#BITING YOU SO HARD

[krayonders]

worst part about going to college and committing yourself to a niche is how angry you get when people are incorrect about it

[duhnova]

fighting • l.s.m.

Pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), boxer!au, kind of e2l Warnings: idrk shit about boxing so i threw in some illegal stuff i suppose fjskdjf, swearing, fighting/sparring/boxing obviously, they're a little mean to each other but down bad and thirsty, mentions of blood/broken bones, marking/bruising, slapping, hand job, nasty oral (male receiving - you're welcome deekay), kissing eheh, humiliation kink... look - seokmin's cocky but melts for reader WC: 4k A/N: spur of the moment collab (enforcer of evilness): in your corner by @onlymingyus can't believe she encourages me like this 😭 ❤️ side note: seokmin is wayyyy too pretty to be a boxer imho haha anyways, my fingers slipped and i'm a lil nervous abt this one but i hope you enjoy it hehe

"Lee Seokmin!"

Your shout echoes menacingly in the almost empty training gym. A straggler who had been spending a little too long looking at their phone by the exit doors quickly scurries out as the vengeful air that surrounds you luckily heads in the opposite direction.

The man in question — whose name is bitter upon your tongue — looks up as you approach. Your stride is purposeful, not faltering even as his dark brown eyes remain steadily trained on you all the way up to pausing in front of him. Putting one hand on your hip and the other on the punching bag that he is very much not using like it's supposed to be. 

"Strange how only you and my family will be the ones to know me by that."

"Yes, what do they call you? DK, Lee Dokyeom, the Black Jaguar… a man whose uppercut to his opponents is as sharp as his jawline."

He dares to show off that very same feature with long fingers tilting up his chin smugly and a smirk on his face. "Someone's been reading up on me."

"It's my responsibility to make sure you have good publicity. Which will all go right down the drain if this is how you act after one win. Your first win. And the only you'll ever have again."

"Harsh, Coach. Finally paying attention just to scold me, breaks my heart!" Seokmin says it with light ease though, the megawatt smile that's gaining popularity brightening at your dark scowl that just makes you look cuter to him.

Which in theory, is dangerous. You're not someone to be messed with. There's a reason you're his trainer. A strong purpose as to why you don't fight in the ring anymore and choose to stay on the sidelines. Behind the scenes. Giving young and raw talent the tools they need to dominate the matches under your strict tutelage. 

"Don't worry, I was paying great attention when you sparred with Jace."

"Yeah? And?"

"Just 'cause you ran with the big dogs for a little bit and won means nothing. You're no alpha and this isn't a playground. It's — "

" — a battleground. Your battleground. Where everything begins and the only reputation on the line that matters is yours. I know, you've said it over and over — "

"Then why are you just throwing this bag around like it's a child on a swing?" The glare after getting a familiar lecture repeated back to you is directed to survey his body. Upper body muscles clearly visible through the unnecessarily large arm holes of a gray muscle tee. Lean legs shown off by black shorts had every other person in the gym side-eyeing out of jealousy. "You're going to lose everything you've worked so hard to gain."

"Worried 'bout me?"

"Yes. Your footwork was horrible, which isn't like you. Something's up."

"Indeed."

"What?"

A large hand thumps against the heavy bag just a bit above yours. Auburn bangs threaten to tickle your forehead when he leans on the back of his palm to get close. Very close. Probably too close. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Not really," you admit, never one to back down or away and meet his cocky stare straight-on, "but if I'm to keep my star fighter up to standard, there are things that need to be done." Tilting your head toward the right, you narrow your eyes. "Get on the mat."

The minute he steps back to obey, you're free to turn and head there yourself. Seokmin lags a step behind. Unusual, but his whole entire behavior has been more than strange today so you ignore it. Luckily also missing the discreet way his gaze skims your body from behind and licks his lips.

"Don't treat this like a therapy session," you instruct once he's in position across from you. "We'll do a couple of drills and you can share what's on your mind. I'll kindly listen."

"How sweet."

"Don't patronize me."

"Isn't that what you're doing to me?"

"I'm helping like I always do. On the balls of your feet — good, now you know this one." 

"You try to hit my legs, I avoid and dodge, and vice versa."

A scoff escapes your lips. "Trying to hit you? Please. Whatever, keep your heels up!" 

Seokmin lunges forward, aiming for your bare inner thigh. You're quicker though. Eagle-eyed and experienced. Also used to his movements after observing him tirelessly for months. He always aims for what he wants first. You dodge before he can even get close enough and dart behind his figure. Pleased when he side steps away from the hand going for the back of his calf and spins around to face you again.

"Nice. Why didn't you do that earlier?"

"Sparring with Jace is boring."

"So you're just going to give up."

"Sure, if it gives me the chance to spar with you instead." He attempts for your knee this time and you pick it up at the right second to spring out of reach with the power of your other foot. "I learn more and do better."

