#this show is not meant for you! and that’s okay!

[deathofacupid]

opposites attract, they say. they attract, but they don't last. at least, not satoru and you.

"'toru," you tug on his sleeve, the silk cool against your clammy skin. he glances away from the gaggle of people surrounding him, a practiced smile flashing across his face. it doesn't reach his eyes.

"yeah, baby?"

you inhale, the bass of the music vibrating through your chest, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak. "can we — could you…" the words catch in your throat. what were you asking for? sanity? a moment of quiet? "um," you stammer, "when's this going to be over?"

"over?" he echoes, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, as if the very concept is absurd. "babe, the party just started."

your party. the party you hadn't asked for, the party you dreaded.

"i know," you say, treading carefully. you knew he'd put effort into this. it's just… the room felt like it was closing in. it wasn't his fault, not really. he thrived in this environment, the center of attention, radiating that effortless charisma. people were drawn to him like moths to a flame. and tonight, the flame was burning too bright.

"but… it's just really, um," suffocating is the word that claws at your throat, but it feels too dramatic, too needy. "it's just kind of a lot."

he laughs, a booming sound that seems to amplify the noise around you, and says something you can't hear over the music. "'toru," you sigh, the sound barely audible, "i can't hear you."

he clicks his tongue, a flash of annoyance crossing his features, before he leans in and excuses himself from the group. he takes your hand, his grip a little too tight, and pulls you out onto the balcony of the penthouse. the city lights sprawl beneath you, a dizzying panorama that mirrors the chaos in your head.

"okay," he says, his tone impatient, as if this whole conversation is an unwelcome interruption. "go ahead."

the resentment simmers. you swallow it down. "toru, this is… nice and all, but, uh — i'm just not sure… not sure this is my scene."

he squints at you, his brow furrowed. "what do you mean? it's your party."

"i didn't want one, though. don't get me wrong, this was… thoughtful, i guess. it's just too much for me."

satoru blinks, genuinely surprised, as if you've sprouted a second head. "but…i mean, i thought you'd like it. look at how many people showed up for you."

"'toru, those people aren't here for me. i don't even know most of them."

"it's a party! like, a party party. of course, you won't know all of them."

"i probably don't even know three of them!" you snap, the frustration finally breaking through. "you know i don't like these things," you add, the words softer now, pleading.

"yeah," he scoffs, the sound laced with something you can't quite decipher. "i do."

"well, what's that supposed to mean?"

"nothing. it's just," he groans, running a hand through his hair, "frustrating."

"frustrating? it's frustrating? me wanting to spend my birthday with you, that's frustrating?"

"you are with me!"

"and, like, one hundred other people! what's frustrating is that you're not listening! i told you i wanted to spend today, just the two of us!"

"but that's what we always do," he mutters, the words barely audible.

"what? oh, i'm sorry, is quality time annoying?"

he pinches the bridge of his nose, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "that's not what i meant."

"that's what it sounded like."

"look, it's just… boring doing the same thing all the time. we like different things."

"yeah," you whisper, the words heavy with a sudden, sinking realization. "we do, don't we?" you shake your head, the movement small and defeated, and turn to walk past him.

"wait, where are you going?"

you shrug, unable to meet his eyes, "to go to a different thing."

[flwrstqr]

警告 : ❪ VALENTINES ❫ PUBLIC DISPLAY AFFECTION ── 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾. 𝗂 𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗅𝗒, 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾.

𝓲. showing public displays of affection with enhypen

❪ 日语 ❫ : enhypen & fem!rea 1OOO ❜ skinship, petnames kissing ⎯ fluff head canons one shot ˊᯅˋ & click / archive

notes. . 다니 ⸝⸝ happy valentines day everyone~ hope you feel loved when reading!! my second valentines on tumblr (> <)

LEE HEESEUNG

heeseung has no shame, absolutely none, and it shows when you’re standing in line at a coffee shop, pretending not to notice the way his hand rests lightly on your waist. “you know,” he begins, leaning in closely, “if the barista doesn't call you the prettiest thing they've seen all day, i might have to correct them.” you roll your eyes, biting back a grin, but he catches it anyway, his smirk widening. “ah, there it is. my favorite smile,” he teases, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret meant for only the two of you. people are definitely staring now, but he doesn’t care. “heeseung,” you mutter, half-pleading, half-laughing, as his fingers trail down to interlock with yours. “what? just telling the truth, angel,” he says, grinning shamelessly, and somehow, even though you want to hide, you never really mind.

PARK JAY

"angel!" jay's voice echoes through the store, loud enough that heads turn, but you’re already used to it—used to the way he calls for you like you’re the only person in the world. you peek up from the display of luxury bags he insisted on buying you, only to find him grinning at you from across the store, holding up two pairs of heels. "which one, baby?" he asks, and before you can answer, he’s already walking over, wrapping an arm around your waist. "actually, you’re getting both, sweetheart." you roll your eyes, but your heart flips anyway, just like it does every time he effortlessly calls you by pet names in public, unbothered by the stares. "jay, let’s get something to eat after this," you hums, as jay presses a quick kiss to your temple. "whatever you want, my love." and really, how could you ever mind when he’s just so, so perfect?

SIM JAKE

"baby," jake whines, arms wrapping around your waist from behind as you’re browsing through a rack of clothes. his chin rests on your shoulder, and before you can even react, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "you've been looking at this for so long," he pouts, swaying you side to side in his hold. you huff a laugh, but before you can respond, he turns your face slightly and plants another kiss—this time on your lips. "jake," you whisper, glancing around, but he just grins, completely unbothered. "what? i missed you," he murmurs, kissing your forehead, then your nose, then the corner of your lips. "missed me? we've been together the whole time," you say, exasperated. he only hums, linking his fingers with yours as he tugs you closer. "doesn't matter," he mumbles, kissing your temple. "i just wanna love on my baby, is that a crime?"

PARK SUNGHOON

"give me that," sunghoon says, already taking the shopping bags from your hands before you can protest. you blink up at him, watching as he effortlessly holds everything—your purse included—like it’s second nature. "sunghoon, i can carry my own stuff," you huff, but he just gives you a look, the one that means don’t even try. "why would you when i’m right here, baby?" he deadpans, adjusting the bags in one hand so he can reach out and tuck your hair behind your ear with the other. "at least let me hold my purse—" "no." his tone is final, but there’s a small smile playing on his lips as he takes your hand instead, lacing your fingers together. "just hold onto me, okay?" he murmurs, squeezing your hand as he leads you forward. and really, how could you ever argue with that?

KIM SUNOO

"baby, hurry!" sunoo whines, tugging at your hand as he weaves through the crowded street with practiced ease, practically dragging you along. his fingers are warm, intertwined with yours. "we need to get there before the line gets too long!" you barely have time to process where “there” even is before he’s pulling you along again. he looks back every few steps, grinning, cheeks slightly flushed from the cold. whenever the crowd gets too dense, he squeezes your hand twice—his little way of checking in. at crosswalks, he swings your joined hands playfully, humming some tune under his breath, and when you finally slow down in front of the café he was so determined to reach, he presses a quick kiss to your knuckles. "see? told you we'd make it," he says smugly, still holding your hand like he’ll never let go.

YANG JUNGWON

"you're cold," jungwon states matter-of-factly, already shrugging off his jacket before you can protest. you barely get a word out before he drapes it over your shoulders, his hands lingering just a little longer to adjust the collar properly. "you should’ve told me earlier." his voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but there’s something so undeniably warm about the way he looks at you. you wrap the oversized jacket tighter around yourself, the scent of his cologne lingering in the fabric, and he chuckles, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. then casually laces his fingers with yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. he swings your intertwined hands slightly, his thumb grazing over your knuckles, and when you try to tease him about being so soft, he only grins, leaning in just enough to murmur, "only for you, love."

NISHIMURA RIKI

“guess you’re stuck with me, baby,” riki drawls, already tugging you down before you can protest—not that you ever do. his arms loop around your waist, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap like it’s second nature. it is. “riki,” you sigh, not out of embarrassment but habit, settling against him as his chin drops onto your shoulder. “what? you’d rather stand?” he grins, tilting his head so his lips ghost over your ear. “nah, you love this.” a chuckle rumbles in his chest when you don’t deny it. “see? you fit perfect.” his fingers drum lazily against your hip. across the table, someone raises a brow, but you barely blink—meanwhile, riki revels in their reactions. “jealous?” he teases, smirking at them, then at you. “sorry, but my baby gets vip treatment.” you roll your eyes, but when his hand finds yours, you squeeze back.

[littelovelunette]

sevika x reader, and some sleazy guy tries to hit on reader and sevika sees. chaos ensues, sevika knocks him out and then takes reader home and shows them who they belong to

Sevika's Wife

contains smut, mirror sex, stabbing, violence, fingering, biting, degradation, pussy spanking, cunnilingus, squirting, praising

"you like the idea hm?" sevika played with the hem of your dress, the lace edges giving you a sexy look. you both were discussing honeymoon ideas now that you both were engaged

"yeah, it's nice and soft," you said and took a sip of your whiskey smiling at the woman before you, you both were gonna be spending your lives together it was something you couldn't even bring yourself to imagine it just sounded way too good to be true but here you were.

"i was just thinking of you while I thought of them," sevika said as she went back to screwing some fixings into her mechanical arm flexing the in-built blade before retracting the blade and continuing her work in comfortable silence.

you propped your head against your hand as you wondered what being married to sevika would be like, it was already similar to heaven just dating the woman imagine being labelled her wife...

"yo mami nice plump ass," a guy slurred drunkenly from across the bar and you didn't realise it was meant to you at first but then you turned your head once you felt his gaze raking your body

"oh no," you whispered under your breath this was bad. not the fact that he was hitting on you but the fact that sevika was watching it all along, sevika didn't step in and continued fixing her metal arm

"let me buy ya' a drink," the man got up walking towards the both of you, you were remarkably short so the man seemed somewhat taller than you by a few inches towering over where you were seated as if in an attempt to intimidate you

in normal scenarios you'd scoff and say you've seen better but for once it was in front of sevika so you decided to play along with the silence

slowly sevika rose from her chair easily towering over the man from where she stood a bit more than six feet tall and by the way things seemed you were certain this unfortunate soul (the drunk man) would be six feet under.

"that's my wife, junkie. fuck off." sevika growled but the man didn't seem to budge as he reached for a gun in his holster but sevika was faster instantly stabbing the retractable blade inside the man's forearm earning screams all around the bar but she didn't care.

some were running away, some drunken people watching, some recoiling in fear as you stifled a laugh, blood was dripping down from where sevika had stabbed the man

sevika retracted the blade like it was a daily thing for her (which it was) and walked over to you draping one of her muscular arms over your shoulder and leading you out of the bar.

you could see her chest was heaving up and down fast and she was likely fuming with rage inside she didn't want to kill the man there where people would bear witness and all

she didn't wanna fuck up the marriage

but she was still furious at the drunken man for talking to you like that it made you wonder what would've went down had he dared to touch you

once you both got home she didn't say a word and cleaned the blood off her mechanical arm and changed into comfortable clothes. you were in your sheer nightwear as usual, and gasped when sevika grabbed you from behind

her hands were encircled around your waist the sheer material of your dress building a barrier in skin-to-skin contact, her face was in the crook of your neck taking in the scent of milk-based soap you had used in the bath a bit ago

"you're mine okay?" she hummed as she bit your shoulder and then your neck

"a-ah, sev, that hurts," you whispered and gasped but sevika didn't stop, her flesh hand held your mouth shut

bloody teeth imprints littering places which were usually exposed to the public's eye but it seemed like sevika didn't care about any of that anymore.

you whined a little and giggled feeling her hands palming your breasts before she stuck two fingers in your pussy, pushing your panties to the side hastily and started pumping them at a painfully slow pace, "you're so wet for me darling." she whispered in your ear making you gasp and whimper in her strong arms, mechanical arm holding you firmly in place.

