s socks.

“She’s weird,” Joe said one night, watching as she enthusiastically dragged one of his socks across the living room like it was her prized possession.

“You brought home a gas station cat,” you reminded him. “What did you expect?”

Joe exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he reached down to scratch behind her ears. “She’s perfect.”

And she was.

She had changed things in the smallest, most meaningful ways.

The house didn’t feel empty when Joe was away anymore—not when you had her little paws padding around, her soft purrs filling the silence. Even on the loneliest days, she made it better, curling into you like she just knew.

And Joe—he had changed, too.

If he had been a cat person before, he was fully in his Cat Dad era now.

It had started subtly. The good food, the high-quality litter, the little sweaters he kept ordering. But at some point, it escalated.

Joe started carrying her around the house, tucking her into his hoodie when he was watching film, talking to her like she was an actual human being.

“Alright, Miss Honey,” he said one afternoon, kneeling in front of her as she lounged lazily on her little cat bed. “We got options. You wanna wear the blue sweater or the gray one today?”

You, standing in the doorway with your arms crossed, stared at him. “Joe.”

He looked up, completely unashamed. “She likes choices.”

“She’s a cat.”

Joe just smirked, holding up the tiny sweaters. “A stylish one.”

And then there was the Ja’Marr conversation.

One night, after practice, Ja’Marr had made a casual joke—something about how “one cat turns into five real quick,” laughing at the idea of Joe slowly becoming that guy.

You had laughed too, shaking your head. “No way. We’re a one-cat household.”

Joe had nodded in agreement, completely confident. “Yeah, no shot.”

But then… a week later, he changed his tune.

You were curled up together on the couch, Miss Honey stretched between you, when Joe sighed, absentmindedly running his fingers down her back.

“She’s kinda lonely,” he mused.

You blinked. “What?”

Joe glanced over, tilting his head toward Miss Honey, who was currently kneading her little paws into his thigh. “I mean, she’s got us, but, like… I bet she’d like a friend.”

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes. “Joe.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, tone easy, like he wasn’t suggesting something huge. “She’s got so much energy. I think she’d like a buddy.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

Joe grinned. “Just think about it.”

And just like that, the conversation had started. And you had been so firm about it. Absolutely not. No second cat.

Miss Honey was thriving—happy, healthy, and fully attached to both of you. The idea of bringing another cat into the house felt risky. What if she didn’t like it? What if she got territorial? What if she felt betrayed?

Joe, of course, had started planting the idea like a damn politician.

“I just think she gets bored sometimes,” he would say casually while Miss Honey chased her own tail in the living room.

“She’s got a lot of love to give,” he mused one night, watching her rub up against every single one of your ankles like she was making the rounds.

“She needs a little sidekick,” he argued as she sprawled out dramatically on the kitchen floor, meowing at nothing in particular.

You shot him down every time.

Until, of course, fate decided to step in.

It was a random Saturday, and you and Joe were out running errands—nothing special, just a casual grocery run. You had been debating what kind of bread to get (Joe insisted the multigrain one tasted just as good as white bread, which was a blatant lie), when something caught his eye.

“Babe,” Joe said, suddenly abandoning the cart and heading toward the entrance. “Look.”

You turned, frowning as you followed his gaze.

Right outside the store, under a big white tent, was a cat rescue group—volunteers standing beside crates filled with tiny, curious faces.

A pet adoption event.

Joe immediately turned to you, eyes lighting up. “This is a sign.”

“No, it’s not,” you argued, grabbing the cart. “It’s just Saturday.”

“It’s a sign.”

You groaned as he practically dragged you toward the tent, already grinning like he had just won the lottery.

And then you saw them.

The kittens.

Tiny, wiggly little things with big eyes and oversized paws, rolling around in their blankets or climbing the sides of their enclosures with impressive determination.

You told yourself you were just looking.

Joe was crouched down almost immediately, eyes scanning the different crates as the volunteers smiled at him.

“You guys looking to adopt?” one of them asked.

Joe grinned. “Maybe.”

You shot him a glare. “We are not looking to—”

And then you saw her.

A tiny gray tabby, tucked in the corner of her crate, nibbling sleepily at her own paw. Big round eyes, the softest little face, and an expression that screamed, Yeah, I know I’m cute.

You inhaled sharply.

“Oh no,” Joe murmured, catching the look on your face.

You glanced at him, then back at the kitten.

“… I wanna hold her.”

Joe grinned. “Knew it.”

The second the volunteer placed the kitten in your hands, you were done for. She was so small, her little body barely bigger than your palm. She meowed—tiny and sweet—before immediately nuzzling into the crook of your neck, purring like she had just found home.

Joe, watching intently, exhaled a laugh. “Oh yeah. We’re done for.”

That night, you walked into your house as a two-cat household.

Miss Honey was not immediately sold.

The introduction process was slow—gentle, cautious. You followed all the steps, kept them separated at first, let them get used to each other’s scent. But, much to your surprise, Miss Honey didn’t react with any real aggression.

Mostly? She just seemed deeply confused.

The first time she saw the kitten, she just stared, tail flicking, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Joe, crouched beside her, grinned. “You got a little sister, Honey.”

Miss Honey turned her head, fixing him with a look.

You laughed. “I don’t think she asked for one.”

Still, within a few days, things started shifting.

The kitten—who you decided to name Fig—was relentless in her pursuit of Miss Honey’s love.

She followed her everywhere, mimicked her every move, and—on more than one occasion—attempted to curl up against her, only to be met with a single, unimpressed flick of the tail.

But then, one morning, you woke up to find them curled up together on the couch—Miss Honey’s paw resting protectively over Fig’s tiny little body.

Joe, standing beside you, smirked. “Told you she needed a buddy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt full.

And that’s how you and Joe became crazy cat people.

[moonreader1010]

The fantasy they can’t stop thinking about with you?

𝓟𝓘𝓒𝓚 𝓐 𝓟𝓘𝓛𝓔 - ・❥・: ̗̀➛

︵‿︵‿୨♡ Ｒｅａｄｉｎｇ ｂｙ － ＭＡＥ ♡୧‿︵‿︵ PLEASE

PLEASE

PLEASE

DO CHECK OUT THE NOTE AT THE END OF THE READING IT WILL BE A BIG HELP

PILE 1

There’s something about you that completely wrecks them in the best way possible. You are the kind of temptation that lingers in their mind, teasing them, challenging them, making them work for every inch of you. They fantasize about the push and pull, the tension that builds between you two like an irresistible storm, thick with anticipation. You don’t just give in you make them earn it, and that only makes them crave you more. The way you tease, the way you hold back just enough to make them desperate for more it’s intoxicating, infuriating, and exactly what keeps them coming back. They see you as someone they can't just have; they have to fight for you. And when that final barrier collapses, when you finally let them in? That’s when everything shifts. That’s when the fire between you two becomes too much to contain, turning into something wild, uncontrollable, and all-consuming.

And when it finally happens? It’s raw. Unfiltered. They don’t just want to touch you they want to feel you, to claim every inch of your body with their hands, their lips, their very being. They imagine you being just as hungry for them as they are for you, gripping them tighter, pulling them closer, dragging your nails across their skin as if to mark them as yours. They want to see the way your breath catches, the way your body reacts to them in ways that words could never describe. There’s an edge to their fantasies, a hint of something untamed, something that makes them lose themselves in you completely. They want you to ruin them, to take them apart piece by piece and put them back together in a way that only you can. And after it’s all over, after the storm has passed and the fire has burned its way through you both, they still want more because with you, once is never enough.

PILE 2

They don’t just want you, they need you in ways that haunt them, in ways that keep them up at night with thoughts they can’t shake. Their fantasies aren’t rushed or frantic no, they’re deliberate, lingering, drawn out like a slow burn that keeps them on edge for days. They picture you as someone in control, someone who knows exactly what you’re doing to them. The way you look at them, the way you hold back just enough to make them wait for it it drives them absolutely insane. They dream of you teasing them with your words, with your gaze, making them prove that they deserve you. And the more you make them wait, the more they want you, need you, ache for you. They imagine you taking your time, watching them squirm under your touch, making them earn every second of pleasure you give them. It’s intoxicating, maddening, and yet it’s exactly what makes them want you even more.

They imagine the moment when you finally let the walls down, when the teasing turns into something more, something deeper. The weight of your body against theirs, the way your fingertips trail down their skin with an agonizing slowness, making them shiver in anticipation. They want to hear the way your breath hitches, to feel the way you melt into them, surrendering completely despite the fact that you were the one holding all the power just moments before. It’s not just about the physical it’s about the way you make them feel. You awaken something in them that no one else ever has, something that shakes them to their very core. With you, it’s more than just desire it’s transformation, revelation, something almost spiritual. And they want to drown in it, in you, over and over again, until there’s nothing left of them except the way you make them yours.

PILE 3

You are their ultimate fantasy, the one they can never seem to get enough of, the one they can’t stop thinking about no matter how hard they try. There’s something about you that has them completely under your spell, something about the way you carry yourself, the way you look at them like you know exactly what kind of power you hold over them. They imagine the way you toy with them, making them desperate, making them crave your touch, your approval, your attention. You don’t just give you take, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. They fantasize about the way you control the pace, the way you pull them in and then leave them hanging on the edge, desperate for more, desperate for you. You know exactly how to play this game, and they? They are utterly, completely, and willingly at your mercy.

But it’s not just about pleasure it’s about the way you own them in those moments, the way you make them forget every doubt, every hesitation. With you, there is no past, no future only this, only the overwhelming need, the way their body responds to your touch like it’s the only thing that matters. They think about you claiming them, about you knowing exactly how to push them past their limits, how to make them beg without even saying a word. It’s a dangerous kind of obsession, one that leaves them breathless, wrecked, ruined but completely and utterly addicted. Because once you have them? Once you’ve touched them, owned them, unraveled them in a way that no one else ever has? There is no going back. They are yours. Completely. Irrevocably. And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

COULD YOU PLEASE READ THIS POST AND GIVE IT A MINUTE IT WON'T TAKE LONG - HERE Ⓝⓞⓣⓔⓢ

Check out our latest ------------(18+) services

This is a general reading take what resonates and leave the rest.

All credit of the pictures goes to thier rightfull owners.

Sending lots of love to whoever is reading this, take care.

[littelovelunette]

I LOVE UR WRITING SHDJDKSJDJD. What about reader walking in on Sevika masturbating and then helping her out??? 👁️👁️

Caught In The Sheets

Thank you soooo muchhh, sometimes I question whether I put enough effort into my fics but reading these words of praise are just enoughhh

Contains smut, panty sniffing, masterbating, fingering, mention of Sevika's happy trail, pussy description (Sevika), oral

"Honey, I'm home," Sevika called out as she closed the door behind herself, she looked like hell. She was too tired to even support the weight of her prosthetic at this point.

With another very heavy sigh, she opened the bedroom and didn't see you there. She walked around and found a note on the table.

The note said "I'll be off to the market grocery shopping by the time you come back, can you do me a favour and put the clothes in the laundry? I love you~"

Sevika rolled her eyes, a small smirk playing on her dark lips as she read the note. Of course you had asked her to do the laundry. It was the one chore you couldn't do without her help.

Sevika didn't mind, she found it endearing how you managed to take care of everything around the house but when it came to something as simple as laundry, you were absolutely baffled.

Sevika thought of your face when she first taught you to do it and it went all over your head just like when she tried to teach you cards, Sevika dragged the laundry basket to the washing machine and opened it up, reaching for the first article of clothing.

Her fingers hook around your panties... From yesterday night and the residue over it, the wet arousal etched onto the crotch of the cotton fabric.

"Jeez," Sevika mumbled under her breath, and she looked around the room despite knowing she was in there alone before slowly bringing the cloth closer to her face and taking a small whiff.

She could've moaned. She could've. But she didn't. She restrained herself.

Sevika's breath caught in her throat as she silently made her way to the bedroom, she felt so filthy, so humiliated. Her usual dominant pride hurt as she walked in the shared bedroom, she questioned why just the smell of your vaginal discharge was enough to get her going, enough to make her want to touch herself inappropriately.

Sevika laid down slowly after undressing herself almost hastily, she pressed the crotch of your panties to her face again, taking in a deep breath and smelling your arousal which was a little wet still but she didn't care.

She just needed to feel like you were there with her, that's all she needed really. Sevika let out a soft breath and her hands slowly wet down past her happy trail and to her pussy. She had been neglecting her pleasure for so long, solely focused on making you feel good.

Rough pads of her finger toyed with her own clit eliciting a small moan from her, hips buckling a little.