"That's the nature of the game but you're doing a good deed by helping train and encourage some of the newbies in my place. They admire you." 

Rolling his eyes and ducking away from your next strike, he spits out, "Not as much as they worship you."

"Hah, you wanna be worshiped, Seokmin? Then do better. Even the most mundane fights keep you active and on your guard. Complacency is a fool's move, a complete loss, and an admission of pathetic defeat." 

"How am I supposed to improve when you won't pay attention to me anymore?" 

You block the hand that shoots out way too high above your waist. Irritation gnaws at your gut the same time as you bite your lip, taking a moment to adjust your sports bra before deciding the next move. Elastic snaps against your skin and he gulps. "Hands below the belt, Lee!"

"Sorry, Coach."

"No, you're not! Your head isn't staying in the ring. Why? Because I only spend two hours Monday, Wednesday, and Friday training you rather than five every day like before? My apologies for dedicating so little of my already busy time to you."

"That's not what… I thought we had something okay!"

He suddenly stops moving and you end up delivering a much harsher slap than intended where he had aimed at you originally — the inner side of his thigh. Seokmin grunts and you seethe, straightening to your full height. "Honestly, is this a joke to you?"

"No, I — " 

"It's not that I don't think you wouldn't have gotten anywhere because your talent is obvious. But you got there a lot faster because I saw what no one else did at the time." You dig a pointer finger accusingly into his chest. "And you're throwing it all away, spitting in everyone's face that supported you for such a petty reason? You and I both know you should've been able to avoid that slap!"

And for the first instance since you'd met him all that time ago at the street fights, Seokmin gets angry. Even when he was betrayed and abandoned in the dangerous underground boxing rings by people he considered friends, after losing round after round repetitively because he was initially too afraid to hurt others in order to survive, mocked and jeered while being cheated out of what should have been his first win a month ago — he simply smiled and moved on. 

But now his face hardens, the gentle light snuffed out in his eyes, lips curled downwards, and eyebrows furrowed. He takes a menacing step toward you with fists clenched. And as expected, you don't even flinch.

"Petty? Hah, you accuse me of being petty when this is the first time we've actually had a chance to talk 'cause you've avoided me ever since that ring girl kissed me!"

Heat burns in your cheek. Anger or shame, you're not quite sure. "So?"

"So tell me. Talk to me. Goddammit, even fight me!"

"You wanna fight, Seok?" you growl, "and then what?"

"Winner gets a wish granted."

"How cliché. Arms up, then!" Yours raise to match his stance, eyeing the veins that ripple with tension across his forearms. "Anything's fair game?" 

"Anything is fair game." 

"Then you'd better be ready to fight for your life." 

There's a certain thrill to sparring with him. He's right. Jace is boring. Seokmin isn't just some kid that wanted to pick up boxing as a hobby. This man entered the ring because everything rides on him winning. Succeeding. Excelling. 

And he's threatening to throw it away like it doesn't matter. Give away everything he'd put blood, sweat, and tears into. What you and his loved ones had sacrificed for his growth. Why? Because of you? Because of feelings? Believing in something so wholesome amidst this crummy world? Your blood boils, fierce glare set as his rather mean smile gets even crueler. 

"Talk with your fists," you had once informed him during a training session. Ever since, you'd dutifully read every one of his punches, getting a clearer intent of the message he's sending with each swing. Encouraging aggression. Gaining control. Demanding respect. Elevating his status. Shooting for the top. The best of the best.

Now, you can only see hot red annoyance. All of it aimed at you. It's reflected back right back though. Adrenaline surges through your veins, easily blocking the jabs, hooks, and cross punches he throws and parrying them back with solid hits. Hits that land hard. A sharp kick to his shin has him stumbling back against the heavy ropes of the ring with a curse and hitting them out of frustration.

"Done already?" 

"As if." 

A pleased sneer lifts your lips upwards. Seokmin probably thinks you're goading him further, and even though you aren't intending to, it works. His movements gain momentum, striking at you harder. But they also get sloppier. 

You frown. "Sometimes I just want to… " 

"Punch me in the face?" He dodges the strike to his shoulder and returns with one to your ribs that's too easy to evade. "Haven't you done that enough to satisfy yourself?" 

"Hardly. Now stop leaving yourself open!" 

A roundhouse kick doesn't even come near his face and he knows it won't, letting it whack his shoulder. After a couple of rounds of bruising his cheeks in the early days of training, you never did it again. Not when he'd arrived at your doorstep one night — absolutely beaten bloody during a vicious scuffle. You'd nursed his wounds while berating him with well-intentioned advice on how to not let that happen ever again. 

You might've also let slip that he's too pretty for his face to get messed up. Must've gone to his head a little. 