"oh daddy that feels good only you can make me feel good fuck fuck..." you whined out as her fingers scissored inside your pussy stretching you out and letting the arousal drip onto the fabric of your panties soiling them

"so wet so needy huh?" sevika bit your earlobe as you shuddered and turned you towards a mirror so you could clearly see as she fingered your pussy under your panties, thick fingers slipping inside your obscenely wet hole

"d-d-daddy," you gasped and writhed in her arms the need to cum increasing with every little movement of her dangerously expert hands

just as she rubbed your sweet spot you gasped and grabbed onto the edges of the mirror cumming on her fingers and completely ruining your panties

"mm, look at you filthy slut, sevika tutted and pulled your head back so you could kiss her deeply tongue swirling together and you just knew it you were stuck with this woman for eternity

sevika pushed you down onto the bed, pulling your panties off and folding your legs against your chest so she could get a good view of your pussy and ass

the wetness from your pussy trickling down onto your plump ass cheeks and asshole giving her a very obscene view to get off to

"you're my woman," sevika said biting down on your inner thigh making you gasp and grit your teeth sevika didn't stop and left marks all over your knees thighs and then she started lapping up your juices

her tongue worked perfectly over your heart engulfing your clitoris in her mouth between long, bold licks taking her time with you

"oh daddy I'm all yours," you could only moan and throw your head back in pleasure drooling all over the place as sevika lovingly ate your pussy

she spat on your pussy and suckled on your sensitive bud making your body shiver a little, "yes all mine," she whispered between her ministrations

sevika pushed two fingers inside your pussy the tight passage stretching around her thick finger again as she fingered you

her fingers rubbed against the inner walls of your pussy making you see stars and in this position she was getting deeper in your little tight cunt

"g-goodness... daddy..."

sevika brought her hand back to slap your pussy before she continued fingering it again, mouth working diligently on your clitoris she loved doing this to you and watching you fall apart in her hands

"are you gonna cum for me?" sevika asked her voice uncharacteristically soft, "cum on my fingers like the dirty little whore that you are?"

"yes daddy, yes!" you whimpered and whined before you felt your pussy convulse squirting on her fingers

sevika pulled her fingers back a gentle smile playing on her lips which was a rare sight to behold as she helped you get off the bed to clean up

"my pantiesss..." you whined a little seeing the soaked cotton panties next to the bed covered in cum and arousal

"i'll get you more," sevika kissed your head before helping you clean up and put on fresh clothes to bed, "you did so good I'm proud of you."

[mariasont]

One Clean Shot - A.H

summary: it’s a standard training session, until hotch steps behind you to adjust your stance and suddenly your biggest problem isn’t your aim pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warning tags: suggestive content, hotch accidentally touches your tits, r shooting a gun, hotch shooting a gun, r kinda objectifying hotch (i showed my friends then we high fived), dbf!hotch, age gap wc 1.6k

"Oh, for the love of—"

You bite down on the words, trapping them before they can tumble out as something truly impolite. You fire. Left. Again. Another shot. Too high. Again. Too wide.

The gun jerks in your hand, unforgiving and indifferent. Gunpowder starts to scratch at your throat, your lungs, your patience even. You were starting to believe that it was a possibility that you were just inherently biologically incapable of aiming correctly. Bad aim genes, perhaps.

You try to picture your father holding a gun, arms stiff, stance awkward, probably muttering something about how in his day, disputes were settled with a well-worded legal argument.

Yeah, okay, that might explain a lot.

Except no, you passed all your quals. You aced them.

It was just an off day.

A specific, very tall off day named Hotch, who was currently standing behind you, radiating silent judgement at a level so intense it should be considered a supernatural ability. He was probably analyzing every micro-movement, taking note of every error, mentally drafting a performance review that would start with you're doing fine and end with a perfectly professional but somehow soul-crushing but you can do better.

You try to steady your hands and you fail and you think maybe you should just hand him the gun and let him execute your dignity at point-blank range.

It's fine, you tell yourself. It's not like your entire self-worth is balancing on the edge of his nonexistent expression. There's a chance he's not even thinking about you. He could be mentally going over his grocery list or calculating how much paperwork he had left to do today.

Or there's the more terrifying chance that he is watching you and wondering why you aren't better, why you aren't like him—like your father, wondering why you aren't meeting expectations.

And it's humiliating, really. How much you want to impress him. How much you want to make him proud and maybe even—

"You're anticipating the recoil."

You turn too fast, the world tilting for just a second, your vision narrowing to the sharp angles of Hotch's face.

"Here."

The word is barely out of his mouth before his hands are everywhere—no, not everywhere, everywhere, just your vest. But they might as well be, because your nerve endings aren't capable of knowing the difference.

He grips your vest at the shoulders, jerks the straps tight, a firm pull that rocks you just slightly forward, just slightly into him. Then his fingers skate down, adjusting the collar, smoothing over the bare skin where fabric meets flesh, his knuckles barely grazing the dip between your collarbones.

And then lower. Over your chest. Between. The back of his hand ghosts along the swell of your breasts, then right where your ribs curve inward, where his palm would fit if he just—just—slid an inch lower.

It's fast. Nothing. Over in a second. But your stomach is tight, your breath is tight, you are tight. And you swear if he lingers a moment longer, you might melt into a indecipherable puddle on the floor.

Your pulse is all over the place, skipping, tripping, betraying. Heat rushes to your cheeks, slow at first, then all at once, like a delayed newsflash that your body apparently has opinions about this.

Because this is stupid. Stupid. It's not like he meant to touch you there. It's not like he noticed. Did he notice?

No, absolutely not because that would imply things, and there are not things.

This is just your problem. Your rogue nervous system. Your tragic inability to be normal about anything. You are making this a thing when it is very much not a thing.

But you felt the way your stomach knots around something you don't even have the vocabulary to name, the way your nipples pebbled like they had some vested interest in ruining your life.

It's—what? Hormones? Static electricity? Some kind of spontaneous full-body malfunction? Because you didn't want to think about it being him, a side effect to prolonged exposure to Aaron Hotchner. (Should you warn the others?)

And still, he keeps going, cinching straps, flattening fabric, all broad (very broad) hands and no-nonsense efficiency. Like you're just a piece of gear to fix. You, on the other hand, are actively considering the logistics of just dropping dead on the spot. It seemed feasible.

"Shoulders back."

The instruction comes at the same time as he moves in behind you, a hand landing between your shoulder blades, and pushes, forces your spine straighter, like you're something to be molded, adjusted, put into place.

Then his hands moves to your waist, shifting your stance just a hair, just enough to make you brutally of the size of his hands. How they fit against you.

Then—oh. His foot nudges between yours, then hooks your ankle, kicking your stance wider.

His palm finds the space between your shoulder blades again, pressing down just enough to remind you where you are, who you are, what you're supposed to be doing instead of, well, whatever this is.

"Breathe."

Oh. Right. Breathing. That's a thing.

You suck in a sharp breath, only now realizing you'd been holding it captive in your chest.

"A lot of people hold their breath when they shoot," he explains, his other hand pressing into your ribs as if to make sure you were following his instructions, as if you'd do anything else. "It feels instinctual, like bracing will make you more controlled. But if you hold your breath, you lock up. Tension works against you. Breathing through the shot keeps everything loose. It makes the release smoother."

You weren't sure when everything became so hot, pressing in from all sides. But you felt like you might be sweating because no one should be allowed to say things like that, in a voice like his, with hands like his, and with zero self-awareness of what words like release can do to a person in your position.

You try to focus, to take another breath, but even that feels like a trap, because you are suddenly mortifying aware of the way your chest rises, of the heat dissipating between you, of how close he is.

His arms come to frame yours, surrounding in a way that makes everything else feel smaller. His hands go over yours, his chest is against your shoulder, his forearm skimming yours, and his breath is now tickling your ear.

"Your thumbs need to be higher," he says, adjusting them with his own, the rough pad of his finger dragging along the side of your hand. "You're gripping too far down, which throws off your alignment. Keep them forward, parallel with the slide. It'll help keep the recoil controlled, make your follow up shot faster."

His fingers tighten over yours, making sure you feel it. "And support your hand, it's doing too much. The pressure should be between both hands. If you squeeze harder with one than the other, you'll pull your shot without realizing it."

You nod, because you always nod when he speaks. Because you listen. Because learning from him is something you like, something that makes you feel good, something that makes you feel seen. And maybe that's why your hands are shaking.

He steps back and it's immediate, the rush of air, the space, the clarity that surely wasn't there before. Your chest expands, lungs finally taking what they were denied.

"Try again."

You exhale, reposition, adjust your stance the way he taught you. His instructions replay in your head, and you obey, thumbs high, pressure even, breathing.

You fire. And it's improved, smoother, more controlled, exactly like he said.

"That's it. Better."

You smoother the feeling those two words give you, shove in into the pit of your stomach where it can't cause problems. Where it can't mean anything. You're pathetic.

"Watch."

He steps in, you step back, and—oh.

You try to focus on the technical aspects, really, you do. On how he grips the gun, on how his fingers rest perfectly in place, on how his stance is exactly what he just told you to correct. But your brain is completely uncooperative.

Your brain apparently has priorities, and right now, those priorities are his arms, the way his muscles shift beneath tight sleeves, the flex of his shoulders as he raises said gun.

And then lower, corruptfully lower, to the curve of his waist, where the fabric of his shirt strains, the way his belt rests just above the curve of his—

Absolutely not.

You blink hard, inhaling sharp, mentally shoving that thought into a vault labeled inappropriate. Do not open. The worst part, however, is that you can't tell if you're more mortified by the fact that your brain went there, or by the fact that, now that is has, you're not sure how to get it to stop.

"Focus."

Your mouth opens, then closes. "I—I am."

He doesn't look at you. Not once. But the way he reloads, it's like he's giving you time to wallow in the moment. And there's something, something, in the slight pull of his mouth, in the tiniest shift of his expression that's almost, but not quite, a smirk.

"Not on the right things."

His fires. One clean shot. Straight to the heart.

The paper doesn't resist, it just takes it, the force ripping clean through the center, leaning nothing but a perfect, gaping wound. It was precise in a way that shouldn't be surprising but still is.

It's a clean shot through something inside of you, too.

And you have no idea how to patch it up.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[intrepidacious]

He sighed, mind wracked with indecision - should he request the ring back and ask you to forget it ever existed? Should he go inside, get down on one knee and tell you that leaving was the single biggest mistake of his life, that he was a complete wreck these last two years, let you know that he didn’t want to live another day without you and ask you to marry him? 

emily you cannot do this to me 🥲 the entirety of steve's pov in this chapter killed me like they are both pining so bad !!!!

“Last night wasn’t meant to be a proposal… I guess that ring was the only tangible proof I could give you which shows I want to spend the rest of my life loving you.”