"Since when have I become so sensitive?" She thought to herself as she pressed her clit using a single finger, "Oh my gosh," she whispered as she closed her eyes, holding the panties in a tight grip with her mechanical arm.

Sevika's fingers traced down her pussy lips, and rubbed her slit teasingly as she tried to picture you being there with her, "Oh fuck, fuck, you're such a damn tease," she whispered biting down on her bottom lip.

As she got close to cumming on her own fingers, she felt her wrist being yanked away from her heat.

Sevika, whining a little (almost), looked up and seeing you standing there with your hair in a messy bun, grocery bags in another hand and a motherly stern expression on your face. Her cheeks flushed red like never before.

"So this is what you do when I'm gone for a few hours?" You tutted, dropping the bags to cross your arms.

"No, I don't..." Sevika begun but then trailed off, a little bit of guilt creeping in her tone told you a different story.

"Sniffing my panties and touching yourself? Are you serious?" You asked though there was no heat in your voice.

"I don't usually... Do this," Sevika said completing the lie with almost comical difficulty.

"Lay back," you ordered and surprisingly Sevika obliged, laying back down and grumbling something inaudible.

Sevika laid down on the bed with her back flat, legs spreading a little to expose her wet pussy.

"What a good girl, hm?" You crawled in between her legs, "Keep on sniffing, c'mon." You urged and Sevika flushed redder but didn't protest, bringing your panties to her nose again to take a long whiff of your arousal.

Her head felt a little dizzy and mushy this time as your breath hit her clit, her eyes snapped open and wide when she felt your start sucking and slurping on her pussy, all sorts of wet lewd sounds coming from you.

Sevika gasped feeling your fingers playing with her swollen clit, you always found it attractive how big her clit was only making her more sensitive.

Sevika's flesh hand grabbed your head but you swatted it away, earning another small whine from her. Sevika, desperate, took another whiff of the pair of panties now entangled between her metal fingers. She cried in a high pitched tone as you grabbed her hips and bit down on her clit momentarily before resuming to delve your tongue in her hole.

"Oh, fuck! Fuck!" She screamed more profanities, cumming on your tongue as her legs started trembling a little. Her big muscular thighs also trembling from the wrecking orgasm.

"I hate you." She grumbled when you pulled back.

"Oh, you totally sniff the person you hate's underwear when they're gone, don't you?" You smirked as you picked the grocery bags up from the floor.

"... You'll never let go of this will you...?" Sevika looked away, face flushing more.

"Nah, it's too good."

[edenesth]

Arrows and Affection

Pairing: warrior!Yeosang x fem!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Admiral Kang never misses his mark—until today. No matter how many times he draws his bow, the bullseye remains untouched. The wind hasn't changed, nor has his skill faltered. The only difference? The presence of a certain someone who has somehow turned his unwavering focus into a battlefield of its own.

Genre: fluff, comedy

A/N: Y'all when I saw these damn pics Yeo posted, I knew I'd have to write something. Then I heard Fallin' by Bang Yedam and couldn't stop thinking about this scenario.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

I still cannot believe this man is real.

The thought echoed in your mind as you struggled to tear your gaze away from him. With effortless precision, Kang Yeosang drew his bow, his stance steady, his movements practised to perfection. Years of training had made archery second nature to him—so much so that watching him was almost hypnotic. He wasn't just any warrior; he was the Admiral Kang, the youngest and most revered commander in Joseon, a man whose victories in battle had cemented his place in history. And yet, despite his fearsome reputation, you still found it surreal that you could stand this close to him.

"Wh-what are you doing here? You shouldn't be here right now!"

The urgent whisper jolted you from your thoughts. A senior maid stared at you in horror, eyes wide as she took in your pitiful attempt to hide behind a paper door—one that did little to conceal your presence. You flashed her a sheepish grin and waved the washcloth in your hand. "Relax, I'm just cleaning. No one pays attention to a maid doing her job."

She sighed, exasperated. "That may be, but the admiral specifically requested complete silence during his training. We cannot risk disturbing him."

You huffed. "Well, then that doesn't make him a very good archer, does it? If he's truly the best, he should be able to shoot well anywhere. The battlefield isn't exactly a peaceful place, now is it?"

Her face paled at your audacity, and she frantically motioned for you to lower your voice. Then, as if realising she wouldn't win this argument, she reached for your washcloth. "Please, just this once, listen to me. Besides, you know very well you're not—"

Before she could finish, you pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "I've been good all week, haven't I? I did everything you asked—no complaints. Just let me stay here for a bit and enjoy the view, yeah? You can have my meal again tonight," you added with a wink.

She shook her head, already resigned to her fate, too tired to argue or remind you that everything you had done over the past week was merely your duty. "Fine. But promise me you won't distract the admiral, and make sure you return to your quarters before—"

"I will, I will," you interrupted, beaming. "And I promise, you won't get in trouble because of me!"

You clapped soundlessly in victory as she handed your washcloth back, shaking her head in disbelief before walking away. But not before shooting you one last pleading look, silently begging you not to cause any more trouble. You only grinned in response, sticking your tongue out playfully and waving goodbye before returning to your so-called task—wiping down an already spotless door. A door that, conveniently, gave you the perfect view of the admiral, deep in focus as he trained.

A small sigh of awe slipped past your lips, your earlier mischievous grin softening into a dreamy smile as you watched him. He checked his bow with practised ease before getting into position once more, gripping it firmly. You bit your lip, anticipation bubbling inside you—this was your favourite part. He raised his bow, holding an arrow in place, lifting it just high enough to aim. Then, with calculated precision, he closed one eye to focus on his target.

Damn.

This pose—this was the one that always left you weak in the knees. Just when you thought he couldn't possibly be any more attractive, he went ahead and proved you wrong. Every. Single. Time.

Despite his fearsome reputation on the battlefield, Admiral Kang was, at heart, a little... adorable. When he wasn't fighting wars, he always seemed lost in his own world, absentmindedly staring at whoever was speaking to him with that cute, dazed expression. He was a unique character, to say the least. And maybe that was why you loved seeing this side of him even more—the version of him that was serious, focused, and completely in his element.

It was just so freaking hot.

Until it… wasn't.

Your futile wiping came to an abrupt halt as you furrowed your brows, watching the unfamiliar scene unfold before you. For the first time in all the years you had known him, he let out a sharp curse, frustration flickering across his usually composed face. He reached for another arrow, aiming with a little more force than necessary. Your gaze darted to the target board—only to realise that he had missed the bullseye.

Your mouth fell open. He missed?

A tiny gasp escaped you because, quite frankly, that was unheard of. Admiral Kang never missed—not once since he had built his legendary reputation. It was practically the first rule of the universe: the sun rises, the rivers flow, and Kang Yeosang hits his mark every single time. Yet here he was, missing the target like some rookie foot soldier.

You bit your lip, suddenly concerned. Was he okay? Maybe today just wasn't his day. Maybe that's why he had insisted on training alone.

And then—thunk! Another miss.

Your concern quickly morphed into something else entirely as you took in the sight of him, all tense muscles and narrowed eyes, jaw clenched in frustration. Oh. Oh no. Why was this... hot?

You didn't think you'd ever witness the day Kang Yeosang would be this visibly mad—not at you, not at anyone, but at himself. And somehow, instead of feeling purely sympathetic, your brain short-circuited with an entirely inappropriate thought: angry Admiral Kang was stupidly attractive.

His brows knitted together as he grabbed yet another arrow, muttering a string of curses under his breath, his voice lower and rougher than usual. It was such a stark contrast from his usual soft, slightly dazed self that it sent a shiver down your spine.

Oh, this is dangerous.

You had to press a knuckle to your mouth to stifle the delighted squeal threatening to escape. Because good god, if this man got any hotter, you might just pass out right then and there.

"Goddamnit," Yeosang cursed under his breath, his eyebrow twitching as his fourth shot missed its mark.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to quell the frustration bubbling inside him. He couldn't believe he was letting this affect him. He wasn't a fool. He was the youngest admiral in Joseon, after all—he had noticed your presence the second you stepped foot inside.

But he hadn't said anything.

At first, he assumed it was just some clueless new maid who had wandered in, unaware of the rules. He was ready to ignore it altogether. But then—he heard your voice. His sharp hearing picked up on your hushed negotiation with a senior maid, who was desperately trying to shoo you away. His pulse quickened.

It was you.

And like a complete idiot, instead of brushing it off, he found himself wanting to impress you. That's where he had gone wrong. His focus had wavered, and now, for the first time in his career, his shots were landing anywhere but the bullseye.

Who knew a single woman could have such an effect on him?

Annoyed—mostly at himself but also at you for making him embarrass himself like this—he finally cleared his throat, loud enough for you to hear.

"Just how long do you plan on hiding there?" he called out, finally turning toward your direction.

He had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing at your absolutely pathetic attempt at concealment. Pressed flat against the paper door like it would somehow make you invisible, your familiar silhouette was outlined perfectly against the thin material—especially with the sunlight streaming in from behind.

He sighed, setting down his bow and taking a step closer. "I knew you were there the moment you walked in. Show yourself."

Crap. Crap. Crap.

You thought you had been sneaky, but apparently not. If he had known you were here all along, that meant trouble—because you were supposed to be elsewhere. And, worse, he knew that because you weren't just any ordinary maid.

Your only hope now? Act like one.

With your head lowered, you stepped forward hesitantly, bowing respectfully. "A-apologies, my lord. I was only here to clean. I know you asked to be left alone today, and I shouldn't have lingered," you murmured, voice small. "I'll leave at once."

You turned on your heel, ready to flee, but his voice stopped you cold.

"Hold on a second."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Oh, no. You had promised the senior maid you wouldn't cause trouble, and now you were on the verge of dragging her into this mess.

"If you knew I asked for privacy," he mused, his voice deep and steady, "why did you come here in the first place?"

You gulped, fingers tightening around the washcloth in your hands. This was not how today was supposed to go. You had planned to admire him for a while, soak in the view, and then sneak back to your actual post. Not get caught red-handed.

"Answer me," he pressed.

Your breath hitched. His voice was much closer this time.

Too close.

"I-I was wrong, my lord," you stammered.

He sighed. "That's not what I want to hear. Because of you, I lost my focus. Look me in the eyes and tell me the truth."

Slowly, you turned—only to find him standing right behind you. There was no escaping now. No more excuses. It was time to own up to your mistake.

"I… I just—" you blurted before throwing your hands up in defeat. "I missed you, okay?! I wanted to see your stupid face before going back to my boring duties. Is that a crime?"

Silence.

Then, Yeosang smiled. "See? Now, was that so difficult?" he teased, leaning down slightly to meet your pouting face.

"You knew it was me all along?" you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He nodded.

"How?"

He smirked, fingers tilting your chin up until your eyes met his. "How could I not? You're far too beautiful to be just a maid, my lady."

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you huffed, swatting his hand away. "Ugh, I really thought I had you fooled."

His grin widened. "So, does this mean you finally admit you missed me? What happened to 'I don't want to see your dumb face again'?"

Your jaw dropped. "You did not just bring that up."

"Oh, but I did." He leaned in, voice dripping with amusement. "Verbatim."

Scoffing in disbelief, you pushed at his chest—though, of course, he barely budged. "You're impossible."

Turning away with a dramatic hmph, you muttered, "Go ahead, tell your mother I sneaked out. I'll take whatever punishment she has for me, as usual. Not like you'd ever stand up for me in front of her."

Before you could take another step away from him, Yeosang moved swiftly, wrapping his arms around you from behind. His voice was softer now, warm against your ear.

"I'm sorry, my love." His embrace tightened slightly. "You know how she is when it comes to the duties of a daughter-in-law. I wish I could do something, but as the admiral's wife, you have to set an example for the people. I know those lessons bore you to death, but she's only here for the Lunar New Year. Just hang in there for a little longer, yeah?"

You sighed, finally allowing yourself to melt into his warm embrace—the very one you had gone without for nearly a week.

You had been giving him the silent treatment ever since he failed to defend you when his mother insisted you attend etiquette lessons for the entirety of the Lunar New Year. You had protested, of course—this was supposed to be the one time of the year when your husband was free from his duties, a rare chance for the two of you to be together. But instead, she had taken that precious time away, forcing you into lessons you had little patience for.

Deep down, you understood her reasoning, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. You had been looking forward to this time for weeks, only to have it stolen from you. And so, out of pure stubbornness, you had refused to attend the lessons diligently. Your frustration had driven you to banish Yeosang from your shared quarters in the heat of the moment—a decision you regretted almost immediately. Sleeping in an empty bed had been unbearable, but your pride had been too strong to call him back from the guest chambers.