Here's the thing. You're the undisputed, reigning champion of the boxing world. Both professional and underground. Even the so-called king of the illegal matches acknowledges your prowess. It's inevitable for someone who was the fastest to stake their name on the brilliant TV screen and scribbled on loaded betting cards. 

Seokmin knows he can't beat you. Ever. But you actually have more faith in him, satisfied when he manages to catch your fist in his hand. Rules don't exist when you two spar. Familiar with underhanded techniques, he uses them to his advantage. Still holding onto your fist, he takes your feet out from under you with a side sweep to your ankles and throws you to the ground. 

You're pinned beneath him, all his weight holding you down. Trapping your arms behind your back with one hand and the other slamming against the mat near your head. You feel his hot breath brush your ear as he whispers with an edge to his voice, "Done now?"

Rather than respond, you relax your muscles. Lulling him into a false sense of security. The minute you feel him release some of the pressure, you're kicking his thighs back and rolling over before his body weight can crush you again. Maneuvering your core as you push against his unbalanced shoulder and scramble on top of him. Knee to his chest, forearm against his throat, and free hand securing his wrists.

"As if."

He sighs. "I could never beat you anyways."

"Not exactly true. If I was simply pro, you would certainly have the upper hand."

"But you're aware I could never hurt you so what do you want? Me to leave you alone?"

You study his features in silence. It's unnerving enough for Seokmin to want to divert his eyes. But where? He blinks rapidly instead and your eyes are drawn to where his tongue peeks out to nervously moisten his lips. His wrists twitch when your grip turns lax and he unintentionally slips out of it to intertwine his fingers with yours.

"I've been in that very position far too many times that it's as easy as breathing to get out of. I can teach you the technique."

"Well, I'll definitely be feeling it in the morning."

"Are you hurt badly?" you reposition your lower body to straddle him, feeling at his sides. "Where?"

"Don't worry 'bout it, what's your wish?"

You mull it over. Tonguing at your cheek and hands stilling to play with the threads hanging from the bottom of his shirt's armholes. "Normally, winners get a congratulatory kiss."

"Do you say that to all the guys you body slam to the floor?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Seokmin leans up on his forearms so his nose brushes yours. "Yeah."

The words, "Maybe just you," are interrupted by a gasp that's swallowed by his mouth when it slams against yours. It's a ferocious kiss that brings his head back down on the mat, cushioned by your arms as your body follows.

Electrifying. The same surge of energy that fills you when fighting him but in a much different manner. Thrillingly.

When you lean back, biting his bottom lip as you go, he groans. Fingers splayed against the bare skin of your back prevent you from moving too far and you have no choice but to feel the hardness stirring within his gym shorts. 

"You know that kiss… that kiss meant nothing."

"The one with Aeyong?"

"Was that her name? And of course, most certainly you didn't mean ours." He pulls you back down to mold his lips to yours again. "Or that one." Placing a smooch on your nose. "Or that one!" 

It takes everything within you to not giggle at his silliness. But nothing can stop the tender smile gracing your lips as you cup his chin, angling his head this and that way to cover his face in kisses, especially where you recall landing a blow to.

Seokmin has no trouble hiding his giddiness, happy chuckles turning to pleasured sighs when you start nibbling on his earlobe. "I hope you know these kisses though… they mean everything."

He's spent far too long denying his attraction to you that it's impossible to hold back now. You answer him with another kiss so he can feel your returned smile against his lips, threading fingers through his hair. Then you're yanking at the silky strands so his neck is exposed and the moan he lets out has your cunt automatically clenching while you suck a bruise to darken his skin.

"Want to cash in my wish now."

It takes a few moments for him to blink back to reality and register what you said. "Didn't you already?"

"Kisses are obligatory, not what I wished for." You choose to swivel your hips, slow and methodical, down against his. "You would deny me?"

"N-no, 'course not. What… do you want?"

"To suck you off."

"… Really?"

You're already sliding down his body and playing with the band of his shorts when you hum in confirmation. Tugging them down the second his hips lift instinctively, cock almost slapping you in the cheek when you do. You don't complain, simply wrapping a hand around its thick and heavy girth to steady it. Rough calluses from years of fighting rub pleasurably at the gentle foreskin.

"So pretty," you murmur. Of course, it would be as lovely as he is — red and leaking to match flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. "Too pretty for such a dirty boy who likes getting his dick sucked for anyone to see." When it twitches in your grip, you grin wickedly. "Always knew you had a thing for humiliation."

"Says the one who enjoys destroying and taunting me. Think I didn't notice how you squeeze your thighs together after giving me shit on my form?"

"You're cute. When you get all huffy," you make another mark on the inside of his thigh, licking at the sting smarting right below his mole, "it makes me want to ruin you more."

"Gonna be the death of me."

"Did you think I hadn't noticed you checking me out, Seok?"

"Was hoping you wouldn't."