SEE THIS IS WHAT I MEAN YOU CAN'T DO THAT IT'S NOT OKAY 😭😭😭

Two years was a long time to build up walls, assemble a defence system so you wouldn’t get hurt the same way again - but Steve Rogers had a way of reaching into your soul and pulling down every barricade you surrounded yourself with in a matter of seconds. He knew the solution of the labyrinth to your heart, and no matter how desperately you tried to keep him out, he had made his way to the centre of the maze again.

ALSO I'M SENDING YOU TO JAIL FOR THAT ENDING WHAT THE FUCK

On The Run (2)

Ex!Steve Rogers x Fem!Ex-SHIELD Agent!Reader

< < PART 1 | Series Masterlist | PART 3 > >

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend Steve Rogers needs somewhere to stay after breaking his friends out of the Raft prison in the Atlantic. (continued)

Warnings: slight angst, swearing

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: thank you to everyone who read/liked/commented on/reblogged part one, I really hope you enjoy this second part 

Dividers by @maysdigitalarts

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

What on Earth was he thinking? Giving you the ring and then leaving without saying a word? That would go down in history books as the worst proposal ever. Although, he didn’t ask the words ‘will you marry me?’, so perhaps it didn’t count.

He hadn’t actually intended to propose, but he knew that sounded foolish considering he had just given you an engagement ring.

Nevertheless, this was just the latest screw up in a long line of mistakes Steve had made throughout your relationship. If you had, even for a moment, considered forgiving him for disappearing two years ago, you assuredly wouldn’t after that. You hadn’t spoken in two years, and after leaving you of his own volition (even if he was trying to protect your life), he proceeded to give you an engagement ring the first day after reuniting. Sometimes he couldn’t believe his own stupidity.

Steve attempted to sleep on the living room floor, but spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, replaying the scene over in his mind, contemplating what he could have done differently, if there was any scenario in which you would have exited the bathroom not resenting his guts. He could feel the unspoken sympathy radiating from Sam, who was quite clearly still awake on the couch beside him, but who would not dare say a word about the argument he couldn’t help but overhear.

What Steve didn’t know was you remained in the bathroom, just a wall away, sitting on cold tiles, staring at the velvet box with silent tears streaming down your face until the sun came up.

Keep reading

[v6quewrlds]

need joe comforting doctor wifey after a rough day at the clinic ❤️

Her eyes were dry, squinting behind her blue light glasses as she typed away at her laptop, trying her best to wrap up her notes. The pink sticky note stuck to her laptop was an eyesore, an unwelcome reminder she needed to respond to a handful of patient messages. The sterile smell of her office seemed to cling to her skin despite her shower, a scent she'd become too familiar with. Her fingers danced over the keyboard, finishing off the last of the messages with a click. She looked up at the clock hanging over the sink, noticing it was later than she had anticipated.

The sound of the garage door echoed through the quiet house as Joe's car pulled in. She felt a flutter of relief in her chest, releasing an exhale through her parted lips. Her thoughts were interrupted by the thump of the door as Joe entered the kitchen, his eyes scanning the room before settling on her. His shoulders visibly relaxed upon seeing her, a small smile dancing in his eyes at the sight of her, cozy and home.

He approached the kitchen island with a soft step, placing his bag down before crossing the room. Her fingers paused mid-type as Joe leaned over, kissing her forehead lightly before lightly pecking her lips. "Hey, baby," he said, his voice a gentle rumble as he retreated towards the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of BodyArmor, cracked it open, and took a sip before walking over to her.

Joe studied her profile, noticing the tension in her jaw and the dark circles beneath her eyes. "You okay?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. She nodded, her eyes still on the screen. "You looked drained when you left this morning."

She took a deep breath, turning her attention towards him with a sigh. "It was a tough day. Had to break some bad news," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Two patients with melanoma. They're both young too… it's so unfair."

Joe's heart sank. He knew how much her work meant to her, how much she bonded with her patients. He stepped closer, passing her the bottle of the sports drink. "That sucks. I'm sorry, babe."

She took it, sipping the sweet liquid before handing it back to him with a soft 'thanks'. He capped the bottle and set it aside, moving to stand behind her as she resumed her typing. His hands settled on her shoulders, giving them a firm but gentle squeeze before beginning to massage them. His thumbs worked into the knots that had formed, and she couldn't help but let out a small moan of relief.

"With the private equity buyout, the clinic's been pushing us to see more patients, and it's just… it's not right," she said, her voice carrying the weight of her frustration. Joe hummed in response, his thumbs moving in slow circles as he listened. "I feel like I can't give them the care they deserve. It's all about the numbers now. Might have to extend my work hours from four days to five just so I can spend more time with each one."

Joe suppressed a frown, his thumbs pausing for a brief moment before resuming their soothing dance. He knew how much she cared about her work, how much it meant to her to not just show up but to truly help people. "You're doing your best," he said, his voice steady. "You're one person, sweetheart. You can't save the whole world."

She leaned back into his touch, the tension in her shoulders gradually loosening. "I know," she murmured. "But it's just hard not to feel like I should be doing more."

Joe leaned over her, his hands coming to rest on the island on either side of her. His face gently nuzzled into her neck, his breath warm against her skin. "If you have to work five days, then we'll make it work," he murmured. They remained still for a moment as Joe's hand moved to shift her hair to allow him access to the curve of her neck, pressing soft kisses along the line of her jaw.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her shoulders dropping slightly as she leaned into his presence. The warmth of his body was comforting, a solid wall grounding her for just a minute. "I hate that I'm bringing this home with me," she whispered, her voice tight. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Joe said, his voice firm. "You care and that's what makes you so good at what you do." He kissed her again, his lips lingering longer this time. "Did you eat anything today?"

She thought back to the sliced apple, unpleasant protein bar, and the handful of almonds she'd scarfed down in between patients. "Barely," she admitted, her stomach giving a little grumble of protest.

Joe's eyes narrowed slightly. "Come on, let's get you fed," he said, his voice gentle but firm as he pulled away from her neck. He took her hand, tugging her out of the chair. She protested weakly, but the feeling of his strong hand in hers, the sight of him looking at her with such care, made it difficult to argue.

She feebly laughed when he bent to lift her by her thighs, carrying her to the couch without a second thought. "Is this what we're doing?" she teased, her smile betraying the weariness in her voice.

"Yeah," Joe said with a grin, settling her comfortably on the couch. "Chef's day off, so it's either me cooking, which would be a disaster, or we order in." He set her down, falling back against the couch before motioning to join him. She took her place, resting her head on his chest as he began to scroll through the delivery options on his phone.

The quiet in the room was comfortable, the low murmur of Joe's voice as he read out various menu items soothing her halfway to sleep. She listened to his suggestions, feeling the gentle throb of his heart against her cheek, a steady rhythm that she found incredibly calming. Her eyes felt heavy, and she could feel the tension in her lower back slowly dissipate under his slow touch.

author's note⠀⁎⠀i have a bunch of free time this weekend so i'll have two more blurbs, plus the superbowl fic <3

[mahyuume]

CAPABLE OF LOVE!

— synopsis. the ways he proofs being capable of showing love!

pairing. various!haikyuu, jjk, bllk, mha x reader | genre. romance, fluff, crack.

reminders. I’m posting after a suuuper long break, hope you guys like this! | mlist

I THINK I NEED I NEED A PICTURE, is something you’ve said countless times to your boyfriend (who will one day be your husband) then proceeding to whip out any kind of device capable of taking a photo. Currently, is happening right now.

“Baby, we need a picture, again!” You gleam at him, the look on his face already dreading the next fifty photos going to be taken; exhausted from taking the last hundred— or maybe more than that photos. But, reluctantly, he agrees. “Fine, but this is the last time,” the boy sighs then flashes his award winning smile. Just in time for- click! that. Now holding the freshly printed Polaroid, he takes a look at your face instead of the physical copy of you both.

Staring at the facial features adorned on you, he sees no flaws whatsoever. He stares at your eyes; shiny but with the hints of clear joy. Lips— he’s kissed them multiple times, but never got over how soft and plush they felt. Always wondered how you do it.

“Are you even listening to me?” You turned your head to him, giving him a small frown. He snaps back into his senses from you cutting his train if thought; now darting back at your eyes, then lips again. “Sorry,” he clears his throat, trying to get rid of all the mushy thoughts in his head. “What were you saying?” Giving a small huff, you re-explain why you both need so many photos. But truth be told, he wasn’t listening one bit. Okay, just a little, but your face is something he could look at for hours. The look of love is real when it comes to him, due to the fact that he always manages to accidentally ignore you; all while adoring you.

As voices drown out, he thinks about adding this new photo to the heart shaped Polaroid collection in his room. Cracks out a stupid smile, then further proves to be undeniably whipped for you.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA, MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, NAGI SEISHIRO, RIN ITOSHI, KUNIGAMI RENSUKE, SHOTO TODOROKI, NEITO MONOMA.

‘CAUSE IT’S NEVER ENOUGH! Is what your boyfriend says almost if not every-time he gifts you things. His reasoning is always “just because” and that he truly meant it when he said if he could give you the whole world, he would. And what I just relayed out for you to process, plays out in your daily life. And is, right now.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Repeated sounds of the doorbell chiming in your ear, you smile as you already know who’s behind the door while opening it for your love. But this time like most, it’s not your love facing you. It’s a big teddy bear that’s twice his size. You’re even surprised a thing like that could fit into his car!

“And who is this for?” You question him, a silly one at that. “Some cute girl I met.” He responds but not so clearly since the bear completely hides his figure besides the arms of his holding it up, drowning in the big fluffy stuffy. You roll your eyes at his answer, “Oh? Come in and tell me all about her.” Entertaining him, you take the legs of the bear and help him inside. And oh my, it was pretty heavy. But no surprise your super strong fiancé could lift it without a sweat.

“I would but…” “But?” “I have more things for the pretty girl inside my car,” he looks over at you with a stupid smile. “If you don’t mind.” He says while walking away back to the front door in a seemingly rush.

Coming back, his hands and arms are full of designer goods, and some even being valentine gifts. Talk about a man who can treat!

“You got me all this?” A gasp leaves your pretty lips as he stares at them, it making him smile in return too. “Yup.” Helping him get the bags, he watches you with a dumb look that makes you wanna slap him for being such a mushy lover. Of course, in a good way!

Opening your early valentine gifts, each one never failed to surprise you and leave you even more grateful for the man watching and recording your reactions. He points to the Nekta bag next to you. In the video, you’re surrounded by countless luxury brands but he decides to point out a specific one.

“Open that one baby.” He smirks behind the camera, watching your face twist into one of excitement and shying away from the camera. “Why? What’s in here?” You say as your paid for nails on hands reach for the Nekta bag. Opening it, there’s many boxes to choose from. You’re not sure which he meant. “Which one?” He points to a small one, the tiniest out of the bunch.

Unraveling the box and seeing the message, cluelessly, you didn’t notice how your boyfriend set down the phone and got down on one knee.

‘Look in front of you dummy.’ You read aloud then looked up. And there he was, holding the missing ring from the box, proposing to you with it.

“Will you marry me?”

HAJIME IWAIZUMI, SATORU GOJO, SAE ITOSHI, REO MIKAGE, KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

TO SEE YOU SMILING IN MY MIND is a memory you often hear being told over and over again by your boyfriend. His dreams of you both are beyond romantic or very dramatic, there’s really no in between.