So, today, desperate for an escape from yet another dreary lesson, you had feigned illness and slipped away. If your mother-in-law discovered your empty room, there would be consequences—not just for you, but for the poor maid who had dared to help you.

The admiral sighed against your hair, his arms tightening around you as if afraid you'd slip away again. Then, with gentle insistence, he turned you in his embrace, his warm hands cupping your cheeks. His thumbs brushed over your skin, wiping away the traces of your lingering pout.

"You're so stubborn," he murmured, his tone laced with fondness. "But I suppose that's part of why I love you."

Your heart skipped a beat. His gaze, steady and filled with an emotion so tender it made your breath hitch, held yours captive.

"I missed you too, you know," he admitted at last, exhaling as if finally releasing a weight from his chest. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to sleep without you? To wake up every morning and not see your annoying little grin first thing?" His lips quirked up slightly, but there was sincerity in his words.

You blinked up at your husband, guilt slowly creeping in.

"I know I should've defended you more," he continued, his voice softer now. "But it's not that simple, my love. I already defied my mother once when I chose you—when I turned my back on the noblewoman she wanted for me. I chose you because you are everything I ever wanted. You're bright, bubbly, and full of life. You make even the dullest moments feel exciting. And though she may not understand it now… you are the best decision I have ever made."

Your breath caught in your throat.

He let out a quiet sigh, his thumbs still tracing circles against your skin. "I just… I only want the two most important women in my life to get along. That's all I've ever wanted. I know it's not easy for you, and I know she can be difficult, but if you could just try… even a little, it would make things easier. For both of us."

Your chest tightened. You had been so caught up in your own frustration that you hadn't once stopped to consider how hard this must have been for him too. Balancing the expectations of a mother he respected and the love of his life—how exhausting that must have been.

Your gaze softened, and you lifted your hands to rest over his. "I… I didn't think about it that way," you admitted, cheeks warming. "I was so focused on my own feelings that I didn't realise how hard this must be for you too."

He said nothing, only watching you with patient eyes as you let the realisation settle.

You sighed, leaning into his touch. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "I promise… I'll try to be better from now on."

At that, his entire face brightened, relief flooding his features as he pulled you in closer. "Really?"

You gave a small nod, lips curving into a sheepish smile. "Really." Then, with a playful glint in your eyes, you added, "I promise I won't be sneaking off to give you surprise visits like I did today again, Admiral Kang."

His jaw dropped slightly, and you could practically see the flicker of realisation in his expression. You had him. As disciplined and upright as he usually was, even he couldn't deny that your little intrusion today had made things far more exciting. Damn the impropriety of it all—he loved you for that.

"Oh, you little minx," he muttered, shaking his head in faux exasperation before a smirk tugged at his lips. A breathless chuckle escaped him as he dipped down, capturing your lips in a soft yet lingering kiss. His warmth seeped into you, his touch grounding you in the moment. He kissed you as if he had been waiting for this forever, as if every second apart had been an eternity.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his grin utterly boyish. "Does this mean I can move back into our quarters now?"

You huffed, pretending to think it over, watching as he waited—far too eagerly—for your answer. His hands remained on your waist, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your sides, as if afraid you might slip away again.

Finally, you sighed dramatically. "Fine. But only because I missed you too."

His laughter rang through the air, light and full of joy, before he swooped in to kiss you again, sealing your truce with all the love he had to give.

When he pulled away, neither of you moved for a moment, eyes closed as he pressed his forehead against yours again. He simply breathed—cherishing the warmth of your presence after a week apart.

He knew you had been upset, not just about the lessons but because he hadn't sided with you when you protested. But what could he have done? He was caught between the two most important women in his life—his mother, the woman who raised him, and you, the woman he vowed to cherish. It was never a choice he wanted to make, so he had remained neutral, though it had pained him to see the disappointment in your eyes.

Still, that was why he had spoken to his mother later, asking her to go easier on you. You might not have noticed, but she had—she never truly reprimanded you for your inconsistent attendance, and Yeosang had never made a fuss when you kicked him out of your shared quarters, knowing you needed space. No matter how much it killed him to be away from you, he respected your emotions.

But now, feeling the way you held onto him just as tightly as he held onto you, he was glad. Glad that you were willing to meet him in the middle. That was one of the many reasons he loved you so much.

He could still remember the look of surprise on his mother's face when he had, for the first time, broken out of his usual quiet and composed demeanour—other than the time he had first brought you home, announcing with unwavering conviction that you were the love of his life and the only woman he would marry.

It had shocked her then. And it had shocked her again when he spoke up for you, telling her how much you meant to him and how he wished for the woman who raised him to care for his wife the same way she had always cared for him.

And surprisingly, she had understood.

Truthfully, his mother had never truly been against you. At first, she had been wary—sceptical of how well a woman as lively and outspoken as you would fit into their composed and traditional household. But over time, she began to understand why her son had chosen you.

You were bright—perhaps a little too much at times—but she had come to admire your honesty. She never had to worry about a two-faced daughter-in-law who smiled sweetly in front of her but harboured resentment behind her back. You were genuine—straightforward with your emotions, never afraid to show your displeasure or your affection. And above all, the love you and Yeosang shared was undeniable. At the end of the day, that was what mattered to her most. That her son was happy.

And as the admiral held you now, he knew that happiness was right here, in his arms.

"So, tell me," Yeosang murmured, tilting his head as he gazed into your eyes, the ones he adored so much. "How exactly did you manage to slip out of your lesson today?"

You bit your lip, knowing there was no use lying when he was already staring at you so intently. With a sheepish grin, you admitted, "I told her it's that time of the month and that the pain was too unbearable to continue."

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he reached out to squish your cheeks. "And yet here you are, sneaking around in a maid's uniform just to watch your incredibly handsome husband practice. You must've been desperate for me, hm?"

You scoffed, prying his hands off your face only to squish his cheeks in return. "That's right, admiral. I came all this way just to see you fail miserably at hitting a bullseye over and over again. All because your wife was watching."

His jaw dropped in exaggerated offence as he gasped. "You wound me, my love," he declared dramatically before bending down to retrieve his bow. Then, with a smirk, he held it out to you. "If you're so clever, Lady Kang, why don't you show me how it's done?"

"Gladly," you shot back, grabbing the bow with confidence—only for your bravado to falter the moment you realised just how heavy it was. Your arms wobbled slightly under the unexpected weight, but you cleared your throat, pretending as if nothing had happened.

Your husband noticed. Of course, he did. But to his credit, he bit back his laughter, unwilling to embarrass you further. Instead, he simply watched, eyes gleaming with fondness. If only you knew how much his heart swelled with pride and affection at this moment—seeing you attempt something he had always wanted to teach you. He had dreamed of this for so long, hoping to pass on at least the basics of archery, if only as a means of self-defence. But the opportunity had never come—until now.

Clumsily, you reached for an arrow, fumbling slightly as you held it up. He softened, stepping behind you in an instant. His arms slid around you, one hand lifting the bow's weight with ease, the other steadying your trembling grip as he helped you pull the arrow back.

You glanced up at him, feeling the warmth of his breath near your ear, the solid comfort of his presence surrounding you completely. You had never felt safer. It was moments like these that reminded you just how much pride you had in being his wife. That even after everything, you still found it hard to believe that this man—this strong, kind, and loving man—was truly yours.

"Now focus and aim," he murmured. "We'll release when you're ready."

Nodding, you focused on the target, narrowing your eyes as you slowly closed one to improve your precision. You adjusted the bow slightly, remembering one of the things he had always told you—aim a little higher than your target, especially at longer distances, because gravity will always pull the arrow down.

"Ready," you whispered.

And then, together, you released. The arrow soared through the air, cutting cleanly through the space between you and the target. And for the first time that day, an arrow struck the bullseye.

We did it!

You blinked in disbelief, your eyes locked on the arrow firmly lodged in the bullseye. Slowly, you turned to your husband, who stood beside you, mouth slightly agape.

"Did you see that?" you gasped, your excitement bubbling over.

Yeosang let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "I must be dreaming. My wife, an archery prodigy?"

Grinning, you nudged him playfully. "Maybe I should take your place as admiral instead."

He clutched his chest dramatically. "Stealing my title already? You truly are ruthless, my love."

Before you could react, he suddenly scooped you up into his arms with ease, making you yelp in surprise. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Yeosang! Put me down!" you giggled, squirming in his grasp.

"No can do," he hummed, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You impressed me today, so you deserve a reward. And since you did lie your way out of lessons just to see me…" He trailed off, a mischievous and suggestive glint in his eyes.

Your brows furrowed in suspicion. "Yeo, what are you planning—"

Before you could finish, he started making his way toward the exit. But just as he reached the doorway, he stopped abruptly. Because standing right there, about to step in, was his mother.

You gasped, tightening your hold around your husband's neck as he froze in place. "M-Mother…" he stammered.

Old Madame Kang's gaze flickered over the scene before her—her daughter-in-law, who had earlier complained of agonising menstrual pain, now dressed in a maid's uniform, being cradled in her son's arms. She blinked. You swore you saw her eye twitch.

"I-I can explain," you started, and Yeosang quickly set you down, clearing his throat and smoothing down your ruffled hair and hanbok as if that would somehow make things better.

His mother levelled you both with a withering stare. "Please do."

You gulped, exchanging a nervous glance with him, both of you shrinking under her sharp gaze like children caught red-handed.

"She just missed me, Mother," Yeosang admitted, gripping your hand firmly. "She didn't know how else to say it, so she… snuck out to see me."

A beat of silence passed.

Then, to your utter shock, the elderly woman rolled her eyes. "Is that it?" she huffed, exasperated.

You both blinked. That was… oddly forgiving?

She crossed her arms. "You couldn't have just told me? Why go through the trouble of sneaking out and dressing like a maid just to see your own husband?" Her expression softened, though her tone remained firm. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? I brought you herbs, only to find your quarters empty. I came here to inform my son that you'd vanished, and instead, I find the two of you making fools of yourselves…"

Your eyes darted to Yeosang, who looked just as stunned as you felt. Was this really happening?

"…I swear, you two are impossible," she muttered, shaking her head. Then, as if realising just how ridiculous the situation had become, she pinched the bridge of her nose, suppressing what you swore was a reluctant smile. "So, I take it there was never a real period?" she asked, arching a brow.

You swallowed, nodding slowly, unsure where this was going.

She observed you both for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small shake of her head, she finally spoke. "I'll forgive you on one condition." You perked up, hopeful—until she continued, "Give me grandchildren soon."

Your husband choked on air. You stiffened, eyes widening in sheer horror as heat flooded your face.

Meanwhile, your mother-in-law remained entirely unbothered, watching your reactions with the calm of someone who had just commented on the weather. "Well, now that I know you're perfectly healthy, I'll be on my way. See you at your next lesson."

And with that, she turned and strode off, leaving you both rooted in place, still processing the absolute chaos she had just unleashed.

The moment she disappeared down the corridor, you exhaled a breath you hadn't even realised you were holding.

Yeosang cleared his throat, glancing at you with a look that was equal parts mischievous and smug. With exaggerated flair, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a playful kiss to your knuckles.

"Well, you heard her loud and clear, my love," he murmured, his voice rich with amusement. "Shall we begin fulfilling our noble duty right away?"

Your eyes widened in mortification. "Kang Yeosang!" you hissed, smacking his arm harder as your face burned. "She can still hear us!"

And sure enough, a quiet chuckle echoed from down the hall.

Your husband only laughed, unfazed, before intertwining his fingers with yours and gently tugging you forward. "It's fine, my love," he teased. "She understands."

Hand in hand, the two of you strolled back to your chambers, his warmth a steady comfort beside you. His lighthearted humming filled the air, and when he stole a fond glance at you, a smile tugged at his lips.

The admiral had never imagined he could feel anything but frustration over a missed shot—but as he reflected on everything that had unfolded, he realised that if losing his aim led to moments like these, perhaps a little imperfection wasn't so bad after all.

No bc I just love how I started this with a vision and somewhere along the way, I didn't know how to end it so I just kinda winged it lmaooo hope this was decent HAHA

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@blueberrychan @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar

@bunny4yungi @zl-world @quailbagutte @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @cixrosie

@cristy-101

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[carnalcrows]

CAN’T SLEEP? - THANOS & NAMGYU

pairing: top! thanos x bottom! namgyu x top male reader

synopsis: Desperate times call for desperate measures

content warnings: 18+, bottom namgyu, top thanos, dry humping, threesome, public sec (but no actual sex ahahah).

word count: 1.0k

A/N: not too happy with this haha... how does one write dry humping

The dorms were stifling at lights-out. The kind of heat that clung to your skin, made everything feel heavier. After the day's game—one that left bodies scattered across the arena—everyone who was still breathing had collapsed the moment they hit their bunks.