"Silly," you deliver a light slap to the thigh you hadn't hit earlier and he tries to hide a whine despite his legs betraying him with telltale tremors, "and cute."

You and everyone else that comes to your gym are able to wear skimpy clothing that allows for easier movement simply because any perverts trying to touch or get a sneaky peek are swiftly kicked (out). But you enjoyed Seokmin's eyes on you and you know he enjoyed yours on him as well. So you let it be. Maybe all for this moment.

Covering the muscular ridges of his thighs in bite marks, hickeys, and shiny saliva trails while he begs for more of them, whimpering out an admission of, "Show everyone I'm yours so not a single ring girl even thinks to kiss me."

"I quite like that idea." You sincerely do though you probably like the blemishes left on his honey golden skin even more. "But you have to win again for one of them to consider it."

"I'll win."

"Yeah? Promise?"

"Pr-promise," he stutters out as you creep higher and higher to nuzzle at his heavy balls. Licking in between them teasingly before your tongue traces the prominent vein running along the underside of his cock, all the way up to the tip. "Win 'em all in your favor."

You hesitate briefly then stick your fingers inside tight spandex shorts and past your tiny thong to lather them in the wetness pooling from your pussy that's threatening to seep through and ruin the layers of fabric. Retracting before you're tempted to finger yourself right then and there, you reach for Seokmin only to jolt when he tugs at your wrist and puts them in his mouth, moaning greedily.

His tongue swirls around each finger, cleaning them of your essence thoroughly, and coating them with his spit instead. He wiggles his eyebrows as you watch — flabbergasted — and releases them with a pop once satisfied.

"I hope you weren't planning on doing that right in front of me without at least letting me have a taste."

You fix him with a serious stare. "You're going to have to train harder than anything and prove to me that you won for yourself. Not me, not anyone else. All for you."

"And then what?"

"Maybe I'll let you fuck me."

He wants to complain for various reasons but you don't give him time to think, wrapping your slick hand around his now slicker cock. Rubbing your thumb across the slit of its tip and spreading the excess of precum up and down his shaft, your mouth replaces your hands that choose to press down on his thighs and prevent him from thrusting up.

There's nothing to grip or grab at out here in the open on the boxing ring mat with anyone able to walk in on the two of you making a different kind of sweaty mess upon it despite how unlikely that happening is. You find that you don't even care — it might even excite you — empty cunt getting spongier and wetter, already addicted to Seokmin's salty taste. Noticing how his fingernails dig into the canvas, you guide them on top of your head. Giving him permission to set the pace if he so chooses to.

And he does. Alternating between slow bobs that let you kitten lick and pay attention to every single inch of his long cock versus harsh, fast up and down motions where you happily gag around his length. Whimpering and soft moans, breathless praises that make no sense as he listens to your pretty noises.

"Always wanted… like this. Imagined you getting on your knees… every time… you pushed me harder."

It's funny. Seokmin almost had his nose broken during a match yet he hadn't winced a single bit while you fussed over him and gave the opponent a tongue-lashing lecture because of the illegal fake-out move he'd conducted. Maybe if it had been a fight in the dungeons you'd let it go but on the professional mat that led to your star spilling blood — vengeance was your middle name.

But now with your mouth on him, he's significantly weaker, vulnerable, and soft — so hard yet so soft. And no matter how strong you want him to be to succeed, maybe the sick part of you really likes how you alone can reduce him to a state like this.

"Always been you, no one else." His sincere tone is slurred with lust, simultaneously trying to hurtle towards that sweet climax but also delay it as much as possible. Afraid for the moment to end but longing for release. "My anchor."

And he treats you like one, holding your head down firmly. Nose pressing into his pelvis as he gives into the rush of endorphins. Your throat constricts and swallows around his length that throbs and spurts an endless load of cum. 

When he lets you go, you gulp the extra remnants left on your tongue and wipe your lips. Grateful and proud of having one less thing to clean up. Seokmin squints at you, panting wildly as you politely tuck his softening cock back into his shorts and stand up.

"Wh-what… what about you?" He won't lie and say he's not a bit hopeful you're going to sit on his face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Of course not," you rasp, cracking your jaw and neck as a point. Then you stick out your hand, a familiar indication that you'll help him up. "Let me show you how to do that move."

He blinks and cocks his head. "I don't mind being under you. But I was thinking… in a different way?"

"You just were underneath me."

"C'mon Coach, you know what I mean!"

"How about this — we wait for your dick to get hard while you learn this move. But you have to promise I'll be able to walk tomorrow. And no marks. Now, on your knees."

"That's not fair!" Seokmin pouts and refuses to budge. "You underestimate me and won't let me be possessive. I wasn't lying when I said they worship you. Jace is so into you it's annoying."

You laugh. "So that's why you think he's boring. I'm surprised you didn't beat his ass then."