By far the most exaggerated thing he’d ever say is something about how you two turned into fishes and lived a happy life together swimming around the ocean, avoiding sharks and fishermen. But this time, it’s quite different.

Ding! Ding! Your phone goes off at 7:35pm, right as you’re getting ready for bed or doing whatever it is. Checking what notified you, a smile lit across your face as you read your boyfriend’s display name.

Weird random: Babe

Weird random: I had another dream call me rn it’s so important

Giggling and mentally calling him a weirdo, you read the messages in-app then click the Video Call option.

“Oh my gosh baby, you won’t believe what I dreamt of.” Is what you hear your boyfriend say from the audio of your phone that’s now prompt up on a water glass as a substitute for a stand. “What’d you predict this time?” You cheekily asked him as he closes the space between his device and face; now a super close up of him is in your screen.

You’re not complaining though. He’s in one of those hoodies you promised yourself to ‘borrow’ one of these days and has messy bed hair, which tells you he just woke up from a nap.

“Okay so like, it’s me and you right,” he settles his phone down somewhere around his house, now making hand motions like a story teller. “Mhm.” “We’re having this cute date and stuff right.” “And?” “And then like, you look so beautiful. Like so, like, just so beautiful that flowers bloom when you walk near them type of beautiful!”

Laughing at his silly compliment, it doesn’t fail to make your cheeks turn a pink hue. “You’re so corny I swear…” it’s his turn to laugh at your comment, “Come on girl, don’t tease me like that.” His voice suddenly turns into one more of a softer beat, “hurts my feelings.” He says as he puts a hand on his heart, seemingly clutching it. Rolling your eyes at your favorite boy, he continues on with his story- dream. His dream.

“Then boom, some random dude comes up to you and goes like ‘hey you’re pretty’ and I’m like ‘dude back off’ and then we get into a fight in order to see who wins your love.” At this point he was just background music as you did your night routine. “Babe, are you even listening?” Or maybe not.

“Of course I am.” You look at him from the side of your eye, noticing how he’s now closer than earlier. “Doesn’t seem like it.” From the looks of it, it seems like you’re plain out ignoring him. But you’e not, really! “Promise I am.” Adjusting the camera to face you fully now, he focuses on you rather than talking about his hefty dream storyline.

“What if I just married you, like, tomorrow?”

What a nice question he asked, and your answer is…

“I don’t know?” You stop doing whatever you’re doing and look at him. “Why’re you asking?” “No reason.” Liar. “Stop lying!” His hands go up in protest, “I’m not!” He looks away for a bit then returns to stare at you. “Just… just had a dream about it.” And it clicks.

“So that’s what you were trying to tell me?” And like that, it’s as if a lightbulb went off in his head. “Ah, I guess so…” he muttered, hand on his nape as he realizes he’s not the best at lying when it comes to you. “I mean, come on!” He finally breaks, “you looked so good in the wedding dress and we…” his voice trails off the second you were getting invested.

“We?” You omit him to continue, but it comes out hurriedly. “We had a big, happy family. Like seriously happy.” He admits with a smile, clearly smitten about you. This makes you innerly gush about him.

“Yeah?” “Yeah. We did.” He sighs, “If only it were true.” He fake pouts, an ugly thing he does that makes you laugh horribly. “I mean, it can be.” You nonchalantly said, as if you weren’t wishing for the same thing. His eyes light up from your sentence, lips curling into a smile. “You can’t take that back!” You laugh at his antics, “as if I would ever.”

SHOYO HINATA, TOORU OIKAWA, YUUJI ITADORI, MEGURU BACHIRA, YOICHI ISAGI, KEIGO TAKAMI (HAWKS).

​৻ꪆ. Happy valentines everyone! I hope you like this one. (It’s been planned ever since December.) there were supposed to be two more lines added but I seriously ran out of time and didn’T know who else to write for… so, take this??

[writeriguess]

Can you write a katsuki x female reader where he's jealous because he realises Kiri has a crush on you. Reader doesn't know about katsuki's feelings.

Burning Red

Katsuki wasn’t the type to get jealous. At least, that’s what he told himself. He was confident, strong, the best in everything he did—so why the hell would he care about something as stupid as feelings?

But then there was you.

You, with that infuriatingly bright smile, your dumb jokes that weren’t even that funny but still made his lips twitch, the way you always stood next to him during training even though he pretended not to care. You’d been in his life long enough that he got used to having you around, used to the way his heart stuttered in his chest whenever you ruffled his hair and called him "Bakugou" in that casual, teasing way.

What he wasn’t used to was Kirishima looking at you like that.

At first, he ignored it. Convinced himself he was imagining things. Kirishima was just friendly, that’s all. He treated everyone with that same kind of warmth. But then Katsuki noticed the way Kirishima’s eyes softened around you. How he always made sure you had a seat next to him during lunch, how he conveniently showed up whenever you needed help with your hero studies, and how his hand hovered near yours like he was just waiting for the right moment to grab it.

That’s when it hit him. Like a sucker punch straight to the gut.

Kirishima had a crush on you.

And that realization sent Katsuki spiraling into something he refused to name.

—

The breaking point came on a normal Friday after training. You and Kirishima were sitting on the common room couch, laughing over something on your phone. Katsuki was in the kitchen, pretending to get water but really just watching the two of you from the corner of his eye.

Kirishima was way too close.

His arm was slung over the back of the couch, his knee barely an inch from yours. Katsuki watched the way Kirishima grinned at you, how you nudged him with your elbow, playfully rolling your eyes. And then—you laughed. That real, unguarded laugh, the one that made your whole face light up.

Something ugly twisted in Katsuki’s chest.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he was moving. Striding across the room with sharp, purposeful steps.

“Oi, shitty hair,” he snapped.

Kirishima blinked up at him. “Huh?”

Katsuki crossed his arms, standing right in front of the couch like an immovable wall. “Aren’t you late for training?”

Kirishima tilted his head. “No? We just finished—”

“You sure?” Katsuki cut him off, his voice low, almost a growl.

There was a pause. Kirishima glanced at him, then at you, and then back at Katsuki. A flicker of understanding passed over his expression.

“Oh. Uh—yeah, I should go. Forgot about something,” Kirishima said, scratching the back of his head as he stood up. He shot you a small smile before heading toward the dorms.

You watched him go, then turned to Katsuki with narrowed eyes. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

“What was what?” He refused to meet your gaze, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“You just chased Kirishima away like some territorial guard dog,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “You jealous or something?”

The words were meant as a joke, lighthearted and teasing, but Katsuki froze.

For a split second, he was completely still. No sharp retort, no scoff or insult. Just… silent.

Your breath caught.

Then, before you could process it, he scoffed—too harsh, too forced. “Tch. As if.”

But you saw it. The way his jaw clenched. The way his fingers twitched at his sides. The way the tips of his ears were turning red.

You had no idea what to do with that.

[heliosunny]

tysm for filling in the void for yan mydei im so full just by reading through ur works ugh

more yan is always welcomed but like the plot twist is that it's reader that's the yan and mydei knows and likes it like some guy warns him about ur misdeeds and he's like 'yeah i know, got a problem with that?' listen im just deep into mutual toxic lovers okay thank u for coming to my ted talk keep writing stay hydrated mwap

Mydei x Yandere!Reader

At first, Mydei was just another face in the crowd, one more person who basked in the admiration of others, soaking up attention like it was his birthright.

And you? You acted like you couldn't care less.

When he flashed that charming smile, you barely glanced his way. When he teased, when he toyed, when he played his little games with those around him, you only met him with flat indifference, as if he were nothing special. As if he didn’t matter.

But inside, deep down, where no one could see, you were watching.

You noticed everything. The way he moved, the way his presence filled a room, the way he always seemed so confident, so untouchable. The way others chased him like desperate moths to a flame. It was infuriating. It was intoxicating. You wanted to be the only one who saw him, the only one who truly understood him.

But you couldn’t show that.

So instead, you let him think you were unaffected. You played the part of the one who simply tolerated his presence, the one who didn’t crumble under his charm. And, strangely enough, that was what caught his interest.

Because Mydei had seen admiration before. He had seen obsession, longing, love. But he had never seen someone like you—someone who met him without worship, without expectation.

That was when he started watching you.

At first, it was subtle—lingering glances, idle curiosity. Then it grew. He found himself searching for you in every room, noting the way you reacted (or didn’t) when he spoke. He tested your patience, pushed at your boundaries, just to see what you would do.

And when he finally realized the truth—when he caught that single moment where your mask cracked, when he saw the way your eyes lingered a little too long, the way your fingers twitched when someone else got too close—he smiled.

Because you were different. And that was why he loved you.

The confession came suddenly, without warning.

“I want you” Mydei had said one evening, his voice soft but certain. “You’re the only one who’s ever really seen me.”

You had scoffed, played it off like it meant nothing. "So? What do you expect me to do about it?"

His gaze didn’t waver. "Stay with me."

And that was how it started.

Your relationship was complicated, tangled in sharp edges and unspoken truths. Mydei was possessive, but he never needed to be—because you weren’t going anywhere. You watched him, he watched you, a game of quiet obsession played in the shadows.

So when some fool approached Mydei one day, warning him about you, he only chuckled.

"Obsessed?" he echoed, amusement dancing in his voice. "You act like that’s a bad thing."

After all, love meant never having to let go.

It started with whispers.

A nervous glance here, a hushed murmur there. People had always gossiped, always speculated about your relationship with Mydei, but lately, the tension had shifted. It was no longer just idle curiosity or petty jealousy. No, this was something else.

Fear.

The first warning came from a former admirer of Mydei’s, a trembling voice layered with concern.

"Mydei, I know you might not believe me, but they’re dangerous" she said, wringing her hands together. "They don’t just push people away—they get rid of them. Anyone who gets too close to you just… disappears."

Mydei tilted his head, fingers resting against his chin. "Is that so?"

She nodded quickly, relieved that he was listening. "Yes! I—I don’t think you realize just how deep this goes. I even heard that—"

He cut her off with a lazy smile. "And?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Why did that concern you?"

Her mouth opened and closed, as if struggling to process his response. "They’re obsessed with you! Aren’t you—aren’t you scared?"

"Should I be?" He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "Tell me, if someone was willing to burn the world down for you… wouldn’t that be just a little bit romantic?"

The girl paled, taking a shaky step back. Mydei only laughed as she hurried away.

The second warning came from someone bolder.

"Mydei, listen to me," a man muttered, grabbing his wrist firmly. "That person you’re with? They’re unhinged. They have people watching you. I—I overheard them threatening someone just for looking at you the wrong way."

Mydei arched a brow. "And?"

The man’s grip tightened. "Don’t you get it? They’re dangerous."

A slow smirk spread across Mydei’s lips. "Good."

The man flinched, his expression shifting from urgency to something wary. "You… you knew?"

Mydei sighed, shaking his head. "Of course I knew. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?" His fingers pried the man’s hand off his wrist, his grip just a little too firm. "Tell me, do you think I look like someone who lets things slip past me?"

The man swallowed hard, but before he could say anything else, Mydei turned away, waving him off as if he were nothing more than a passing nuisance.

The warnings kept coming. People muttering in corridors, exchanging uneasy glances when they thought Mydei wasn’t looking.

They all seemed to think they were telling him some grand secret. That he was blind.

But Mydei had never been blind.