You weren’t so lucky.

Because somehow, through the worst luck imaginable, you ended up in the world’s most uncomfortable human sandwich.

Namgyu was wedged between you and Thanos. And for once, you and Thanos had something in common: neither of you were happy about it.

"Can you stop moving?" you muttered under your breath, shifting slightly as Namgyu squirmed between you.

"I’m trying," Namgyu whispered back, voice thick with exhaustion. "But Thanos keeps pressing into me."

"You’re the one pressing into me," Thanos shot back, equally irritated.

"Okay, both of you shut up," you groaned. "If the guards hear us, we’re dead."

The three of you fell into tense silence, the only sound in the room the quiet breathing of the other survivors. The heat, the cramped space, the feeling of Namgyu’s body shifting slightly between you—it all made for an unbearable kind of awareness.

Then Namgyu exhaled, shifting just a little more, and— Your breath hitched.

It was ridiculous how little it took. A simple shift, a brush of skin against skin, and suddenly the tension was thick enough to suffocate. Namgyu must have felt it too because he stilled, caught between you and Thanos, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your neck.

Neither you nor Thanos moved.

Namgyu swallowed.

And then—

One thing led to another.

Namgyu’s lips met yours, warm and desperate, and your body reacted before your brain could process what was happening. You kissed him back, hands gripping onto his shirt, pulling him closer despite the sweat sticking to your skin. His mouth moved eagerly against yours, a messy clash of lips and breath, like he needed this—like you all did.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away, panting. A sharp breath, a shift in movement—

And then Namgyu was kissing Thanos.

The sheer absurdity of it should’ve made you recoil. But instead, all you could do was watch, heat pooling in your stomach as Thanos—who you were convinced had no romantic bone in his body—actually melted into it. His hands, rough from the games, tangled in Namgyu’s hair, and the sound he made—low, muffled—sent a jolt straight through you.

You weren’t sure if it was jealousy, irritation, or something else entirely that made you grab Namgyu’s chin and pull him back toward you. His lips were swollen, his breath unsteady, and he barely had time to exhale before you kissed him again, teeth knocking clumsily. It was messy, frenzied, desperate—like the last good thing before the world swallowed you whole.

Thanos cursed under his breath, his hands gripping at Namgyu’s hips as if trying to steady himself. You could feel his gaze burning into you, filled with something between competition and unspoken agreement. The tension was thick, the shared breaths ragged, and the air felt charged with something neither of you dared to name.

And yet, somehow—despite the heat, the exhaustion, the absolute insanity of the situation—you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

Namgyu barely had time to catch his breath before Thanos yanked him back, pressing their mouths together in something far too heated for two guys who pretended not to like each other. You stared, panting, heart hammering against your ribs as Namgyu let out a muffled noise—surprised at first, then melting into it. His hands curled into Thanos’ shirt, body pressing further between the two of you.

Your jaw clenched. You didn’t even like Thanos. You could barely stand the guy. But watching Namgyu get passed between you like a shared secret, his breath hitching, his lips puffy from the sheer desperation of it all—something inside you snapped.

Before you could overthink it, you grabbed Namgyu by the chin and pulled him back to you, kissing him just as hungrily as before. He whined against your mouth, clutching at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. And then—damn it—you felt Thanos move in behind him, pressing close, mouth dragging along the side of Namgyu’s neck, his breath hot against his skin.

You shuddered, glaring over Namgyu’s shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable, big guy.”

Thanos only smirked, dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Right back at you.”

Namgyu groaned between you, tilting his head back against Thanos’ shoulder, completely lost in it. “Shut up, both of you,” he muttered, voice breathy.

Fair enough.

You kissed him again, slower this time—lingering, savoring. Thanos did the same, lips trailing along Namgyu’s jaw, down his throat. The heat between you all was unbearable, tension twisting tighter and tighter like a rope ready to snap. The dorm was silent except for the sound of ragged breathing, the occasional muffled groan, the rustling of sheets as you shifted, pulling Namgyu closer, holding him tighter.

You felt something hard against your thigh– enveloping the softness of the trackpats.

Oh.

Namgyu looked up at you, his lashes laced with tears. When did that happen?

Mumbling an apology, he experimentally pushed his crotch forward into your thigh, breath stuttering as his head leaned back into Thanos, giving the purple-haired man more access to his neck. 

Namgyu continued rutting against your thigh as you held him in place, his hands covering his mouth to muffle any moans. You felt your own cock harden in your pants, who knew that a man dry humping on your thigh could be so…arousing?

It seemed that you weren’t the only one that thought so. Thanos’ grip on Namgyu’s waist had tightened significantly– he pushed his crotch into the crevice of Namgyu’s ass, muffling his groans in the crook of the other man's neck.

Your hand slipped from Namgyu’s waist to the hem of his track pants, sliding it down a bit to reveal his hardened length, slick with precum.

You flicked your thumb over his tip– eliciting a low whine from the other man. Thanos– feeling left out of the action, brought one of his hands forward to cup the base of Namgyu’s cock– pressing it gently, which seemed so out of character for someone like him (or maybe you just dislike the guy, who knows).

Namyu’s back arched into Thanos– he felt himself on the verge of a release, and then–

“...”

The three of you looked up from your haze into none other than Player 001.

You were fucked.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[bokutoko]

cw: suggestive (mdni), making out + ass grabbing hehe, mentions of ovulation UM WHO AM I????

kita had always been the one to be so reserved, with soft smiles and his routinely careful, deliberate actions. he had always been the one to be so respectful, with always a “yes ma’am” or “yes sir” in his responses. he had always been the one to look so put together, so level-headed, as if nothing phased him enough to invoke any strong reaction.

but with you perched on his lap, your lips on his, and your hands in his hair, he quickly devolved into something no one never expected of him.

your lips had always scrambled his brain in a way he never quite comprehended, the taste of them causing a haze to shroud his mind, either from your chapstick or the last drink you had—or both. he had no idea how you had this iron-clad power over him, but frankly, he didn’t really care.

and good god, the plush, soft texture of your lips did nothing to ease his self control either, his tongue gliding along your bottom lip in a hungry, yet almost reverential way. you were the first thing in his life to ever make him question his sanity. he believed you to be practically otherworldly, with your intoxicating presence and soft touch that made his skin burn in the best way possible.

his hands glided along the bare skin of your thighs as your own gently tugged at his hair, eliciting a low, reserved groan from him. he could feel your little smile against his lips, and you proceeded to gently pepper hot, open-mouthed kisses along his jawline and neck, already feeling the slight stubble on his skin, despite his daily morning shave. the brine from the sweat on his skin hit your tongue, the taste making you yourself feel dizzy, needing more, more, more. you made sure to kiss his favorite spot—behind his ear, you learned. with a gentle bite to his skin, you carefully soothed the mark with your tongue.

fuck, kita was sure he was about to ascend to the heavens and see a bright light awaiting him.

as if his mind escaped him, he was unable to keep his hands to himself as they wandered to the swell of your ass, squeezing and kneading the softness of you. and when he heard that same soft little moan he always hears, he felt like he could fall to his knees for you, like he could be your most faithful, devout worshipper until the end of his days.

kita shinsuke, reduced to a beautiful, needy man because of his sweetest temptation.

“shin,” you softly purred in his ear, your breath warm against his already heated, sweaty skin, “y’looked so good outside weed eating… just can’t help myself.”

he hummed with cheeks flushed a sinful shade of pink—a mixture of both sunburn and pleasure—and his eyes slowly opened to reveal a pair of beautiful, hazy brown eyes. “i sure ain’t complainin’…”

he looked so breathtaking that you couldn’t even help yourself when you uttered your next words, the beginning of kita’s end. the end of any semblance of self control he had. “i’m ovulating, y’know.”

it was as if time stood still, as if everything became so much clearer. as if kita had seen the light.

yeah, you were definitely going to see the light too after he was finished with you.

a/n: ABS POSTING SUGGESTIVE CONTENT?? WHO IS THIS??? thanks to @nectardaddy i too have seen the light of truth about kita shinsuke… also i guess this is my thank you for 400 gazillion enjoy ur treat

masterlist | navigation

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2025.

[khioneee]

ORGAN THIEF

synopsis. you tell yourself caleb was never yours to have, so you let zayne get close. until caleb decides he doesn’t like to share. warnings. jealousy. mentions of violence. angst. pairings. caleb x reader (x zayne) word count. 7k. an. felt like crying tbh. might edit later.

when you were young, there was no such thing as distance between you and caleb.

you were always together, moving through life side by side, never questioning it. there were scraped knees from racing down the street, grass stains from summers spent lying in the backyard, and lazy afternoons where he let you steal food from his plate without complaint. nights meant whispered conversations under blanket forts, his voice always the last thing you heard before sleep took you.

you grew up together, side by side, pulling each other out of the awkwardness of childhood, shedding timidity like second skin.

caleb and y/n, y/n and caleb.

here’s y/n.

here’s caleb.

here's a bond that no one else quite understands.

your love for caleb hasn’t changed, but it’s grown into something you didn’t understand. can’t understand. not yet.

but caleb has grown. taller, sharper, still careless with his hair, but just as hopeless at tying his tie in the morning. there’s a natural ease to him now, a quiet confidence that draws people in without effort. he doesn’t just enter a room, he shifts the atmosphere, commanding attention without needing to say a word.

you hear the way the girls in the hallways whisper about him, their voices hushed but excited, their eyes lighting up when he so much as glances in their direction. he’s the kind of person people gravitate toward, like planets drawn to the pull of the sun.

kind. athletic. smart. golden.

the one who remembers names, who helps the new kid find their classes, who scores the winning shot and shrugs like it was never in question.

when caleb talks to people, he makes them feel important, like they’re the only one in the room, like whatever they’re saying is the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. he finds beauty in everything, in everyone, and in return, people can’t help but see the same in him. they admire him, look up to him, want to be close to him.

but they also fear him.

they don’t realize it at first. not until they get too close to you.

at first, you didn’t think much of it.

the way conversations with guys ended abruptly, how some hesitated before sitting next to you, or how your lab partner, who had been openly flirting with you just the day before, suddenly kept his distance. his easy confidence had dulled overnight, his laughter forced, his eyes avoiding yours.

maybe it was just a coincidence, a strange pattern you convinced yourself wasn’t worth questioning. but then it started happening more often. the brief glances, the quiet goodbyes, the way some of caleb’s teammates barely acknowledged you despite knowing exactly who you were.

still, you never questioned it. because, in the end, it never really bothered you.

caleb had always been like that.

like how he insisted you wear his jersey at his games. the first time, he tossed it at you casually, like it was an afterthought. ‘now they’ll all know exactly who you’re watching.’

you rolled your eyes but pulled it on anyway, ignoring how it smelled faintly of his cologne and sweat. after that, it became a habit. if you ever showed up without it, he’d pull it from his bag and toss it over. no words, no discussion.

or how he always left his jacket with you when you were cold. it didn’t matter if you insisted you were fine. if he caught you rubbing your arms or tucking your hands into your sleeves, his jacket would be around your shoulders before you could protest. warm, a little too big, and never once did he ask for it back.

if you returned it to his room later, he’d only shrug like he hadn’t expected it back in the first place.

and then there were the small things. how he always found a way to sit next to you, even when his friends were at another table. how he would drop by your class between periods, casually placing a snack on your desk before walking off without a word. he never explained why, and you never asked.

maybe you should have questioned it more.

but the thing that stood out the most was that caleb never introduced you as his sister.

it would’ve been the easiest thing to say. it would have explained the connection, the way you were always around each other, how naturally you fit into his life. but he never said it. not once.

until people noticed.

one day, after a game, one of his teammates finally asked.

‘so, she’s your sister, huh?’ the guy grinned, nudging caleb in the ribs.

caleb didn’t respond immediately, just looked at him, unreadable.

the guy smirked, pushing further. ‘should i start calling you brother-in-law, then?’

you expected caleb to laugh it off, maybe roll his eyes or shove the guy off like he usually would. but he didn’t. his response was smooth, controlled, and too even.