"That's too easy," he smirks, "it wouldn't just end with that so I'd rather spend my energy getting your undivided attention. I know how you like to dote more on the injured rather than the victor."

The need to admit that you only do it for him is strong but the urge to roll your eyes is stronger. But he knows what you're thinking. Just like everything. You might be able to read his fists like an expert but he can read your innermost thoughts better than you can imagine. 

"Fine, master this move in ten minutes and I'll let you eat me out in the office."

Seokmin has never gotten down on his hands and knees faster and he looks so good doing it, you might have to save that for future ideas in the bedroom later. After he proves himself first, of course.

Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

onlyseokmins: February 2023 ©

Taglist: Taglist: @joshibambi @junhui-recs @pandorashbox @rubyscoups @woozluv @darlingvernon @charcharfairy @httpswonwoosglasses @yeosayang @buffhoshi @horanghae8star @noraehey @misssugarlips @tinkerbell460 @aceofvernons @dejavernon

[ohposhers]

troll who isnt allowed caffeine or she'll reenact the Hammy energy drink scene from over the hedge clay prefers tea anyway

[heartorbit]

figure skating set right now please. thanks

[simonbrain]

reader who has an intense urge to sink their teeth into something x simon who's broad all over and eagerly presents himself as a blank (not really) canvas for his love

[s0fter-sin]

vampire au where they can only drink the blood type they were before they were turned. other blood has an almost poisonous effect, burning them from within like acid and drinking too much of it can kill them

in the old days, before the knowledge of blood types, it made humans they could feed on absolutely precious. they're kept safe, pampered and doted on; a vampire’s most prized possession

attacking another vampire's human is seen as the highest insult; not only is it a slight against them, it also carries the implication of "i want you to starve"

it's also used as the cruelest of punishments; starving a vampire for months, until they're feral with hunger just for their torturer to throw in a random human, watching them desperately suck down poison, their instincts begging them to keep drinking even as it kills them

ghost is one of the few who survived it; thrown in a pit so deep, he saw stars in the middle of the day, left with nothing but the dried bodies of the humans roba drained without care, others with their throats slit, blood he can't drink spilled out around them

a taunt of the one thing he needs but will never get

but ghost hasn't survived this long just to give up here

he refuses to die in this stinking, rotted pit

ghost is a force of nature as he descends over roba's manor; killing any who wander into his path until the halls run red. until he gets his hands on roba and tells him a secret:

vampires can feed on the blood of any vampire, regardless of blood type

it becomes a legend in vampire high society; if you starve another, you'd best make sure they actually die

otherwise you might end up piled in a dining room, the vampire you left for dead lounging on a throne of corpses with his fangs lodged in your throat

ghost decimates roba's empire, burning it to the ground until no one dares to speak his name in fear of incurring his wrath. it's incredibly taboo for a vampire to feed off another but ghost's too powerful for anyone to challenge him and the other vampires are too scared to try. scared of what he's willing to do, the lengths he'll go to; not that they'll ever admit it

soap is the first human he ever brings to court; delicately bathed in the finest silks and jewels, his throat always bare so he can show off ghost's ownership, his bite framed in lace

he's not like the delicate waifs the other vampires show off; he doesn't cling to his master, demure and submissive. he shows off his teeth as often as any vampire, fully willing to rip out the throats of any who insult him or ghost

a feral master needs a just as feral pet

[fuumiku]

Laios: Dog stan, raised by dogs, attempts to dog behavior at his boyfriend Lycion: Only is in it for the wolfman swag, no dog society rizz, doesn’t understand and doesn’t care

Nothing as fierce as wolf girls when they have creative differences… Can the divide between wolf roleplayer and wolf cosplayer be breached?! Truly the height of narrative themes that laicion offers us

[thefrsers]

requested by Anon: Athena's outfits in 7.04

[cringefailvox]

something a number of very wonderful authors have highlighted a lot in their fics is how permissive and even somewhat self sabotaging alastor gets with people he really likes, as demonstrated both by mimzy and, i believe, him almost dying for the hotel, and i've been utterly fascinated recently by alastor as someone who frequently conflates being used with being wanted/needed meeting vox, who will use anyone for any reason to get what he wants. alastor conceiving of himself as a provider, a protector, his independence enabled by the fact that he doesn't need anyone and everyone needs him—versus vox, who digs his claws in harder the more he loves someone, thinking of himself as a networker, someone who forges exploitative connections easy as breathing because he can't rest until he has his name on everything, even carved into your ribs. alastor loving getting to rescue vox from his little business mishaps, maybe not even noticing that vox hasn't really needed his assistance for years now; vox initially taking advantage to keep himself safe, and then just... never stopping, once he realized he could keep pressing that button forever and alastor would never get tired of playing knight in shining armor.