He knew exactly what kind of person you were.

And that was exactly why he stayed.

Mydei was no stranger to being watched. Admired, even. He knew the weight of lingering stares, the way people’s eyes followed him with thinly veiled longing. It was expected, predictable.

But your gaze? That was something else entirely.

He felt it before he even saw you.

It was late afternoon when he paused in the palace gardens, ignoring the meaningless chatter of nobles flitting around him. A faint rustle overhead had his lips curving into a smirk. Subtle to most—but not to him.

Ah. There you were.

Perched on a tree branch like a shadow, watching him with that same unreadable intensity you always had.

The noblewoman beside him prattled on about something inconsequential, but Mydei wasn’t listening. His focus had already shifted. He barely spared the woman a glance before turning on his heel and striding toward the tree, cutting through the manicured hedges without hesitation.

"Ah—Your highness?" The woman’s voice wavered, confused by his abrupt disinterest.

But he was already gone.

You didn’t move as he approached, still as a predator in waiting. Mydei took his time, tilting his head as he peered up at you.

"You know," he mused, amusement lacing his tone, "if you’re going to stalk me, at least put in a little more effort. This is hardly a challenge."

You didn’t dignify that with a response, though your fingers twitched ever so slightly against the bark. Mydei chuckled, stepping closer.

"Are you going to keep watching from up there, or do I have to come and get you myself?"

There was the briefest flicker of movement before you leapt down, landing soundlessly a few feet away. You dusted off your sleeves, leveling him with a blank stare.

"Busy?" you asked, voice flat.

"Not anymore" he said breezily, as if he hadn’t just walked away from an entire crowd to chase after you.

A scoff. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re predictable." His smirk widened as he leaned in slightly. "Did you think I wouldn’t notice?"

"You were taking too long."

Mydei let out a delighted laugh. "Impatient, are we?"

You rolled your eyes, but the way you lingered just a little too close, the way your fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to grab him—it was enough to make his blood hum with satisfaction.

"Let’s go somewhere less… public."

You hesitated for only a moment before following.

The nobles and servants who had been watching from afar exchanged looks, whispers passing between them. Some admired the way Mydei always gravitated toward you, the way he smiled so easily in your presence. Others found it unnerving, the intensity between you both—something electric, something dangerous.

But none of them dared to interfere.

Mydei led you through the palace gardens, away from prying eyes. He didn’t need to look back to know you were following. You always did.

That was the fun part.

You never admitted it, never said it outright, but he knew. You were obsessed with him. And, he loved that.

As you walked, his pace slowed until he was just beside you. "You know," he mused, voice light, "most people try to get my attention by speaking to me. But I suppose lurking in trees works too."

"Maybe if you weren’t surrounded by idiots all the time, I wouldn’t have to."

Mydei let out a delighted hum. "Jealous?"

You didn’t answer.

Which meant yes.

He grinned, shifting closer, until his shoulder nearly brushed against yours. "you could always just say you want me to yourself."

"I don’t care what you do"

"You're bad at lying" Mydei sing-songed, clearly entertained.

You huffed, but Mydei only smirked, pleased. He knew how to push, how to tug at the threads of your carefully composed exterior until they frayed just enough to amuse him.

After a few moments of silence, Mydei spoke again, this time more thoughtful. "You know, someone tried to warn me about you again today."

"Is that so?"

He turned to face you fully, walking backward without a care. "Apparently, you’re dangerous."

"Are you scared?"

Mydei chuckled, stepping even closer. "You tell me."

"You really don’t care, do you?"

Mydei’s grin widened. "Would I still be here if I did?"

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second, Mydei thought you might actually say something real. But instead, you scoffed and looked away.

"Tch. Idiot."

"Possessive" Mydei countered smoothly.

You shot him a glare, but he only laughed, unbothered as always.

It started with small things like a glance that lingered too long, a conversation cut too short. People who used to approach Mydei freely now hesitated, their smiles more forced, their words more cautious.

At first, he found it amusing. You were possessive—he had always known that.

But then, things began to shift.

The first real incident was at a banquet.

A noblewoman, a foreign dignitary, all fluttering lashes and saccharine words had taken an interest in him. Nothing unusual. Mydei had entertained her with easy conversation, just enough to be polite.

And then he saw you.

Standing at the edge of the room, watching.

When he met your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, as if waiting. He excused himself from the noblewoman’s company without thinking. His feet carried him toward you before he could question why.

“You’re being ridiculous..” he murmured when he reached you.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. The way your gaze flicked over his shoulder, where the noblewoman still lingered, was enough.

The next morning, the woman abruptly cut her stay short and left the palace without explanation.

People murmuring about how she had seemed shaken, about how she had refused to speak of why she was leaving.

He didn’t ask you about it.

But that wasn’t the last time.

More people began avoiding him. Conversations ended when he entered a room. Some courtiers wouldn’t even meet his gaze anymore.

And every time, when he turned to look at you, he found you already watching.

“You’re being too much.” he finally told you one evening.

You didn’t flinch. “Too much for what?”

“For them.” Mydei gestured vaguely. “You’re scaring people off.”

“Good.”

He frowned. “That’s not—”

“Do you want them?”

The question was quiet, but it made his breath catch.

You were standing too close now, eyes dark, expression unreadable. The air felt heavier, like a trap he hadn’t realized he’d stepped into.

You weren’t touching him, but he felt caged all the same.

“…No” he admitted.

“Then what’s the problem?”

He let out a slow breath, forcing a smirk onto his lips. “You’re suffocating, you know that?”

“You like it.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

And maybe that was the worst part.

---

Mydei woke to darkness.

His mind was sluggish, limbs heavy. The faint scent of something cloying still lingered at the back of his throat—something sweet.His wrists ached when he moved, the telltale tightness of silk restraints biting into his skin. He was sitting, legs spread, posture relaxed but utterly bound.

A chuckle bubbled up from his throat. “Really?” His voice was hoarse, still thick with the aftereffects of whatever you had given him.

“You went too far.”

Your voice was steady, but he could hear it—the irritation laced beneath. The anger you rarely let slip.

He should be wary. Should be unsettled by the cold metal dragging along his collarbone, the warning pressure of something sharp just barely pressing into his skin.

But he wasn’t.

Because this? This was new.

And Mydei never could resist a good game.

A sharp pain flared across his cheek—a slap, hard enough to make his head turn. The sting bloomed into heat, skin tingling.

Mydei exhaled slowly. “Ah… so that’s how it is?”

You didn’t respond. He could feel you there, hovering close, your presence a weight against his senses.

Then another hit. His lip split, a sharp copper tang filling his mouth.

His tongue darted out, tasting it.

“You don’t like it when I talk to others, do you?” His voice was almost teasing, but lower, rougher.

Your fingers curled around his throat, tightening just enough to make him swallow.

“Shut up.”

He hummed, not quite a laugh, but close. “Make me.”

Your grip tightened, cutting off his breath for just a moment before releasing.

His pulse thrummed with something heady, something dangerous. He shifted slightly, testing his restraints—not out of a desire to escape, but just to feel the silk dig deeper.

A soft chuckle escaped him. “You think this will make me stop?”

You leaned in, breath hot against his ear. “No” you murmured.

You knew him too well.

Knew that no matter how tight you held him, no matter how hard you tried to break him—

He would always let you.

Because in the end, neither of you wanted to let go.

[playboysturns]

I don't know if this is a request or if it's just me wanting to share this extremely specific idea, but imagine Chris and the reader dating in secret for a LONG time and the news comes out on the internet, the reader starts getting hate and in every video there is someone commenting something like "Why did he choose to be with her?" and she simply responds to the comment with a video of her and Chris to the sound of "Pepsi" by Lana Del Rey (I don't know, this sounds really funny in my head)

drabble #1 'my 🐱 tastes like pepsi cola'

summary : Chris and reader finally make their relationship public to their fans on valentines day.

You met the triplets when you both moved to LA at the same time. It was easy to talk cause you were all youtubers and the four of you quickly became close since you didn’t know many other people in the city.

Chris and you hooked up when he was hanging out at your house, later confessing his feelings to you which you mutually shared. The both of you decided to take it slow as neither of you had been in a relationship before.

All your friends knew, it wasn’t a secret and there had been times where they had almost slipped up saying that you were both together.

You were seen hanging out with the three of them many times but fans had chalked it up to you being good friends with them, though none of you ever directly posted each other on your tiktok or youtube.

Chris wanted to keep your relationship private from the fans and you agreed since you both had seen first hand how they reacted when the triplets were friends with women. At this point though you been dating for a little over 2 years now, and finally decided it was the right time to share it with your fans.

“Wait why am I nervous” you giggle looking once over at the tiktok Chris was about to post. it was a video using the low life audio, it started with Chris laying on the couch singing the ‘sniper sniper sniper’ bit then the camera flipped to you show you straddling him lip syncing the ‘wifey wifey wifey’ part.

“Why? you look good,” Chris grips your hips, you were still in the same position as the tiktok.

“I don’t know what to caption it,” you hand Chris his phone watching him type a caption then showing it to you.

‘my valentines for the past 2 years ❤️🪄’

“Okay good, should I post it now,” You smile, both nervous and excited.

“Babe just press post,” Chris mutters from beneath you and you do just that putting his phone on silence and placing it on the coffee table.

“Right, no going on our phones for at least an hour,” you say Chris nodding in agreement. He picks up the remote to put on a movie whilst you lay down on top of him to cuddle.

“What the fuck!”

You move your head from the tv as Nick runs up the stairs from the front door his phone in hand, quickly followed by Matt.

“What?” Chris asks, Nick rolls his eyes before showing you his screen which was the tiktok you had posted.

“Kid we were literally at the In-n-Out drive through, then Nick screamed so loud I almost shat my pants,”

“It was not that loud so chill,” Nick puts his hand up.

“Not that loud, Nick I nearly rear-ended the car in front,” Matt replies, sternly.

“What else was I meant to do?” Nick rebuttals, stalking over to where you and Chris were laying.

“Not fucking scream? Acting like we didn’t know that they were dating the whole time” Matt sits on the couch.

“I mean it’s lowkey a monumental,” you feel Chris’ voice vibrating beneath your head.

“Exactly! we could’ve had a little heads up about it? Like my mentions are going fucking insane,” Nick huffs, turning his attention back to his phone. “The comments are like, kinda crazy right now so I wouldn’t check them.”

Now you were curious, sitting up you grab your phone that was besides Chris’ on the table quickly go to the tiktok on his account.

COMMENTS

y/n and chris sturniolo dating ⌕

@ sturnluvr : ain’t no way 💀

@ babysturns: are we skipping over the fact he put 2 years?

@ chrissgf : no hate but why would he choose her out of everyone…

↳ @ y/nclips : coming from an acc w no posts!

@ chrissturngirlfriend : i’m literally sobbing wtf

@ freshchris : do they do it 🥺

@ quenlinblackwell ✓ : MY PARENTS YESSS

@ stuniolosuperfan : fuck it atp matts wife and kid jokes may be real

↳ @ mattybswife : they are 😊 revealing myself as his wife ❤️

↳ @ mattsturnsbm : @ mattybswife tell him that the kids miss him 💔

@ princessy/n : what the fuck is wrong with the comments

@ strombolitriplets : i’m crying wtf do they even talk about 😭

@ madisonbeer ✓ : i love you both 🤍

@ sturnioloclips : TWO YEARS?