‘she’s off-limits.’

there was no room for argument.

his teammate hesitated, raising his hands in mock surrender before forcing out a laugh. ‘damn, man. didn’t know it was like that.’

you didn’t think much of it.

not until a few days later, when that same teammate got injured at practice.

a bad fall, they said.

a collision that left him with a bruised eye and a limp that lasted over a week.

accidents happen all the time in sports. it was easy to write it off as bad luck.

but when you glanced at caleb, standing on the sidelines, unbothered, indifferent with bruises along his knuckles, you felt something shift in your stomach.

maybe you should have been mad. maybe you should have confronted him, called him out, demanded an explanation.

not because it was unfair.

not because it was wrong.

but because you liked it too much.

you liked the way caleb made it impossible for anyone else to get too close. the way his hand lingered at the small of your back when he guided you through a crowded hallway. the way he always waited for you after school, even when you had nothing planned.

the way he looked at you sometimes. like there was something simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken and dangerous and impossible.

and that was the problem.

because he wasn’t yours.

because he was supposed to be your best friend.your family. the one person you shouldn’t want.

you understood now. the love you had for him has grown to fill the spaces you didn’t have when you were a child. it’s grown into longing and desire and jealousy, something so fucking powerful and essential that there isn’t a piece of you that doesn’t love him.

so you did the only thing you could think of.

you avoided him.

at first, caleb let it slide, pretending not to notice the way you pulled away. he let you ignore him in the hallways, let you skip out on lunches, let you slip past him at home without so much as a glance. maybe he thought you just needed space, that whatever was wrong would work itself out on its own.

but after a few weeks, the cracks started to show. he stopped lingering after class, stopped waiting for you outside your door, stopped trying to pull you back into his orbit. the easy confidence he carried dulled, his smirks a little less sharp, his presence not as loud. he wasn’t himself, and he knew it.

then, one day, he cornered you after the last period.

the hallway had mostly emptied, students filtering out in groups, their voices fading into the distance. but caleb wasn’t moving. he stood in front of you, arms crossed, blocking your path, his amethyst eyes sharp and unwavering.

‘you’re avoiding me.’

it wasn’t a question.

your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. ‘i’m not.’

his jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. ‘bullshit.’

you exhaled slowly, willing your voice to stay steady. ‘i’ve just been busy.’

he scoffed, shaking his head. ‘right. too busy to come out of your room? too busy to even lok at me? we live in the same house, y/n. you don’t just disappear on me.’

you swallowed, opening your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. caleb ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, frustration radiating off of him.

‘so you win. whatever it is i did, i’m sorry. now will you please fucking forgive me and put us both out of our misery?’

the words hit harder than you expected. he thought this was about him. he thought he had done something wrong. and worst of all, he looked miserable. bruises under his eyes, the tell–tale signs of too little sleep. heartbreak seeping through the sunshine boy's skin and weaving its way through his veins and making rivers.

the weight of it crashed into you all at once, the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. before you could stop it, your vision blurred.

caleb’s face shifted the moment he saw the tears, his frustration dissolving into something softer.

his shoulders relaxed, his hands twitching at his sides before he finally reached for you, pulling you in without hesitation. his warmth wrapped around you, solid and steady, his breath slow against your hair. his fingers found their way to your hip, his lips pressing lightly against your forehead, his presence sinking into you in a way that felt painfully familiar.

and you didn’t resist.

because despite everything, despite the space you had tried to put between you, despite how complicated things had become, caleb still felt safe.

so you pressed into his touch, letting yourself breathe him in, letting yourself forget, just for a moment, that you had ever tried to let him go.

friends, friends, friends.

he held you close, his voice rough with emotion. ‘i’m sorry, pipsqueak,’ he muttered against your hair. ‘whatever i did or said, i’m sorry, okay?’

you didn’t answer.

you couldn’t.

because the truth was—

you were the one who needed to apologize.

because this was never about him.

it was about you.

and the fact that no matter how hard you tried, you could never, ever stop wanting him.

too much, too much. you wanted caleb too much, want too much always, but you are not together and you had to accept that.

caleb’s pinky locked into yours. you weren’t sure if it’s another apology or a source of comfort you need in your state, or just plain habit, but he’s touching you (friends, friends, friends) and that’s all you really need to know.

because despite everything, caleb still felt like home.

but home didn’t last.

caleb starts staying out late.

at first, it’s nothing. just a few nights out, a way to kill time.

you hear about it through his teammates, offhand mentions from gran when she asks if he’s home yet. It doesn’t bother you.

caleb has always been social, always had people orbiting around him, always found ways to fill the spaces in his life.

but then it becomes a habit. the late nights turn into early mornings, his weekends disappear into parties, and soon enough, it feels like he’s never home. he moves through the house like a ghost, slipping in while everyone else is asleep and leaving before anyone notices.

and you notice.

you notice the way he comes back smelling like perfume that isn’t his, how his lips are redder than before, how his amethyst eyes seem heavier, dimmer, weighed down by something you don’t recognize. you see the kiss stains on his neck, the scratches down his back, the way he barely looks at himself in the mirror anymore.

you wish they hurt. you wish you left them there.

you don’t avoid him, not entirely, but you don’t talk to him the same way. your words are clipped, your tone indifferent. you stop waiting for him after school, stop lingering in doorways to say goodnight, stop reaching for him first.

when he nudges your shoulder, slings an arm around you, tugs on your sleeve like he always does, you pull away before he can get too close.

and caleb notices.

at first, he brushes it off, shrugs like it doesn’t matter. he teases you the way he always does, pokes and prods, waiting for you to roll your eyes and shove him back. but the space between you keeps growing, stretching into something neither of you know how to name.

he stays out later. comes home smelling stronger, marked up worse, his voice hoarse in the mornings like he’s been screaming into the night. he looks at you, waiting for a reaction.

but you don’t give him one.

and for the first time in your life, caleb stops trying.

the sky was falling weeks later when the door of your own room opens. blinking sleepily, you leaned over and flicked on the bedside lamp. he swayed against the wall, there is purple and green pressed all over his skin.

it’s caleb, whose lips are swollen again.

it’s late. too late.

the smell of beer clings to him, mixed with something sweeter. something that isn’t his.

his hoodie is loose, his hair messy, his steps uneven as he leans against your doorframe, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp as they land on you.

‘you mad at me, pipsqueak?’ his voice is lower than usual, playful, teasing, but there’s something behind it. something that isn’t entirely a joke.

your lamp lit up the dark bruise on his neck in a ghastly light. you could still see the fingertips, could feel the ghost of them pressing into his skin. friends.

your hand goes white–knuckled, gripping into the sheets. ‘go to bed, caleb.’

‘i am in bed,’ he mutters, like it’s obvious. like it’s true.

you exhale, shaking your head. ‘you’re drunk.’

‘and?’ he counters, stepping into your space, his smirk faltering just slightly. ‘you say that like it changes anything.’

you don’t answer.

because maybe it doesn’t.

he peeled off his hoodie without a word. there are red fingernail marks on the ridge of his spine and bruises on his hips, signs from the girl with perfume you smelled on him last night, the girl who gets to touch caleb in the places you can’t.

he watches you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure something out. and then, finally—

‘i don’t get it.’ his voice is quieter now, more serious. ‘what did i do?’

you settled back against the bed. ‘nothing.’

‘bullshit.’ he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. ‘you’ve barely looked at me in weeks, y/n. you don’t wait for me anymore. you barely talk to me. and every time i try to touch you, you act like it makes you sick.’ his jaw clenches. ‘so tell me. what the hell did i do?’

you should lie. you should push him away. you should say something sharp, something final, something that makes him leave.

but you don’t.

and caleb, drunk and tired and hurting, sees right through you.

when he reached your fingers, he thread them between your own, collecting all the pieces of your conscience and disappearing without a trace, all remnants of your soul in hand.

his expression shifts, something softer flickering across his face. and then—

his fingers graze your cheek, barely there, like he’s testing the distance between you. the touch is slow, hesitant, deliberate. like he knows he shouldn’t, but he’s never been the type to stop himself when it comes to you.

his hand moves to your hair, tucking it behind your ear with practiced ease, like it’s something second nature, like he’s done it so many times before that he doesn’t even have to think about it.

his thumb lingers, brushing over your cheek, tracing the frustration etched into your skin. it’s warm, careful, almost apologetic. like he’s trying to smooth out the anger, the hurt, the weight of everything unspoken between you.

then, softer than you’ve ever heard him, he murmurs, ‘how can i sleep if my favorite girl is mad at me?’

and when you look at him, really look at him, your breath stumbles in your chest. he knew how to do it. how to make you feel like the sun rises in your veins only for you.

because caleb doesn’t just sound tired. he looks it.

the dim light casts hollows into his features, emphasizing the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. his eyes, usually sharp and full of mischief, are duller now, heavier, shadowed by something that feels dangerously close to regret. there’s no cocky grin, no teasing glint.

just quiet, aching exhaustion.

for the first time, caleb looks small. like the saddest man on earth, like he’s holding onto something he doesn’t know how to fix.

you couldn't help but think of the amount of stars that had fallen with every step he took with a frown.

and it wrecks you.

you wanted to hold him, but you knew you’ll be left with burned fingertips and calloused heart.

because he smells like beer and someone else’s perfume. because there are scratches on his back that weren’t made by your hands. because he has no right to touch you this softly after spending his nights with people who don’t know him the way you do.

because no matter how much you wish you didn’t care. you do.

and so, despite everything, despite the weight pressing against your ribs, despite knowing you shouldn’t. out control, out of control, out of—

you kiss him.

for a tense, breathless second, he didn’t move.

his body stiff, frozen, caught somewhere between hesitation and something else entirely.

and then, you felt it.

his hands sliding up, fingers threading into your hair, gripping tight.

and then he was kissing you back.

it’s desperate, reckless, a collision of everything you’ve been holding back. his lips taste like beer, and you don’t care. your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer.

and for a second. just a second. he kisses you back.

his lips crashed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

a quiet moan escaped you, swallowed by the heat of him, by the way his hands moved down, gripping, pulling, like he couldn’t bear the space between you.

then, he tore himself away from you, stepping back so fast it felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. the warmth of his mouth, his hands, his presence, gone in an instant, leaving behind nothing but the sharp contrast of cold in his absence.

your eyes snapped open, breath uneven, pulse hammering as you stared at him, trying to make sense of what had just happened. caleb stood right in front of you, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his disheveled hair messier than before, his lips still swollen from the kiss. his amethyst eyes were dark, unreadable, but something about them made your stomach twist.

because he knew.

he knew what this kiss meant. he knew what you felt, what you had been too afraid to say. he knew you had shattered whatever fragile barrier had been keeping this moment at bay. he knew.

and yet, he smiled.

not the kind that comforted, not the kind that softened his sharp edges. this one was different. it was hollow, something cold curling at the edges, something sharp enough to cut through you with ease.

‘had enough practice?’

his voice was light, almost amused, as if the kiss had been nothing at all, as if it hadn’t just unraveled you completely. you could only stare, frozen in place, his words slicing through you before you even had the chance to process them.

and you took it for what it was, a dagger to the heart.

then, with careful, deliberate movements, he stepped back, putting more space between you, widening a distance that already felt impossible to cross. his hand raked through his hair, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips, but there was no real amusement in it.

‘if you just wanted to get your first kiss over with, you could’ve told me.’ the words were effortless, thrown out like they meant nothing, but there was something in the way his voice faltered at the end that made your stomach drop. his gaze flickered over you for a second, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite anything at all. ‘guess now you’re ready for the real thing with whoever you actually want.’

your mouth opened, but no words came out.

it didn’t matter. caleb didn’t wait for a response. he exhaled sharply, his eyes lingering for a beat too long before he turned away. there was no hesitation in his steps, no second glance, nothing to suggest that this moment had shaken him the way it had shaken you.

and then, just like that, he was gone.

he doesn't think, doesn't wait, doesn't want.

he just leaves.

disappearing into the dark, leaving you standing there, cold, alone, and regretting everything.

and maybe that was the moment you lost him.

y/n and caleb, and it's hard to tell where one end and the other begins. there probably isn't a difference, and trying to draw the line would doom the both of you.

this time, caleb starts avoiding you.

and this time, you know exactly why.

it’s different now. worse. because he doesn’t just disappear at school. he disappears at home, too.

you hear him tell gran he has practice when you know he doesn’t. you catch glimpses of him slipping out late at night, hood up, car keys dangling from his fingers. when he comes back, it’s always late, long after the house has gone quiet.

you pretend not to hear the front door creak open, the careful shuffle of his footsteps down the hall, the way he pauses outside your door for just a second before moving on.

he doesn’t look at you.

not in the morning when you pass each other in the kitchen, not when you sit at opposite ends of the dinner table, not when gran asks him a question and he answers without ever acknowledging the weight of your silence. the air between you is thick, heavy with everything unspoken, but neither of you say a word.

at school, it’s even worse.

you used to know exactly where to find him: leaning against his locker, sprawled across the lunch table, laughing too loudly, always moving, always there. but now, he’s everywhere except near you.

and when you do see him, it’s only for a second. a glance across the hallway before he looks away. a flicker of amethyst eyes lost in a crowd. an almost-moment before he disappears again, slipping into someone else’s world, somewhere you don’t belong.

you should’ve expected this. you should’ve known that kiss, your first kiss, would wreck everything.

but somehow, it still hurts.

and what’s worse, what makes your stomach twist, what makes your skin feel too tight and your throat close up, is that you hate yourself for it.

you hate yourself for wanting it.

for wanting him.

you feel disgusted when you think about it, about how easily you caved, about how much you liked it, about the way his hands felt on your skin, his lips against yours. you hate that even now, when you close your eyes, you can still feel it, still want it, still crave the weight of him against you like a sickness you don’t know how to cure.

so you do what you can. you push forward. you stop waiting.

and that was when you met him.

it started with a name, called out in class like it meant nothing.