but maybe... vox got tired of the charade eventually. started calling on alastor less and less, wanting to distance himself from the idea that he needs a stronger overlord looking after him. finally having torn enough away from other people to stand on his own two feet, and desperate for it. and alastor, perceiving that as rejection, as endangering to his sense of self, as a threat to the narcissistic part of him that relished in always getting to be poor vox's powerful, dangerous savior. in this new light, vox's comments about the dying art of radio ring less lighthearted and more like a direct blow to alastor's self-perception, that something so integral to him could be forgotten and discarded so easily, and that makes him furious. maybe it would've even been the healthier move for anyone but them, but the toxic cycle of using and being used was their common language, the way they (and alastor moreso) structured the world and understood their places in it, and once they lost that it was all downhill from there

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

omg opinions on mr reca,

he’s literally >:3, mr. reca is full of silly whimsy and i need to study him under a microscope. he’s such a pathetic unhinged freak and i LOVE that for him <33

but he don’t get pussy, that silly little man gets the biggest strap-on up his ass <33 you could get mr. reca to cum in his pants from just steeping on him a couple of times, and now he’s hooked. he’d hump your foot like the depraved dog he is and drool n pant when you press down even harder. he REEKS of obsessive masochist vibes, dude would constantly follow you around like a lost puppy and refuse to leave you alone.

might as well get yourself your very own personal dog <33

[rendevok]

The sensation of waking up next to you ❤️💙

+bonus doodle:

…and they mimir’d happily ever after the end. ❤️

(ID under cut!)

Miles is roused from sleep by sunlight shining on his face. Slowly, his eyes adjust to the light, until finally, his scope of awareness broadens to a body he had been sleeping on.

Page 2

Miles looks up to the figure that holds him, and upon seeing, his eyes widen in recognition.

Miles looks up to the figure that holds him, and upon seeing, his eyes widen in recognition.

The bottom panel of the page shows minimal details of a window shedding light onto the bed and blankets as seen from a higher view in the room.

Page 3

On the other side of the bed, Phoenix rests, his head propped by the headboard. His hair is messy from sleep, and his expression is thoughtful. The light of the morning highlights his features.

The sun shines through the blinds of the window.

Phoenix finally notices his observer, and turns to look at him.

Page 4

Phoenix takes Miles’ hand in his, and lifts it to gently kiss the ring on Miles’ finger. They both move to share a kiss, and their hands shift to hold one another. Miles’ ring sparkles in the sunlight.

Page 5

They link their fingers as they kiss, and the morning creates a quiet atmosphere around them.

They part, but remain close, their fingers fully interlocked. Phoenix greets “Good morning,” with a tender, loving expression as he looks at Miles. Miles’ own expression is soft, unguarded, and fixed on Phoenix.

Page 6

Phoenix and Miles settle back into their shared bed; the morning sun illuminates them. They both smile softly, seeming happy and at peace. Miles rests his head under Phoenix’s neck, and his hand on Phoenix’s chest. One of Phoenix’s hands rests over Miles’ own on his chest, while his other hand holds Miles closer, revealing a matching ring of his own. Both rings shine softly in the sunlight.

Bonus image

A small simple drawing of Phoenix and Miles having fallen asleep again while holding each other as in the final page of the comic.

End ID.]

[yuwuta]

OMEGA SATORU????????????? RAAAAAAAHHHHWOLF ON HIS KNEES RIPPING OFF CLOTHES im normal about it please elaborate please

chuckles evilly…. satoru’s the kind of omega that knows that other people want him, knows that he could date or sleep with pretty much anybody he wants, but there’s only one person he wants and it’s you, and he’s stubborn and insufferable about it. you seem to be the only alpha in his life that’s immune to him and it drives him crazy—it doesn’t matter how much he flirts, how good he smells, how many times he pouts and blinks and calls you alpha, you just smile and ruffle his hair and it kills him. he doesn’t get it. even nanami has had to take a step away from him when he’s close his heat, but you’re not phased by him at all. 

it’s bordering on pathetic bc you’re not even mates, not even dating, not even close to being anything really—you’re friends and have been for a while, but that doesn’t stop satoru from throwing himself onto you, from pouting, and from proudly declaring that you’re His alpha. he brags and brags and brags to anyone who will listen about how he’s in the best pack in the world, how you’re the best alpha of them all, how he’s the luckiest omega ever, but every time he’s hit with the reality that he’s not yours, he gets unreasonably upset. sometimes, he even tries to take it out on you, gets himself sick or drunk or lets his pheromones run wild while he clings to you and slurs about how you’re supposed to be a good alpha, and take care of him. gets himself all worked up, pacing the floor and pouting and ranting incoherently about how he’s always been yours and it’s not fair that you’re not his and he’s being irrational and he’s definitely not sober, but still, all you have to do is call his name and barely nip at his wrist and it’s like his entire body resets. he freezes and goes slack and he’s scolding himself internally because he’s so weak to you and he can’t do anything to make you succumb to him. 