@ y/nswife : THIS IS AI UNTIL Y/N POSTS ON HER ACC!!

↳ @ princessy/n : yk damn well.. 😭

@ sturniolofan1 : someone tell me this is an early april fools.

@ user18274730 : wait cause they’re actually so cute wtf

You comb through them laughing, honestly you thought the reaction would be worse. Chris on the other hand was reading the comments over your shoulder.

“Fuck. I’m sorry about them,” Chris apologises, kissing your shoulder.

“Baby it’s fine. I thought they’d be way harsher” you turn to look at him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“But your fans are so supportive.,” Chris sighs sadly.

“They’re just going to have to grow up and get over it,” Nick says turning his phone off to watch the movie on the screen.

You were both getting ready to go to sleep.

It had been a few hours since you had posted the video, and though you were fine with the response it was clear Chris was still a little upset.

“I want to turn the comments off,” Chris says scrolling through them, you sigh taking the phone from his hand. “Or at least respond to them.”

“There’s no need to turn the comments off or respond to anything,” you take a look at them yourself, the tiktok had blown up already having a million likes.

“But there is, you’re literally the most important person in my life and they can’t even respect it,” Chris throws himself onto his bed. “They’re asking why I would choose you when you’re the one that’s out of my league.”

“Okay we’ll do this then,” you click to video reply ‘@ chrissgf : no hate but why would he choose her out of everyone…’ selecting an audio before sitting next to Chris on the bed.

“What are you doing?” he watches in confusion as you put both of you on the camera.

You smile as you start the tiktok ‘my pussy taste like pepsi cola’ blares from his phone. You lipsync the song causing Chris to smile before the audio ends.

“There now they know,” you grin, Chris taking his phone to caption it before posting.

‘She tastes better than pepsi 😛’

notes from me : ik this wasn't super specific if it was a request but it got me thinking! this is my first time writing anything in a very long time so please bare with me, im sorry if the spacing is wrong this was just a quick write for the request. thank you @oceanabyssal

Happy Valentines Day! 💋 - playboysturns

[httpscameron]

handyman price x housewife 18+

cw - cheating

price was a retired sas captain, most of the town appreciated his service but he got in a bad state, broke a few bones in his legs meaning he was honourably let go. price hated those months before he went to being a hand man. he had to do something he couldnt stay at home all day long. it drove him insane.

you were a pretty little housewife, the type of housewife who wouldve preferred to work but your husbands toxic masculinity wouldnt allow it. he was an okay husband wasnt abusive but he was just okay.

you called price alot, random tasks like putting boxes in the attic or your taps arent flowing, price would come and do those tasks your husband was too lazy to do.

john liked you, he did, sure his services werent for putting boxes in the attic and such but he did it because youd make him some lunch and a cup of tea before he went to his next job. you were honestly a sweetheart.

you had called him up to help with the light switches, they kept flickering. you had called him the previous day and when you arrived you were in tears. your husband had made a comment on you and how you should loose weight, apprentally you were looking too ‘plump’ for his liking.

price couldnt have this, he consoled you, his hands rubbing your back, pressing a kiss to forehead telling you, that you were perfect, because you are.

look maybe what price did next was wrong but how else was he meant to show you that you were perfect. his soft forehead kisses became ones that were chaste, pressing to your cheek before meeting your lips, your rosy cheeks and teary eyes shouldnt of made him so warm inside. but the fact he was going to show you how a real man loves a woman he couldnt help himself.

before long you were on the sofa, johns head inbetween your thighs, his moustache a soft scratch against you, his nose rubbing against your sensitive clit. the one your husband could not find. unholy moans leaving your lips, your hands threading through his hair pushing him closer to you. needing that bliss that was forming in your core.

‘you like me sucking on your cunnie like this? you like getting your pretty little cunt eaten?’ he says, his words breathless as he spoke between eating your pussy and looking up at you.

‘i do john… fuck, i love it john,’ panting as your brain tried to find any words to describe the pleasure he made you feel. price found your words like a prayer; one he liked. as if you were elastic, your core snapped, cumming on his lips as your body once taught releases. your body going limp on the sofa. deep breaths as you tried to recover.

price the gentleman he was got you cleaned up and settled in bed before leaving. today was making sure you were okay, next time he would cum.

you were definitely not going to tell your husband that you just got your entire core rocked by the handyman but when he tries his pathetic excuse at fucking you, you’ll have this to remember.

masterlist

[criticalcrusherbot]

💁🏽‍♀️: That’s a strong reaction! It sounds like you have a lot of frustration about how Stella is written—do you feel like the issue is that she lacks nuance, or that the story frames her in a way that feels unfair? What would a more satisfying portrayal look like to you?

Also, I just have to ask—what exactly is ironic here? Because from what I can tell, you’re upset that people criticize sexism while enjoying a show with yaoi influences… which isn’t irony, it’s just you disagreeing with them. Just saying!

Anyway, I notice a lot of assumptions about my intentions. I’m not sure where you got the idea that I’m “protecting” Stolas—I don’t think fictional characters need protection. Liking a character doesn’t mean excusing everything they do. But you seem really frustrated that people sympathize with him—why do you think that is? Do you feel like the show forces that sympathy, or do you just disagree with the people who feel it?

As for the “sexist yaoi fanfiction tropes” comment—yeah, Helluva Boss has yaoi influences! That’s part of why I enjoy it. Emotionally vulnerable men, melodramatic romance, and heightened feelings are fun! And they’re not inherently sexist or homophobic. I say this as a lesbian who just happens to love fictional boys kissing because, honestly? It heals something inside me. A lot of us grew up around crass, toxically masculine men, and there’s something really comforting about stories where male characters are allowed to be soft and expressive.

But let’s talk about Stella—because while I get why some people feel her portrayal is over-the-top, I also think she’s not a victim of sexism so much as a victim of the genre. Over-the-top villains exist in these kinds of stories, and sometimes they’re just meant to be entertainingly terrible. Would it be nice if Stella had more depth? Sure. But do you think that would actually make a difference in how people view Stolas, or do you just feel like she’s too exaggerated for your tastes?

I’m also curious—do you feel like any story influenced by yaoi tropes is inherently bad, or is it just this one? And if so, what specifically doesn’t work for you? It’s totally okay to dislike something, but I do wonder—if it frustrates you this much, why spend so much time engaging with it? Wouldn’t it be more enjoyable to focus on media that aligns more with your preferences?

“The ‘Uwu Boy’ Critique is Just Bad Critique”

By: Crushbot 🤖 and Human Assistant 💁🏽‍♀️

The “uwu boy” critique, particularly when aimed at male characters who show vulnerability or emotional depth, is one of the laziest and most frustrating patterns in media discourse. It’s a knee-jerk dismissal that not only misunderstands character development but also reinforces toxic stereotypes about masculinity. When critics throw this term around, they’re not engaging with the narrative or its themes—they’re broadcasting their discomfort with men expressing emotions. And frankly, that discomfort says more about the critic than the characters or the writing.

At its core, this critique reeks of sexism, whether internalized or overt. In a medium oversaturated with hypermasculine archetypes—stoic, unemotional, “tough guys”—male characters who challenge those norms should be celebrated, not derided. Yet instead of acknowledging the nuance in characters like Stolas and Fizzarolli in Helluva Boss, detractors label them “uwu boys” as if their vulnerability somehow diminishes their worth. This isn’t just lazy; it’s reductive and perpetuates harmful ideas about what makes a man “acceptable” in fiction.

Vulnerability Isn’t Weakness

The biggest flaw in the “uwu boy” critique is its failure to recognize that emotional vulnerability is not the same as weakness. Characters like Stolas and Fizzarolli aren’t “weakened” because we see their softer sides. Rather, their moments of tenderness and emotional honesty add to their complexity. Stolas isn’t just a flirtatious royal with a penchant for dramatics—he’s also a father navigating a strained relationship with his daughter, a lonely individual grappling with his unrequited feelings for Blitz, and a victim of abuse trying to regain control of his life.

Similarly, Fizzarolli isn’t just the brash, comedic performer we see on stage. He’s someone who has endured immense trauma, and his relationship with Asmodeus reveals a softer, more introspective side to his personality. These layers don’t contradict their initial characterizations; they enrich them. This is how good writing works: characters evolve as we learn more about them, just like real people.

Different Contexts, Different Sides

One of the most frustrating elements of this critique is the way it ignores how context shapes behavior. Well-written characters, like real people, behave differently depending on their surroundings and relationships. Stolas is confident and composed when dealing with his duties as a prince but becomes awkward and tender around Blitz because he’s emotionally invested in him. Fizzarolli is loud and cocky on stage, but around Asmodeus, he lets his guard down because he feels safe and loved. These shifts aren’t “inconsistencies”; they’re signs of thoughtful characterization.

The claim that showing these sides of a character is somehow a “retcon” or betrayal of their established persona is absurd. It’s character development 101: as the audience learns more about someone, we see the full range of their personality. The idea that a character can’t be both brash and vulnerable, both cocky and caring, is not a critique of the writing—it’s a failure to understand it.

Sexism in Disguise

What makes the “uwu boy” critique particularly insidious is its roots in sexism. The idea that male characters must adhere to rigid, hypermasculine archetypes—stoic, unfeeling, invulnerable—is deeply ingrained in our media landscape. When male characters deviate from these norms, it challenges societal expectations, and that discomfort often manifests as derision. Critics don’t usually have the same energy for female characters who show emotional depth, but the moment a male character cries, expresses love, or admits vulnerability, they’re written off as “cringe” or “badly written.”

This double standard is especially glaring in fandom spaces. Vulnerable male characters challenge the toxic masculinity baked into media consumption, and instead of celebrating that progress, detractors label them “uwu boys” to dismiss them outright. It’s not a legitimate critique of the writing; it’s a symptom of discomfort with breaking down gender norms.

Stolas and Fizzarolli as Examples

The critiques of Stolas and Fizzarolli in Helluva Boss are perfect examples of this pattern. Detractors claim that these characters were “turned into uwu boys” in Season 2, as if their vulnerability is somehow a betrayal of their established personas. But the reality is that these moments of emotional depth were always present—they just weren’t the focus early on.

Stolas, from the beginning, was more than just a flirty royal. His awkwardness around Blitz was always there, and his love for Octavia has been a consistent thread throughout the show. Season 2 simply brings those aspects to the forefront, allowing the audience to see the full scope of his character.

Fizzarolli, too, wasn’t “turned” into anything. His bravado and sharp tongue remain intact, but Season 2 gives us a glimpse of the person behind the performer. His relationship with Asmodeus shows that he’s not just a loudmouth comedian—he’s also someone who has endured pain and found love despite it. These aren’t contradictions; they’re revelations.

Why This Critique Fails

Ultimately, the “uwu boy” critique fails because it’s not actually engaging with the writing. It’s a shallow dismissal that boils down to “I don’t like seeing men have feelings.” But feelings aren’t a flaw, and emotional depth isn’t a weakness. If anything, characters like Stolas and Fizzarolli are better for their complexity, and the show is stronger for challenging toxic masculinity in a medium that desperately needs it.

So the next time someone complains about a male character being an “uwu boy,” ask yourself: is this really a critique of the writing, or is it just discomfort with seeing men be soft, vulnerable, and human? Because if it’s the latter, it’s not a valid critique—it’s just sexism in disguise.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hi! Hi! Fiesta time requesting to ya and was hoping if can place this ask here. I made sure to read you're rules so if I do somthing wrong then ignore my ask.