‘zayne and y/n.’

your biology teacher paired you together for a semester-long project, and you hadn’t expected anything from it. zayne wasn’t someone you had paid much attention to before, and when he pulled out the chair beside you, there was no hesitation, no awkwardness, just quiet acceptance.

‘looks like we’re partners.’ his tone was even, uninterested, like he was already calculating how much effort this would require.

‘looks like it.’you mirrored his indifference, expecting nothing more than a few study sessions and a forgettable final grade.

but it wasn’t just another assignment.

zayne wasn’t like caleb.

he didn’t overthink his place beside you, didn’t steal glances to gauge what others might think. he wasn’t loud, wasn’t overbearing, didn’t fill the silence with pointless conversation just to make his presence known. he was steady, self-contained, comfortable in the quiet. after weeks of feeling like you were walking on eggshells, that steadiness ws a relief.

at first, your time together was purely academic.

library meetings that were structured and efficient, an easy rhythm of work that never strayed beyond the boundaries of your project. but then, something changed. lunches became routine, neither of you discussing it but always sitting at the same table. walks to class happened naturally, steps falling in sync without effort. conversations stretched beyond assignments and deadlines, carrying into late-night messages about things that had nothing to do with school.

zayne told you about his love for the winter, and how he would sneak out during the first snow fall. you told him about the time you and caleb got caught sneaking out, how caleb had talked his way out of trouble while you stood there panicking.

unlike caleb, zayne didn’t tease, didn’t turn your stories into jokes at your expense. he just listened, nodded like he was actually picturing it.

too kind, too understanding, too much of exactly what you needed.

somewhere along the way, you became friends. and soon, you were always together.

dinners with gran started to change. it used to be the three of you. gran, caleb, and you.

but caleb started skipping them, claiming he was busy, always finding somewhere else to be, never home long enough for it to feel like anything but an excuse.

zayne, on the other hand, filled the space caleb left behind.

it started as a casual invitation.

gran insisting he stay after studying, reassuring him there was more than enough food. he had accepted without fuss, without hesitation, and from that night on, his place at the table never felt out of place. gran told stories you had heard a thousand times before, and zayne listened to every one of them, nodding along, asking questions like he hadn’t already picked up on the details from you.

he wasn’t a replacement for caleb.

but he was something constant.

then one afternoon, you and zayne crossed paths with caleb in the hallway.

there was no tension, no hesitation, no moment of discomfort where zayne second-guessed himself. he just looked at caleb, gave a simple nod in acknowledgment, and kept walking, like it was nothing.

like caleb was no one special.

like he wasn’t even worth a second thought.

caleb didn’t say anything. he just stood there, watching.

but you knew that wasn’t the end of it.

and you were right.

the moment the wrong boy fell in love with you. and you wished he could pull out your heart, and make him see that you fell in love with the wrong boy too.

that was why you were here, standing in the biting cold, surrounded by barren fields of frost, with zayne’s rare laughter curling into the air like something warm, something that was meant to feel safe. that was why you let him get close, why you let yourself believe, even for a moment, that this could be enough.

you shouldn’t have been thinking about caleb.

so you focused on the wrong boy instead.

on the way his voice carried in the quiet, on how he walked beside you without hesitation, how his presence didn’t ask for anything more than what you were willing to give. he wasn’t waiting for you to figure things out, wasn’t demanding answers you didn’t have. he was just there. steady. certain.

maybe that was what love was supposed to feel like when you didn’t want it. something easy, something quiet, something that didn’t threaten to tear you apart.

but it still didn’t fit right in your chest.

‘we’re here.’

zayne’s voice pulled you back, his excitement evident in his eyes as he gestured toward the sled he had set up.

you blinked at it, then at him. ‘are you serious?’

he grinned, brushing the snow off the seat before tossing his scarf around your shoulders, adjusting it with careful hands. the fabric was thick and slightly uneven, the pattern something you wouldn’t have picked for yourself, but it was warm, and it smelled like him.

you raised an eyebrow, eyeing the details.

‘gran taught me how to knit,’ he admitted, a flicker of amusement in his expression.

your fingers traced the edges of the scarf as you exhaled. ‘it’s nice.’

and it was.

you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry over how endearing it was, how easily he gave things to you, how much he seemed to mean it. he could have handed you anything, and you would have taken it, because this. this moment, this feeling. was already too much.

then, without a word, he just looked at you.

not a passing glance. not a fleeting moment of consideration.

zayne never did things halfway.

when he looked at you, he made sure you knew.

his hazel eyes were bright despite the winter gray, his expression unreadable but not indifferent. there was something certain about the way he watched you, something steady in the way his gaze settled, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

like he took in every detail.

the way the cold had flushed your cheeks, the way your breath curled into the air, the way the weight of the moment made your fingers tremble against the scarf.

‘is there something on my face?’ you asked, startled by the intensity in his stare.

he shook his head, his gaze flickering slightly before settling again. ‘i wish i had more time with you.’

the words were quiet, simple, but the weight of them landed hard.

you swallowed, pulse stuttering, because there was something in the way he said it that made your chest ache. he didn’t say it like a passing thought, didn’t say it like he was reaching for something just out of grasp. he said it like he knew.

like he already understood that whatever this was, whatever you were, had an expiration date.

his eyes dropped, just for a second, barely noticeable, but enough.

enough to know what he was thinking.

enough to know that if you leaned in, he wouldn’t stop you.

and for a fleeting moment, you wanted to.

not because it was right. not because it was real.

but because you needed to forget.

you needed something to press over the ache in your chest, something to drown out the weight of caleb’s absence, the sound of his voice in your head, the way he had always, always been there. until he wasn’t.

but you didn’t.

because it would have been a lie.

‘gran, we’ve talked about this—‘

caleb’s voice cut through the air, sharp with frustration, breaking the moment before it had the chance to solidify into something real.

‘no, you talked. an aviation school halfway across the country? when there are good ones right here? what’s wrong with being close to home?’

the front door creaked open, and as if time couldn’t be any crueler, gran and caleb stepped outside.

his presence was immediate, impossible to ignore.

caleb had always carried himself like he belonged in any space he occupied, but now, standing in the cold with the weight of an argument still lingering between him and gran, he felt like something distant. something storming just beneath the surface, unreadable and untouchable.

zayne sighed, shifting beside you, but you barely noticed.

because while he was looking at you, you were looking at caleb.

your stomach twisted, the weight in your chest pressing down harder, suffocating in a way you didn’t understand.

‘and i know it’s far. i know it’s hard. but it’s not about running away.’ caleb’s voice was firm, steady, like he had already made up his mind. he barely hesitated before adding, ‘this is what’s best for me. for all of us.’

and just like that, it was over.

he turned before anyone could argue, before you could even process what he had said, stepping back into the warmth of the house.

the door clicked shut behind him, and somehow, that sound felt louder than anything else.

you don't know what's love and what's hate now. if there is a difference between the two of you, y/n and caleb, here.

later that evening, you fell.

it was late, exhaustion pulling at your limbs as you trudged up the stairs, arms full of books. zayne followed a few steps behind, his pace unhurried, hands tucked into his pockets as he listened to you yap.

you were mid-sentence, distracted by the conversation, too focused on the warmth of another presence at your side to notice the uneven step beneath your feet.

your toe caught the edge, and before you could react, your balance shifted forward. books tilted dangerously in your grasp before slipping from your fingers as gravity pulled you down. your stomach lurched, breath catching in your throat—

but you never hit the ground.

zayne’s hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, his other pressing against your waist with steady ease. his grip was strong, grounding, keeping you upright before you even had the chance to panic. your breathing was uneven, heart hammering from the sudden shock, your body tensed from the lingering adrenaline.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

his fingers still pressed against your skin, his touch neither hurried or hesitant. . he had caught you, steadied you, and yet he didn’t let go.

you became painfully aware of the way his chest hovered just inches from yours, the warmth of his palm burning through your shirt.

when you looked up at him, his expression was unreadable. calm, composed, but something else lingered beneath the surface. he wasn’t just looking at you. he was waiting.

waiting for you to move. waiting for you to step back. waiting for your permission.

and that was what made your pulse stutter.

it’s too much and it’s never enough.

you should have pulled away. should have created space. should have let the moment pass as nothing more than a near fall. but you didn’t.

because then, his gaze flickered. just slightly, just for a second. before his eyes dropped to your lips.

your breath hitched, and before you could process what was happening, a voice shattered the moment.

‘y/n? zayne?’

gran’s voice, light, amused, pulling you back to reality.

and then—

‘what the fuck?’

caleb.

your entire body locked up, tension snapping through your muscles as your head turned toward the sound.

he stood at the end of the hall, unmoving, his eyes dark, expression unreadable. his jaw clenched, the muscle ticking, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

he wasn’t just watching. he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

zayne, still close, exhaled a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, as if this was nothing, as if caleb wasn’t standing there barely a few feet away. gran smirked, clearly entertained by whatever she thought was happening.

caleb did not.

he didn’t speak, didn’t demand an explanation, didn’t so much as glance in your direction. he just turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing down the hall without another word.

and somehow, that was worse.

dinner was slow, thick with something unspoken, the weight of the evening settling over the table like a fog.

gran, as oblivious as ever, carried the conversation, her voice the only thing filling the silence. ‘he’s going to be a doctor, y/n,’ she said, beaming like it was something worth celebrating.

zayne gave a polite shake of his head, still eating, still composed, his presence unwavering despite the obvious tension in the room. ‘still got a long way to go.’

but the real shift came when caleb sat down.

for the first time in weeks, he joined dinner.

he didn’t make an excuse, didn’t disappear before the plates hit the table, didn’t claim to have somewhere else to be.

he was here. silent, stiff, but here.

his fork scraped against his plate, but he barely ate. his shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the edge of the table just a little too tightly. he answered when spoken to, voice clipped, his eyes fixed on his food, refusing to meet yours.

zayne, on the other hand, didn’t react. he carried himself with the same quiet steadiness as always, like nothing had changed, like caleb’s presence, or his anger, meant nothing to him. he didn’t fidget, didn’t acknowledge the storm brewing across the table, didn’t shift under the weight of caleb’s unspoken frustration.

and that made it worse.

but you noticed.

caleb was stiff, his usual relaxed posture replaced with something rigid, something tense. his grip on his fork was just a little too tight, his knuckles flexing under the strain. he barely touched his food, answering gran’s questions with clipped responses, his voice measured, controlled.

through it all, he never once looked at you.

your stomach twisted, the weight of his silence pressing down on you more than any harsh words ever could. it wasn’t like caleb to hold back, it wasn't like him to sit in the same room as you and act as if you didn’t exist. but tonight, he was locked in his own storm, letting it brew under the surface, making sure you felt it, even if he refused to acknowledge you.

then, after zayne left, gran turned to caleb, her gaze slow and assessing, studying him the way only she could. she took a sip of her tea, setting the cup down with a quiet clink before speaking, her tone light but deliberate.

‘zayne is a good boy, but whether he’s good enough for you...’ she let the words linger just long enough to make them feel heavier before tilting her head toward caleb, watching for a reaction. ‘what do you think, caleb?’

the shift in him was subtle.

a slight tightening of his jaw, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, the barely-there twitch of his fingers against the table. you barely had time to process it before he moved, smooth and purposefully, his arm slipping around your shoulders like it belonged there.

his grip was warm, steady, and possessive.