it’s not like he’d change that tho. it bothers him that he has no sway over you, but, truthfully, he loves the control that you have over him. he likes you can tame him, he likes belonging to you like that. he just wants to have you like that, too. and so yes he’s desperate, yes he’s pathetic, yes he’ll do anything for your attention, but he doesn’t care, satoru wants you and he will do whatever it takes to have you 

[dizzybizz]

al lsasints steret 🥺

i lvoe alll saints stereettttrahghghhhh

[coolnonsenseworld]

Winter Wonderland part 4 - Winter Wondering II - Part 3/8

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linktr.ee/mezzy

[glossdebut]

Take a Bite Ch. 1

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: social drinking, mechanical bull-related injuries lol

✧ WORDCOUNT: 2.7k so far

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi! i'm aqua and this is my first ever fic so please be nice!! i will be crossposting this work and all future works on my ao3 of the same name. i'm figuring out how this works as i go, so please be patient with me. tags are subject to change with every update. i won't have a posting schedule for this one, but i have the first few chapters pre-written, so expect an update sometime next week!

Chapter 1: Lay Your Cards Down, Down, Down, Down

Although this is the furthest thing from your scene, you can’t help but think to yourself that you should invest in some cowboy boots. You could make them work, you’re sure of it.

Even if you know you would never pull the trigger on purchasing any, too far out of the comfort zone of your normal style, the thought is the only thing keeping you sane—that, and the sound of Cowboy Carter blasting through the speakers of the bar, a welcome reprieve from the drawling, boring country anthems you’d been suffering through for the past hour or so. 

You pride yourself on seeing the merit in all genres of music, you do. You were always the type of person who puffed up her chest when you told people ‘I listen to everything,’ uncaring of how pretentious it may sound. You mean it. It’s an asset in your line of work, and as far as you’re concerned, a little bit of pretentiousness is a small price to pay for the, quite frankly, baller route your fledgling career is heading in. 

But a Western bar? Not the kind of place you’d spend a precious Friday night willingly. Another hazard of the job.

After months of skillfully avoiding the weekly Friday nights out with the other rookie reporters at the magazine, you’d run out of excuses not to join them. If four years studying communications taught you anything, it was that connections are everything in the journalism business. Even more so where the music industry is concerned.

So here you are, at your fourth stop of your night of bar hopping with your extroverted and extremely drunk coworkers, nursing warm beer and observing from the least populated corner you managed to scout upon entry. All things considered, you had been a good sport at the three previous stops. You just draw the line at square dancing with the people you work with. College may have beaten your fear of impromptu phone calls and talking to strangers out of you, but your social battery can only take so much. 

Your phone battery, too, you think bitterly as you stare down at the low battery warning on your screen. Okay, so you’ll finish your shitty beer (because you’re not quite successful enough yet to afford wasting alcohol that you’re paying for) and then use your phone’s remaining juice to catch an Uber home. No biggie.

You’re in the middle of turning off your phone with full intent to work out the kinks of your exit strategy when you realize, with irritation, that your chosen corner is about to be invaded.

Your eyes land on a pair of black Jordans ( in a Western bar? your mind supplies, as if you have any room to judge in your Docs) and travel up, past torn black jeans and a black shirt, and just when you’re sensing a theme with this guy, your eyes reach a head of (regrettably, very nice) black hair and a pair of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen. Anish Kapoor would wail at the sight of these eyes, you think.

As if sensing your apprehension, your corner-thief raises his free hand (the other clutching a plastic cup of his own) palm out, as if to say ‘I come in peace’ and stops in his tracks.

“I can find another spot,” corner-thief says, the low rumbling of his voice barely audible above Texas Hold ‘Em. “I’m just waiting for one of my friends to get bored or injured so I can leave.”

“Injured,” you repeat, despite your better judgment to take him up on his offer and let him be on his way. But your phone is dead and you’re a little bit drunk, bored, and even for an unwanted partner in social evasion, this guy is nicer to look at than the frat guys playing beer pong you’ve been observing for the better part of an hour.

Corner-thief grins a stupidly charming gummy smile, leaning just the slightest bit closer to be heard better but still keeping a respectful distance. As if he’s still wary that you’ll lunge at him if he encroaches on your space any further. Good man.

“There’s a mechanical bull upstairs,” he says, using his index finger on the hand holding his cup to point at the ceiling above you both.

Of course there is. With your luck, you’ll also have to peel someone off of the floor later after going head-to-head with the bull.

“Not your thing?” you guess, glancing pointedly at his Jordans, and he shakes his head, huffing through his nose in what you can only guess is a laugh.

“No, I wouldn’t say so.” 

He pauses, shifting from foot to foot for a moment before speaking again. “So, will you share your wall? I can look around again but this place is more packed than I would’ve pegged it for.”