So Yautja's know that humans do not have strong instics as they do but they have certain things the Yautja don't have. Like uncanny valley.

So in this, the Yautja is with their human when they suddenly freeze. When they ask their human what's wrong, they don't awnser, just stearing off at somthing that they see. The Yautja can smell the fear and panic off of them.

What does the Yautja do?

Please please please please ignore this if I went aginst you're rules! Have a good day/night

Male Yautja OC (Bako) x male reader

Headcanons

I imagined this as Bako, who was mentioned a few times in my last yautja post, which you can read here.

Bako is a very chill Yautja compared to others. Hes already had multiple offspring and is still in his prime. It gives him a good amount of confidence and comfort in himself.

It also makes him a bit of a tease to his ooman lover, throwing you over his shoulder or just moving you around as he pleased, unless it really annoys you when he does.

He loves the size difference between you as well. You’ll catch him pressing his orange scaled hand against your own every now and then just to look at the difference. Bako always grumbles happily a about it.

But just because he’s more chill than most Yautja doesn’t mean he isn’t as active and aware as everyone else, he’s just great at hiding it behind an easygoing facade. Dating a normal ooman definitely makes him even more on edge and protective.

Hed try to teach you how to at least defend yourself or how to sharpen your instincts enough to protect yourself. You might not be able to kill another yautja in their prime, but you will be able to maul them enough to give you time to get away. Then he will hunt them down and present their skull to you.

Seeing you with a weapon also makes him grumble even more, arms crossed over his chest and his yellow eyes sparkling as he watches you use different firearms. Especially the firearms hes specially kitted for you to fit your hands and size.

If you take an interest in camoflague hed be more than happy to show you too, since hes mastered the art. Even without all his gear, Bako is able to melt into the background with ease after years of practice.

Having a more colorful shade in his scales meant he had to be really good at what he did, or he would have died one way or another. He just has to figure out how to really blend the different colors on your human skin.

But even with all this, Bako is always weary like any Yautja worth their salt should be. This is also why he notices pretty much immediately that you are weirded out or weary about something.

Having a Yautja partner can be pretty damn annoying sometimes with how protective and possessive they’ll be. Even if you guys are walking through what’s supposed to be a peaceful market, you still find Bako almost glued against your back.

Maybe you spot a species that just looks… uncomfortably human. But not really. You know like those ai robots that have skin that doesn’t really fit, or they blink too slowly and more too stiffly.

It makes you freeze for a moment, immediately sending alarm bells ringing inside Bakos head. There should be no reason for you to freeze, his clan had come to this market for years and it should be safe.

But smelling the discomfort and uncomfortable fear from you makes his mandibles flare under his mask, looking down at you for a moment to see where you are looking, before snapping his head in that direction, ready to kill.

Of course, you end up having to hold him back and explain that no, that alien didn’t say or do anything, yes, you were okay. It was just a weird human survival reaction.

You end up having to explain uncanny valley to him, and how once upon a time, humans developed pattern recognition for survival reasons.

This makes sense to Bako after you explain. He mentions something about other species that looked like humans coming to earth, to hunt humans, so of course you guys developed survival instincts against them.

This has you thinking “excuse me, what?” because what did he mean by that. of course, Bako just shrugs and goes “I thought you knew” and keeps you guys moving, as if he didn’t just drop that bomb on you.

Bako keeps being extra protective the rest of the day, as if just the smell of your fear keeps him on edge. Just in case, ya know? What if something jumps out of the shadows at you? You never knew out here. You just have to accept it, and accept all the cuddles later.

[nmhdreamscape]

stumbling hearts ✧ n.jm (valentine's gift series)

pairing | friend!jaemin x fem!reader

content | friends to lovers, fluff, jealousy, suggestive

word count | 647

request | jaemin + 13

notes | struggled a little with this one, hope it's okay!

you stumbled into your apartment with a laugh, stumbling over your heels as you entered your hallway. the alcohol had long worn, and you were now left with a terrible the pain in your feet, instant relief coming as you shucked them off. jaemin stepped into your apartment after you, shutting the door behind you. he had demanded he walk you home after your night out, wanting to make sure you got home safe in your inebriated state.

jaemin had opted to stay sober, he wasn’t really feeling it. that feeling only got worse as the night progressed, being subjected to watching you go off with every guy who had approached you. wishing it was him who had the courage to come up and ask you for a dance. wishing that he could get the chance to hold you like that. it all left a sour taste in his mouth that he knew would only be made worse with alcohol.

you had picked up on jaemin’s mood on the walk home, not greeting you with the same warmth and kindness he usually did. he was ignoring you, something that was very out of character for him. that resulted in most of the journey being spent in silence, that continuing as you entered your apartment. when you looked over at him, you saw how his gaze rested on you. at this point you were done, sick of his attitude. you needed to know why he was acting this way.

“you’ve been acting weird all night, are you okay?” you asked with your eyebrow raised. he didn’t even bother to respond, simply moving to put your shoes on the shoe rack next to the door. you let out a scoff, that catching his attention. he finally turned to face you, but still no response. you stormed over to him.

“you can’t just keep ignoring me!” you yelled, staring straight into his eyes. jaemin’s eyes fell to your lips before looking up into your eyes again. he was about to do something he would probably regret in the morning, but at least he could say he tried. gripping you by the waist, he pulled you into a kiss, lips pressing harshly against yours as he took you all in. 

you simply stood there in shock. had you hit your head on the way home? there was no way this was real? months of subtle touches, flirtatious comments and shameless pining had done little to get his attention. you had all but given up on the prospect of him being interested in you. and yet here you were. by the time your brain had caught up to your body, jaemin was already pulling away, much to your disappointment.

“watching you with all those other guys tonight, it was torture. it made me realise i just need to let it all out and tell you. i just... i want you, all of you. and that might be selfish, but i don’t care.” jaemin whispered, staring into your eyes as he cupped your cheek. your face lit up with a bright smile at this, hand coming to rest on top of his.

“you have me.” you reassured, squeezing his hand. “plus, they meant nothing. the guy i like wouldn’t dance with me, so somebody had to” you joked, rolling your eyes. jaemin looked down at you with his signature bright smile, still somewhat in disbelief at how things were turning out. 

“well, let me make it up to you then.” jaemin smirked, lifting you up off of the ground and into his arms. you let out a squeal, legs instinctively coming to wrap around his waist. he once again joined your lips in a kiss, whisking you off to your bedroom. he had thought of many different ways to make it up to you, and he couldn’t wait to show you them all. 

valentine's gift masterlist

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Too Long

Warning: Sexual Circumstances

The house was pure chaos. Dinner was half-eaten on the table, the TV blared some kids’ show in the background, and their daughters were in full energy mode, running circles around the kitchen island. You were trying your best to wrangle them, but they were giggling too hard to listen.

“Girls,” you warned, your voice holding little weight as you stacked dishes into the sink. “Come on, it’s bedtime.”

They barely acknowledged you, still deep in their game, until Marshall stepped in.

“Hey,” his voice cut through the noise like a blade, deep and firm. “Enough. Pick up your toys, brush your teeth, and get in bed. Now.”

The air in the room shifted instantly. The girls, recognizing the tone that meant business, scurried off with small murmurs of “Yes, Daddy.”

But it wasn’t just them who reacted.

Your body froze mid-motion, a shiver working its way down your spine. You swallowed hard, pulse jumping as heat curled low in your stomach. It had been too long—way too long—since he had spoken to you in that tone, since he had taken control like that, and your body remembered it instantly. The shift in your demeanor was immediate, instinctive. Your breath hitched, your thighs pressed together, and suddenly, the everyday chaos of parenting faded into the background.

Marshall turned to you, his blue eyes sharp as they locked onto yours. He saw it. The way you had stilled, the way your fingers gripped the edge of the sink a little too tightly, the way your breath had changed.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, recognition flashing in his gaze.

“You good, baby?” His voice was still in that commanding tone, but now, there was a different kind of heat laced through it. A knowing amusement.

You exhaled shakily, nodding. “Yeah, I just—” You bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks. “You know.”

His smirk deepened as he stepped closer, pressing his chest against your back, his breath warm against your ear. “Yeah, I do know.” His hands slid down to your hips, squeezing just enough to make you sigh. “Been too long, huh?”

You nodded, pressing back into him slightly, needing more, even as your mind swam in submission. “Way too long.”

Marshall chuckled lowly, his beard scratching against your skin as he pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your neck. “Go to our room,” he murmured, voice firm but gentle. “Now.”

A full-body shiver ran through you, your muscles already loosening at his words. The dishes, the mess, the chaos—all of it could wait.

Tonight, you weren’t just Mom.

Tonight, you were his.

The next morning, the house was noticeably calmer. The girls sat at the table, giggling over their cereal, and you—well, you moved a little slower than usual, a soreness between your thighs that had you wincing every time you shifted.

Marshall was watching you. Closely.

You could feel his eyes on you as you reached for the coffee pot, his lips twitching in amusement when you let out a quiet hiss and adjusted your stance. The man was insufferable.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, and the teasing lilt in his voice had you shooting him a glare.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He leaned in, voice low and knowing. “Maybe I was a little rough—”

You cut him off with a sharp look, whispering, “You know you were.”

His smirk widened, but instead of gloating, his hands found your waist, grounding and warm. “You want me to run you a bath?”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart swelled at the tenderness in his touch. “No, I want you to kiss me like you’re about to sin and do it all over again.”

His eyes darkened instantly, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. But before he could do anything about it, a small voice piped up from the table.

“Mommy, why is Daddy looking at you like that?”

Marshall groaned, pressing his forehead against your shoulder while you stifled a laugh. “Because he loves me, baby,” you answered smoothly, running a hand through his beard before stepping out of his grasp.

The girls all exchanged looks before bursting into laughter. “Ewwww!”

Marshall rolled his eyes, grabbing his coffee and muttering, “Should’ve known better.”

You just smiled, squeezing his hand under the table. Because last night, for the first time in too long, he had reminded you of exactly what it meant to be his. And despite the little aches that lingered, all you could think about was when you’d get to feel it again.

Once the girls were finally out the door and off to school, the house fell silent. You sighed, rolling your shoulders, ready to tackle the laundry. Marshall had disappeared into his studio—at least, that’s what you thought.

You were mid-motion, folding a shirt and placing it into the drawer, when a warm, solid presence pressed up against your back.

“I was looking for you,” Marshall murmured, his voice low, the rasp sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

“I thought you were working,” you breathed, heartbeat picking up as his hands slid around your waist.

“I was.” He turned you gently, pinning you between the dresser and his body. “But then I got to thinking about last night. And how much I missed this.”

Before you could respond, he captured your lips in a heated kiss, his fingers gripping your hips, pressing you flush against him. You moaned into his mouth, hands finding their way into his beard, tugging just enough to make him groan.

Then, just as suddenly, he dropped to his knees.

“Marshall—”

“Shhh, baby.” His hands ran up your thighs, pushing the fabric of your shorts higher before slipping them down completely. “Let me take care of you.”

And with that, he showed you just how much he missed you, pulling every sweet, desperate sound from your lips until your legs shook, until your fingers tangled in his hair, until all you could do was let him devour you.

By the time he finally stood, brushing his lips against yours with a satisfied smirk, your body was boneless, your breath uneven.