‘i think,’ he said, his voice softer than usual, the perfect balance of ease and sincerity, ‘as long as pipsqueak’s happy, then i’m happy too.’

the words were convincing.

to anyone else, they would have sounded effortless, genuine even. but you knew him. you knew the calm in his voice when he was anything but. you knew the way he smiled when he wanted to bite back something sharper. you knew the restraint in his touch, the tension running just beneath the surface.

and right now, caleb wasn’t just mad.

he was furious.

furious that you had kept something from him. furious that you had let someone else too close. furious that, for the first time, there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

later that night, when you knock on his door, he opens it immediately, like he had been waiting.

the hallway is dim, the only light spilling from his room, casting sharp shadows across his face. the space between you feels suffocating, thick with something unspoken, something heavy you aren’t ready to name.

his expression is unreadable, his face carefully blank, but you see it anyway.

the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightens around the doorknob, the barely restrained control in the way he stands, like he’s holding himself back.

your pulse thrums in your throat as you force the words out. ‘did you mean it?’

caleb doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, his silence stretching unbearably between you.

you swallow hard, pushing forward even as your stomach twists. ‘as long as i’m happy?’

a second passes, then another. his jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he finally answers.

‘no.’

the word lands between you like a blow. it should make things clearer, should make it easier to understand, but instead, it only makes everything worse.

you shift on your feet, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs, but caleb just watches you, his amethyst eyes locked onto yours in a way that makes it impossible to breathe.

‘then why are you acting like this?’

there's a crack in his surface, his electric electric eyes gleaming in undetectable, hidden message. his expression was a clear indication to what he felt.he wasn't ready to hear that.

his exhale is slow, controlled, measured, but there’s something beneath it, somehing restrained. and then, just as carefully, he says it.

‘get rid of him.’

the command slices through the air, sharp and undeniable, like a final puzzle piece snapping into place. your stomach drops at the certainty in his voice, at the quiet weight behind his words.

‘i-i can’t.’ the response comes out weak, barely more than a whisper, but it’s the only thing you can give him.

something in caleb shifts instantly. his body tenses, his expression sharpening as his focus narrows completely onto you. his movements are deliberate, controlled, like he’s making a conscious effort not to move too fast, not to let whatever he’s feeling slip past the careful edges of his restraint.

‘what do you mean you can’t?’ his voice is low, steady, but there’s an edge to it, a dangerous thread of something unraveling just beneath the surface.

you look away, knowing that whatever comes next will change everything. ‘i don’t want to hurt him.’

the silence that follows is heavier than anything he could have said.

his lips press into a thin line, his shoulders squaring as the warmth in his eyes fades into something colder, something unreadable. his posture doesn’t change, but the shift in the air between you is unmistakable.

‘so you’d rather hurt me?’

the words hit you harder than they should. you weren’t prepared for them, weren’t expecting the weight they carried, the way they landed with a finality that made your chest ache.

your throat tightens, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix whatever just cracked open between you. but caleb doesn’t look away, doesn’t take it back, doesn’t even flinch as the meaning behind his own words settles over him.

his gaze flickers, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he exhales sharply, like he’s regretting letting you see this part of him.

‘are you saying… you’re jealous?’ the words feel too fragile, too uncertain, but they leave your lips before you can stop them.

for a moment, he doesn’t move.

doesn’t breathe.

you expect him to deny it, to roll his eyes, to throw some dismissive remark at you like he always does. you expect him to do what he’s best at, pretend it doesn’t matter.

but he doesn’t.

he just watches you, his silence heavier than any answer he could have given. and then—slowly, carefully—he smirks.

‘if you want me to say i’m jealous, i will.’

his voice is smooth, effortless, light in a way that only makes your stomach twist. it should be reassuring, should make this moment feel less like a breaking point, but it doesn’t.

because it’s too easy. too casual.

like he’s still pretending.

like he’s still keeping you at a distance.

your fingers curl into fists at your sides as the frustration rises, your voice barely more than a murmur. ‘you could have just lied.’

caleb exhales sharply, tilting his head slightly, and then he moves.

too close. you're too close together for just friends.

your back presses against the wall before you even realize you’ve stepped back. his presence is everywhere, surrounding you, his warmth pulling you in even when you know you should push him away.

and then his hands are on your face, fingers cupping your jaw, steady and warm, grounding in a way that makes it impossible to think.

your pulse jumps, a sharp inhale catching in your throat as his amethyst eyes lock onto yours, the distance between you disappearing entirely. there’s no teasing in his gaze this time, no smirk, no sarcasm.

just heat.

just certainty.

his thumb brushes against your cheek, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of you, like he needs to. and then, his voice drops lower, softer, barely above a whisper.

‘i am jealous, baby.’

a pause.

a beat of silence so heavy you can feel it in your ribs.

his fingers tighten just slightly, his grip firm but careful, like he’s making sure you don’t move, like he doesn’t want you to look away.

you're trying to not cry now but you missed everything you never had.

and then—

‘more than you think possible.’

[th-citizen-matriarchy]

TEXT CORRECTION, TO MAKE IT WORK IN THE NEW ERA OF MATRIARCHY: How can I express my opinion to my (man) FEMALE in a polite manner without being insubmissive? I know now, at least for me, that what comes to mind when I take some time to meditate on what I need to do to become THE best house husband I can be, one thing I think I could constantly improve is my manner.

Specifically, expressing my opinion without appearing rude and insubmissive to my wife, or even ruining my appearance as a docile (lady) LITTLE MAN.

I grew up in a house where you had to be loud, rude, and abrasive to be heard.

It's hard to unlearn habits like that, especially when most of the world considers it an UNAcceptable personality trait. But when you're focused on being a good and holy househusband, submission is vital! So let's talk about when it's okay to speak up, when you should bite your tongue, and how to do it correctly.

As a woman and a traditional housewife, AS A LITTLE GUY AND A GOOD TRADITIONAL HOUSEHUSBAND, you need to realize that 98% of the time your (man) FEMALE is only doing what's best for you and you need to bite your tongue. I know I have a hard time doing this myself, so not only do I practice how to respond politely in situations where I would do something TOTALLY different, but I also practice hiding my feelings behind a sweet and docile smile, PUTTING MY HANDS BEHIND AND CATCHING MY FINGER UNTIL IT HURTS, but what if your (man) MANLY WIFE is doing something totally wrong? What if it's really horrible? (LIKE BURPING) How do I know if I should speak up or not? You should only speak up if…

IF SHE, He is going to hurt you, himself or others physically, emotionally, mentally or financially.

IF SHE, He is forcing you to break strong beliefs that you have. (LIKE NOT WEARING PANTS ANYMORE)

IF SHE, It is unwanted physical advances that you are not ready for or do not want at the moment. (LIKE LAYING ON TOP OF YOU OR PRESSING YOUR LIPS TOO HARD)

If none of the above applies to you, then you have nothing to worry about. You should smile and bow your head with a soft "Yes, honey" I LOVE YOU. MANLY WOMEN (men) were put on earth to be strong and kind leaders in the home.

LET THEM BE, LIKE THAT, It is their duty to lead and their responsibility to serve. If your STRONG FEMALE (man)'s decision applies to ANY of the three situations mentioned above, follow these guidelines for remaining submissive when questioning your authority, and if they persist (especially if they apply to 1 or 3), call an abuse hotline and get out of there. But if they don't apply, here are the guidelines for remaining submissive when expressing your ideas.

LISTEN TO HER, SHUT UP until she's done. SIT PROPERLY, YOU SHOULD BE polite and respectful, and listening to her will show that you are still submissive despite having a different opinion.

Don't yell!! DON'T RAISE YOUR VOICE! I can't stress this enough!!! Don't yell, don't interrupt him, don't talk over him, don't even talk as loud as him!! PUSH YOUR LIPS! KEEP YOUR HANDS TOGETHER ON YOUR LEGS AND CLOSE THEM, DON'T EXPRESS ANYTHING WITH YOUR LIPS, DON'T MAKE GRIMACE!

YOU AS A SUBMISSIVE MAN, Keep your face under control. DON'T BLAME HIM WITH BAD GESTURES, Make sure you don't roll your eyes or make irritated facial expressions or gestures, as that will automatically make everything you say disrespectful, even if you agree with him. SHE WILL IMMEDIATELY DISQUALIFY YOU, A KIND SMILE WILL MAKE YOU ACCEPTABLE TO HER. KEEP YOUR SHOULDERS BACK AND SMILE. EVEN IF SHE DOESN'T LIKE WHAT YOU HEAR.

WHEN SHE ALLOWS YOU TO TALK, Speak to her kindly and with a docile posture. WITHOUT RAISING YOUR VOICE, WITH A KIND AND CALM TONE, TRYING TO MAINTAIN THE TONE OF A FRAGILE CHILD, Do not cross your arms, OR YOUR LEGS, do not be abrupt or sharp with him, do not tilt your hips. None of that. KEEP YOUR HANDS TOGETHER AND CALM ON YOUR DRESS.

And number 5, THE MOST important of all…

HER WORD, WHATEVER SHE SAID, IS HER WORD, PERIOD! If she does not give in, agree with her and do it! It is not that bad and he is just trying to do what is best FOR YOU AND YOUR CHILDREN. Let the MANLY FEMALES be WOMEN and let THEM lead! They are the head of the family and you are there IN THE BACK to support HER! SUPPORT HER BY KEEPING QUIET! DOING SILENTLY WHAT YOU ARE TOLD!

I hope this helps you as much as it helped me! NOT TO BE MISTREATED AND IGNORED, Thank you for reading and I hope you are lucky enough to have a happy home and a clean kitchen!

How do I politely express my opinion to my man without being unsubmissive?

Now I know, at least for me, what comes to mind when I take time to meditate on what I need to do to become the best home maker that I can one thing I believe that I could constantly be improving on is my mannerisms. Specifically voicing my option without appearing rude and unsubmissive to my husband, or even ruining my docile lady like front. I was raised in a house hold where you had to be loud and rude and abrasive in order to even be heard. It’s hard to unlearn habits like that, especially when most of the world considers that to be an ok personality trait! But when focousing on being a good and holy housewife submission is vital!! So let’s talk about when it’s ok to express your opinion, when to hold your tongue and how to do it properly.

As a traditional woman and housewife you should realize that 98% of the time your man is just doing what is best for you and you should hold your tongue. I know I have a hard time doing this so I practice not only how to respond politely in situations where I would do something TOTALLY different but I practice hiding my feelings behind a sweet and docile smile too, but what if your man is doing something totally wrong? What if it is truly horrid? How do I tell if I should speak up or not? You should only speak up if…..

1. It is going to harm you, himself or others physically, emotionally, mentally, or financially.

2. If it’s forcing you to break steadfast beliefs that you have.

3. If it is physically unwanted advancements that your not ready for or do not want at the time.

If it does not apply to any of the above then you have nothing to worry about. You should smile and bow your head with a soft “Yes dear.” Men were put on earth to be the strong leaders kind leaders of the house hold, LET THEM BE THAT!! It is his duty to lead and your responsibility to serve! If your mans decision applies to ANY of the three situations listed above follow these guidelines to remain submissive in questioning his authority and if they persist (especially if they apply to 1 or 3) call an abuse hotline and get out of there. But if they don’t apply here are the guidelines to remain submissive when voicing your ideas.

1. Listen to him until he is done. It is polite and respectful and listening to him will show that your still subservient despite having a different opinion.

2. Don’t yell!!!! I can’t stress this enough!!! Don’t yell don’t interrupt him don’t talk over him don’t even talk as loud as he was!!!!

3. Keep your face in check. Be sure your not doing any eye rolling or making any irritated gestures or facial expressions, that will automatically make whatever you say disrespectful even if your agreeing with him.

4. Speak to him kindly with docile posture. Don’t cross your arms do not be snippy and short with him don’t cock your hip out. None of that.

And number 5 THE MOST important one of all..

5. HIS WORD IS FINAL!!! If he is not budging then agree with him and do it!! It’s not that bad and he is just trying to do what is best! Let men be men and let them lead! They are the head of the household you are there to support him!! SUPPORT HIM!!!!

I hope that helps you guys out as much as it helps me out! Thank you for reading and I hope you are blessed with a happy house and clean kitchen!

[wh1spersofwinter]

hii !! I just wanted to say your seunghyun/top post was so cute :’) i love it sm !!

I was wondering if you’d be comfortable writing something similar for jiyong? Maybe something based off that one interview where he says he acts more “childish” in a relationship as opposed to the “cool type” people assume he’d be!