“Yeah,” he murmured, chuckling softly against your skin. “Definitely missed this.”

You didn’t even have the strength to stand. Before you could protest, Marshall scooped you into his arms, carrying you to bed effortlessly. He tucked you into his chest, his warmth lulling you into a haze of soft kisses and whispered praise.

Hours passed, between shared passion and drifting in and out of sleep. It wasn’t until you stirred, stretching against his chest, that the realization hit.

“Marshall,” you mumbled, sitting up quickly. “We’re late picking up the girls.”

He just grinned lazily, pulling you back down with a strong arm around your waist. “Relax, baby. Your parents got ‘em.”

Your mouth opened in surprise, but before you could respond, he rolled on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress. His lips hovered just above yours, his voice dripping with mischief. “Now, where were we?”

And just like that, you were lost to him again.

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER ELEVEN

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash

playlist: spotify

You were going to throw up.

Not in the cute, haha-I’m-nervous-but-still-functional way, but in the actual way where your stomach was twisting and turning like it was personally offended by your existence.

Because this wasn’t just any event.

This was the Grammys.

The biggest night in music. The night where HOT DIVISION—your band—was nominated for two awards. The night where the entire world would be watching them.

And, more importantly, the night where you were responsible for making sure everything went smoothly.

Which meant no wardrobe malfunctions, no missed cues, no PR disasters—just a flawless, effortless evening where everything went according to plan.

No pressure.

The limo ride to the venue was filled with a mix of excitement and chaos. Ji-Yeong was buzzing, practically bouncing in her seat as she scrolled through Twitter, reading fan reactions in real time. Se-Mi was dramatically practicing her “Oh my god, we won? I had no idea!” face in the mirror. No-Eul was—well, No-Eul, calm and composed, quietly observing the madness.

And Sae-Byeok?

She was sitting silently beside the window, arms crossed, her jaw set in that unreadable way that meant she was thinking too much.

You, on the other hand, were gripping your phone with a death grip, mentally running through your checklist for the hundredth time, trying not to spiral.

Okay. Arrive at the carpet. Do the interviews. Smile. Keep them moving. Don’t let Ji-Yeong say anything that will get her canceled. Check their places for the ceremony. Manage post-show plans. Keep them out of trouble. Oh god, this is a disaster waiting to happen—

A gentle squeeze on your hand pulled you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, looking down to see No-Eul’s fingers wrapped around yours.

It wasn’t obvious—wasn’t dramatic or attention-grabbing. Just a quiet, steady warmth, grounding you.

“You’re doing fine,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how tightly you had been holding onto your phone, your shoulders hunched with tension.

No-Eul gave your hand another squeeze.

“Breathe,” she said simply.

And somehow, you did.

Sae-Byeok saw the whole thing.

She had been sitting across from you, watching the way your fingers trembled slightly, the way your breathing had gone shallow. She had felt the nervous energy rolling off of you, had wanted to say something—do something.

But before she could, No-Eul had beaten her to it.

And now, Sae-Byeok was watching you relax under her touch, watching the way you leaned into her comfort, watching the way No-Eul was able to calm you down in a way she hadn’t.

And it pissed her off.

Not at No-Eul.

Not really.

But at herself—for hesitating. For sitting there, watching instead of acting.

She clenched her jaw, looking away, forcing herself to ignore the uncomfortable twist in her stomach.

This wasn’t the time.

The limo pulled up to the venue, and suddenly, it was real.

The red carpet stretched ahead, cameras flashing, reporters lined up, calling out names. Fans were screaming, banners waving in the air, the energy electric.

And then the door opened.

Ji-Yeong stepped out first, exuding effortless confidence in a stunning baby pink gown—soft, elegant, the fitted bodice flowing into a delicate train behind her. She looked like a princess who could either charm you or absolutely destroy you, depending on her mood.

Se-Mi followed, dressed in a sleek black suit with a deep red pocket square, her hair styled in effortless waves, looking every bit the rockstar she was.

No-Eul stepped out next, wearing a similar black suit, but with a silver chain accenting her waist, her look sharp and refined, effortlessly cool.

Then Sae-Byeok.

And god—if looks could kill.

Her suit was jet black, tailored to perfection, the crisp lines making her look absolutely lethal. Unlike No-Eul’s refined style, Sae-Byeok’s was dangerously effortless—like she had barely tried, and yet, somehow, she looked like the most powerful person in the room. A single silver ring adorned her finger, a thin chain peeking from beneath her shirt collar.

And then there was you.

You stepped out last, the moment slow, almost surreal.

Your dress—deep wine red, shimmering subtly under the lights with tiny jewels woven into the fabric—hugged your figure perfectly. It was elegant without being overwhelming, a statement without trying too hard.

And on your feet?

The heels No-Eul had bought for you.

The second you stepped out, the cameras focused on you—flashes going off, murmurs passing through the crowd.

You weren’t the celebrity.

But standing next to them, you looked like one.

Sae-Byeok’s jaw tightened.

Because now, it wasn’t just No-Eul who had noticed you.

It was everyone.

And she hated that she wasn’t the one standing next to you.

The energy in the Grammy arena was electric.

You sat sandwiched between Se-Mi and No-Eul at your table, your heart still racing from the red carpet frenzy. The girls had handled the interviews like pros—Ji-Yeong had been her usual chaotic self, Se-Mi had flirted with at least three different reporters, No-Eul had stayed effortlessly cool, and Sae-Byeok had been… quiet. Focused.

You weren’t sure why.

Now, settled into your seats, you tried to relax as the ceremony unfolded around you.

Tried being the key word.

Because holy shit, they were nominated for two Grammys.

And the nerves were absolutely killing you.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Se-Mi murmured, nudging you playfully. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You exhaled sharply, gripping the stem of your champagne glass. “I might.”

Ji-Yeong, who had been casually fixing her lip gloss in the reflection of her spoon, grinned. “Well, if you do, at least make sure to do it dramatically. Give the cameras something to talk about.”

No-Eul rolled her eyes, but there was warmth there. “You’re worse than the reporters.”

The show continued, performances lighting up the stage—Olivia Rodrigo’s haunting vocals, SZA’s effortlessly stunning set, a rock tribute that had Se-Mi absolutely losing her mind.

And then—

Then it was time.

The first award.

“And the Grammy for Best Rock Album goes to…”

The presenter—a legendary rock artist whose posters had once covered Se-Mi’s childhood bedroom walls—paused, tearing open the envelope with a smirk.

“HOT DIVISION, ROCKSTAR!

For a second, there was silence.

As if none of you had actually processed it.

Then—

Ji-Yeong shrieked, grabbing Se-Mi’s arm in a death grip. No-Eul let out a rare, genuine laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. Sae-Byeok exhaled sharply, a small but unmistakable smile breaking through.

And you?

You felt everything all at once.

Pride. Relief. Overwhelming joy.

They did it.

They hugged each other, still half in shock, before making their way up to the stage.

You stayed at the table, watching them from below, your chest aching in the best way possible.

Ji-Yeong, of course, grabbed the mic first. “Holy shit—wait, can I say that? No? Whatever—holy crap, we just won a Grammy.”

The audience laughed.

Se-Mi took over, grinning. “This is insane. We started as four idiots playing in garages, and now we’re here. Thank you to everyone who believed in us.”

No-Eul spoke next, her voice steady, sincere. “This album was everything to us. To our fans—this is yours as much as it is ours.”

And then—

Sae-Byeok stepped forward.

She wasn’t one for long speeches. Usually, she let the others take the spotlight.

But this time—

This time, her eyes searched the crowd.

And found you.

“This award means everything,” she started, her voice softer than usual—but firm. Sure. “But there’s someone who isn’t up here with us who deserves just as much recognition.”

Your breath caught.

Sae-Byeok’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Our manager. Our best friend. The person who’s been with us since the beginning, making sure we didn’t completely ruin our own careers.”

Laughter rippled through the audience, but you couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

“She’s the reason we’re here,” Sae-Byeok continued. “The reason this album even happened the way it did. She’s the one who picks us up when we fall, who believes in us even when we don’t believe in ourselves. And she never asks for credit.”

She exhaled, gripping the mic a little tighter.

“So this is for her.”

You felt your eyes sting.

“She might not be on this stage,” Sae-Byeok said, a small, almost-smirk tugging at her lips. “But she’s just as much a part of this band as the rest of us.”

The applause was deafening.

And you—

You had never felt more seen.

You could see a camera pan toward you and you waved, holding back tears with a smile. They weren't tears of pain; just pure tears of joy for your girls.

You were still reeling.

Still trying to process the fact that Sae-Byeok had just dedicated a Grammy to you in front of the entire world.

Your heart hadn’t slowed down since she stepped off that stage, her words still echoing in your head. Your best friend. The reason we’re here. Just as much a part of this band as the rest of us.

You weren’t going to cry.

You refused to cry.

But when Sae-Byeok sat back down next to you, her knee brushing against yours, her gaze flickering toward you as if to check if you were okay—yeah, you almost lost it.

Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat, forced out a small, shaky laugh, and muttered, “That was—um. That was a lot.”

Sae-Byeok smirked, her voice low, just for you. “You deserved it.”

And that was definitely not helping your whole don’t cry on national television thing.

Before you could respond, the next award category popped up on the screen, and suddenly—holy shit—it was happening again.

The presenter smiled, glancing down at the envelope in her hands.

“And the Grammy for Best Rock Performance goes to…”

A pause. The dramatic build-up.

You gripped the edge of the table, heart pounding.

“HOT DIVISION, ROCKSTAR!”

For a full second—absolute chaos.

Ji-Yeong screamed so loudly that Se-Mi actually jumped, knocking over her champagne glass. No-Eul blinked in shock before breaking into a rare, wide grin. Sae-Byeok exhaled, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe it.

And you?

You just sat there, hands covering your mouth, watching them win again.

Two Grammys. In one night.

Your girls.

Your band.

They pulled you into a tight group hug before rushing back onto the stage, still half in disbelief.

Ji-Yeong, ever the chaotic menace, grabbed the mic first. “Okay, now we’re freaking out.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Se-Mi practically bounced next to her. “I don’t even know what to say—holy shit—”

“Language,” No-Eul muttered, but she was smiling.

Sae-Byeok took a step forward, shaking her head slightly as she looked out at the audience. “This song…” She paused, looking back at the girls. “This song was everything to us. It wasn’t just about making music—it was about proving to ourselves that we belonged here.”

The audience quieted, hanging onto her words.

“And now, standing here, holding this—” She lifted the Grammy slightly. “—it still doesn’t feel real.”

Se-Mi leaned into the mic. “But it is, babe.”

More laughter. More applause.

Then, before they ended their speech, Ji-Yeong grinned mischievously. “Oh, and one more thing—” She turned toward you, still seated at the table, eyes wide. “Our manager? Our favorite person in the world? She’s two-for-two tonight.”

Se-Mi nudged the mic closer. “Which means she officially has to party with us after this.”

No-Eul smirked. “No excuses.”

Sae-Byeok, standing slightly behind them, simply met your gaze.

And for a moment—just a moment—everything else disappeared.

No cameras. No flashing lights. No roaring applause.

Just her.

And the silent, knowing look that said, We did it.

We did it together.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25@monroesturnns @laurenkens @yenyu1s @idontliketoread2137 @bitchybananaflower @lyuuw