If not, no worries !! I still love your writing regardless and am excited to see more ^^

soft bf!jiyong (headcannons) ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

summary: the reality of a relationship bf!jiyong.

an: hello! thank you for your kind words, they mean the world to me :,) i hope i did your request justice. enjoy!

bf!jiyong who: despite his image of the, “hard to get, playboy” is the complete opposite with you.

bf!jiyong who: before you started dating, wanted desperately to have all of your attention, every single ounce. he would always act silly and make jokes in order to get you to laugh. (which did not slip past the rest of bigbang.) it made his stomach do flips to be the cause of your smiles.

bf!jiyong who: could never bring himself to tell you he liked you, he was terrified of ruining your friendship. he couldn’t bring himself to risk it. so you could imagine how surprised he was when he came to see you backstage after he performed,(which was nothing out of the ordinary) and was met with you shyly handing him a handwritten letter. decorated with swooping letters, white lace, and, glitter hearts, declaring your love for him. he tried to be the picture of nonchalance as he rubbed the back of his neck as he admitted he had liked you for some time too. but, he was really doing jumping jacks in his head.

bf!jiyong who: is the most loyal person you’ve ever met who will defend you with his last breath. (you two were getting out of jiyongs drivers car. heading to a small cafe for a date. the paparazzi were surrounding the two of you as you tried to push through. a hand on the small of your back made your head shoot up, looking at your boyfriend, who carried a slightly annoyed look on his face. you were almost at the entrance when a voice called through the crowd, “hey lady! move out the way, i cant get a good shot!” you turned to see one of the paparazzi shooting you a glare. before you could respond, jiyong left your side and walked between you and the aging man. “hey! dont talk to her like that!” he barked as he smacked the camera away from his face. shooting the guy one last death glare, he raced back to you, intertwining your hands and pulling you inside.)

bf!jiyong who: when you guys go to places where you have to take your shoes off before you enter, kneels down infront of you and carefully unlaces your shoes and pulls them off, and when you leave slips them back on and laces them back up.

bf!jiyong who: insists on paying for everything the bill when you guys go out to eat, the rent for your shared apartment, for groceries, for the cable bill. no matter how much you insist you want to help, he declines every time. he likes to spoil you.

bf!jiyong who: learned how to braid hair—via youtube video, because he knew you hated when your hair was in your face.

bf!jiyong who: makes homemade gifts for you. such as, origami roses, oragami swans, origami hearts that, when unfolded have messages on the inside. he likes to do origami when he’s feeling overwhelmed. he finds it relaxing.

bf!jiyong who: has a love language of acts of service.

bf!jiyong who: loves to take care of you. wiping food from the corner of your mouth while you eat, doing your skincare after a night out, and you’re too tired to do so yourself, cooking you your favorite meals, massaging your neck after you slept wrong the night before.

bf!jiyong who: when he gets anxiety clutches your hand and draws circles on your palm.

bf!jiyong who: wears a silver bracelet engraved with your name on it and wears it religiously. the only time he takes it off is to shower.

bf!jiyong who: gave you one of his favorite rings. which, you wear on a chain around your neck at all times.

bf!jiyong who: has a photobook filled with Polaroids you take of each other, and, together. he likes to have physical photos of the two of you.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Wherever I’m With You

Pairing: Poly!141 x reader

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, emotional reunion, brief mention of war, longing, fluff, affirmations of love.

Author's Note: Inspired by Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros. Needed some softness in my life so here we are.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The house was quiet except for the faint hum of a record spinning in the background. A soft melody drifted through the air, blending with the aroma of a home-cooked meal—if you could call a hastily thrown-together pasta that. You moved about the kitchen, absentmindedly swaying to the music as you set the table, humming along to the familiar tune.

Your thoughts were elsewhere. They were always elsewhere, stuck on four men who had taken your heart with them when they left for their mission. It had been too long. The silence had been unbearable, the few brief messages you had received doing little to soothe the ache of missing them. Every night, you lay in bed alone, staring at the ceiling, wondering if they were safe, if they were thinking of you, if they missed home as much as you missed them.

The record spun on, the lyrics spilling through the speakers like a promise.

“Home is wherever I’m with you…"

You sniffled, stirring the pot of sauce, blinking back the sting of loneliness. It wasn’t fair. They should be here, laughing, eating, teasing you about how much you worried over them. They should be home.

You glanced at the clock. Another empty night, it seemed. Your chest tightened, but you shook your head, forcing yourself to keep moving. You had made their favorite meal, not knowing when they would return, but doing it anyway. It was a ritual, something to make you feel connected to them.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Your breath hitched.

You turned slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs. Hope and fear warred within you. What if it was bad news? What if—

The door swung open.

Simon. Johnny. John. Kyle.

Battle-worn, exhausted, but alive.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. They were real. They were here.

Tears welled in your eyes, and then you were moving, your feet barely touching the ground as you launched yourself at them. Johnny caught you first, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his body warm and solid. A breathless chuckle rumbled from his chest, but you could hear the emotion laced within it.

"God, I missed you," you gasped, burying your face into his shoulder.

"We missed you more, bonnie," Johnny murmured, squeezing you like he never wanted to let go.

Before you could respond, you were passed from one pair of arms to the next. Kyle kissed your temple, murmuring a quiet, "Love, we thought about you every damn day."

John held you close, pressing a lingering kiss to your hair. "Didn’t feel right, being away this long."

Simon was the last to pull you in. He didn’t say much, but his grip was firm, grounding. His forehead rested against yours for a long moment before he exhaled. "Missed you, too."

Your heart clenched, overwhelmed by the love and relief in the room. You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head as you took them in.

"You’re home. You’re finally home."

Johnny grinned, eyes twinkling despite the exhaustion in them. "Aye, and it smells bloody amazing in here."

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. "I made dinner, but I didn’t think you’d be back tonight."

"Surprise, love." John’s voice was warm, full of affection. "Wouldn’t miss a home-cooked meal for the world."

Simon gave you a look, something soft hidden behind those dark eyes. He didn’t have to say anything—you knew.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and motioned toward the table. "Well, sit down. Eat. Tell me everything."

As they moved into the kitchen, the record still spun in the background, the song reaching its chorus once more.

"Home, let me come home, home is wherever I’m with you…"

Laughter filled the space as stories were shared between bites of food. Johnny animatedly described a moment in the mission where he swore Kyle almost got them all killed. Kyle shot back with an exasperated, "You’re one to talk, mate!" as John shook his head, smirking into his drink. Simon listened, quiet and not ready to speak yet but present, his hand resting on your knee beneath the table, grounding you in the moment.

The warmth of them, their presence, their voices—it was everything you had been longing for.

After dinner, you insisted they shower, knowing they’d all feel better. One by one, they took turns, and by the time they emerged, they looked more like themselves, exhaustion still present but softened. You had already set up the couch with extra blankets, knowing someone would crash there at some point, but they had other plans.

"No way in hell we’re sleeping apart tonight," Kyle said, pulling you into his side as he led the way to your room.

Your heart swelled. "I was hoping you’d say that."

You curled up on the bed, surrounded by them, wrapped in warmth and the steady rise and fall of their breathing. Johnny lay beside you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm. Kyle was at your other side, his hand resting over your waist. John and Simon were close, their presence solid, protective.

The record had stopped playing, but the lyrics still echoed in your mind as you drifted off, safe in their arms.

Home is wherever I’m with you.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[gay-dorito-dust]

Sam felt like locking both you and Joaquin in a room, throwing away the key until you two finally admit to the fact that you liked each other more then friends.

It was so obvious from the way Joaquin’s eyes brightened upon seeing you enter the room, going so far as to stand closely to your side despite the fact that the room wasn’t crowed in the slightest, nor the fact that Sam could count all the times on both hands where you and Joaquin’s hands would brush against one another until your pinkies would intertwine; all under the guise that no one would see.

However the moment Sam saw the affection within yours and Joaquin’s eyes, he suddenly saw everything that you both did within the presence of the other and nothing else, and he couldn’t help but feel that your feelings were so blatant, so obvious upon your faces that anyone could see it clear as day…anyone but the both of you apparently.

And Sam has never seen two people more obviously into one another other then you and Joaquin, and the amount of times where Sam was so certain you two would kiss with how intently you were staring at one another, glancing at the other’s lips as though you were drawn to them only to do nothing. Needless to say Sam was certain he had enough evidence to preside a PowerPoint slide on how the feelings between you and Joaquin were mutual, painstakingly mutal too.

This is not to mention how protective you both got over the other when either of you came back from a mission even the slightest bit hurt, that was a whole other story that Sam could go into increasing depth about for another day.

‘Just kiss!’ Sam exclaims when he saw you and Joaquin standing close together, shoulder to shoulder, watching something on your phone with smiles spread across each of your faces and Sam knew it wasn’t just from the video.

You and Joaquin moved away from one another like a pair of frightened kittens, staring at Sam with wide eyes and matching flustered faces upon realising you were caught. ‘Sam? What’re you on about?’ You asked.

Sam groans. ‘You like Joaquin,’ he points to you as your eyes widened even more and we’re about to say something but Sam was already moving onto pointing at Joaquin, ‘and you like them, so cut it out with the sexual tension and just kiss already!’ He finished as a silence fell over all of you but that silence didn’t stay for long until you started chuckling with Joaquin following suit as he held you by your waist.

‘Sam,’ you chuckled, ‘me and Joaquin had been dating for a while now.’

It was Sam’s turn to have widened eyes as he looked at the two of you. ‘You’re dating? Since when’

‘Since you told me to take the leap,’ Joaquin says this time as he smiles at you, kissing your temple as you moved yourself further into his side, resting your head on his chest, ‘and needles to say I’m still riding that high the moment they said yes.’ He finished and squeezed your waist.

Sam looked between the two of you once more before smiling, glad to know that he got to at least keep some brain cells in knowing that you had actually done something about your feelings, instead of letting them fester for far longer then they should. He was glad that Joaquin took his advice that he had somehow forgotten he has given a while back, and now a smile graced his lips as everything was made right again.

‘Well then I guess congratulations is in order!’ He laughs as he clasps Joaquin on the shoulder and gives you a tight hug. ‘And here I thought I was going to be old and grey before you two ever said anything about your feelings, but I better not hear any happy noises coming from your room in the middle of the night.’ He adds teasingly as you looked to the side and Joaquin rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, your reactions only made Sam laugh even louder as he insisted that he was kidding.

You and Joaquin shared a look before smiling, happy to know that your friend was equally happy for the both of you, rendering your previous concerns about it obsolete. You reached out a hand as Joaquin mimicked your actions, your pinkies coming into contact with one another before intertwining.

[nineteenninety-six]

I Don’t Like You

REQUEST: enemies to lovers requested by @virtuapicklequirkreader

AN: I’m not fan of this but I did struggle with it but here it is.

You watch Alucard interact with the group, recalling the story that led him here, saving their asses.

Oh how you didn’t like him.

Did he save you when you were sure you were going to die a certain death? Sure.

Did he bring invaluable information to the group that could help up? Also sure.

Did that mean you had to like him? Absolutely not.

Despite how much you didn’t like him you had to admit that he was knowledgeable and strong, so you kept your mouth shut since but your body language and facial expressions told another story.

────

You crept away from the group, seeking a moment of peace and privacy before you set off across France looking for Sekhmet’s soul but it wasn’t long until you heard footsteps heading your way.

They were light but determined, they knew exactly where she was and soon enough, Alucard approached her, his face unreadable.

“Is it time to leave?” You ask, confused at his presence.

“No, not yet” Alucard spares a glance at the group a distance away from them, “I was just curious about something.”

“Hm?” 

“You don’t like me very much do you?”

There was a faint smirk on his lips, and annoyance struck through you.

“I’m not sure what you mean?” You huff as you turn your attention to your bag, double checking you had everything.

“I’ve been alive for centuries, I can tell when someone doesn’t like me” 

There is a teasing tone in his voice which again, irritates you.

“I don’t see how it matters” You mutter, “Like, dislike, we all have the same goal here.”

“Hm” Alucard’s lips twitch into an almost smile before he turns around and returns to the group and you huff and glare at his back.

────

You glanced over at Annette who was still in her trance with Richter fast asleep beside her before you returned back to your book. You had tried to sleep as this was the best opportunity but all you could do is sneak in little naps here and there.

“You should be resting”

You look up at Alucard who took a seat next to you.

The two of you had gotten closer during the duration of your travels, a far cry from when you first met.

“I’ve tried, all I’ve managed to do is nap.” You sigh, “I feel useless. I can’t do anything to help you guys, not really.”

“That’s not true”

You scoff, “Isn’t it? You’re a 300 year vampire with a bloody magic sword, Richter, Annette and Mariah all have magic and I’m just a plain old human, hardly helpful”

“You are far more helpful then you realise” Alucard picks up the book you cast aside, “You’re like a travel encyclopedia, so much knowledge in your brain and you used that to help us. More than once”

You flash him a soft yet thankful smile, “Thank you”

Alucard returns the smile, “Does this mean you like me now?”

You huff a laugh at him, “Don’t get ahead of yourself”