You nod and he smiles again thankfully, taking the spot on the wall next to you. That should be it. Two strangers who don’t want to be here standing in companiable silence next to each other while they wait for their friends–or coworkers, in your case–to put them out of their misery and let them go home.

But… You consider your options, your phone taking its dying breath in your pocket, and you sigh, turning to him.

“Y/N,” you say, holding out your hand for him to shake. 

He takes it with his free hand, giving you an amused look. “Yoongi.”

“What’s that look for?”

He laughs again, a little bit more this time, and your heart does a stupid, funny thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been greeted by a pretty girl in a bar with a handshake,” he says, causing you to flush and pull your hand away as if it’d been burned, your shoulders tensing as you take a sip of your beer. 

A western bar certainly isn’t your scene, but admittedly, neither are bars or clubs in general. You got all of that out of your system in college where everyone was awkward as fuck or too drunk to care that you were, and ever since you got your degree you have lived and breathed your work. Your social skills were never quite up to par, but you didn’t realize you were this fucking embarrassing.

“I came out with coworkers right after we got off, so I think I’m still kind of in work mode,” you lie, and as if sensing that you feel slightly made fun of, Yoongi shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, swear,” he says, tilting his head at you. Dark eyes considering you. “Honestly, I’m thankful you’re putting up with me at all. I don’t think I’d be so kind if the roles were reversed. I know firsthand how hard it is to find a spot to breathe in places like this.”

You feel your shoulder muscles relax just the slightest bit. “I thought about sending you away, but I couldn’t help it. My heart aches when I see an introvert in need of a hiding spot,” you attempt to joke. 

“At least I’m out with friends,” he says sympathetically. “I’ve done the coworker thing before. It’s a drag.”

“It’s weird ,” you correct. “I mean, I sit in meetings with these people. I avoid answering their emails all day. Why is it considered rude to not want to see them piss drunk?”

Yoongi hums in agreement, nodding his head. “What do you do, anyway?”

“I work for Look Here Magazine,” you reply, straightening up a bit in pride when Yoongi’s eyes flash with recognition, his body turning so his shoulder is against the wall now. You turn as well, facing him. “I write for the music section.”

“No shit? I’ve probably read your stuff, then,” Yoongi says, grinning. 

He’s cute. Hot. You can’t help but notice, no matter how hard you’re trying not to. The way that he seems to carry himself in particular, you think, might end up driving you crazy if you’re exposed to it for too long. Maybe you’ve been living under a rock, but you’ve never met a fellow wallflower that still exuded such confidence. He wears it insanely well.

“Look Here covers a lot of big artists,” you hear him continue. “I’m a little surprised you’re hugging the wall, honestly. This place is nothing compared to music industry parties.”

“Ah, I only started a few months ago,” you admit, looking down into your cup. “Not a lot of bylines yet. I haven’t made it into a room with an artist that big yet.”

“But you want to,” Yoongi guesses, and you nod, looking up to meet his eyes. He looks impressed, impressed by you , and that… does something to you. Huh. “Shit, that’s… That’s really cool.”

“Thanks,” you say. You can feel your cheeks heating up again, and you’re suddenly very eager to turn the attention away from yourself. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Ah,” Yoongi says, fixing his eyes to his cup just as you had a moment ago. “I’m a music producer, actually.”

You perk up at that. So that’s why he reads Look Here, why he seemed so interested when you told him what you do. 

“Anything I’ve heard?” you ask, leaning in like he’s about to tell you a secret. Networking never stops.

He watches as you lean, his mouth turning up at the corners in a smirk. “Probably.” 

You wait for more, but it doesn’t come. Shithead. So much for that.

“You’ve gotta give me more than that,” you say, and god, you can hear the pout in your own voice. Are you that drunk? Flirting for a lead in a story?

“I don’t,” Yoongi says simply, his smirk in full force now. Mean and annoying and hot. He hasn’t leaned away from you yet. “I want to know more about you, actually. Journalism is hard work. I’m surprised you have time to go out like this.”

“Like I said, I was forced.”

“Still. Spending time with your friends or family or partner or whatever must take priority when it comes to your free time.”

Why is he so interested? You scrunch your nose, trying to figure out what he could be fishing for here. You don’t make it a habit to divulge the details of your sad excuse for a personal life to strangers, but the alcohol has loosened your lips. Maybe you need to talk about it. It’s not like you’ll ever see him again, anyway.

“My family is back home. My best friend is this insanely talented playwright. She’s constantly traveling. I see her when she can get some time to fly out.” You take a quick sip of your drink, ignoring the pang in your chest. Sometimes it sneaks up on you, how lonely you are. “Other than her, it’s just me, really. The dating thing… Nobody really seems to get how demanding my job can be, and it always ends in hurt feelings.”

There’s a long pause, and you’re worried you’ve shared too much. You’re enjoying talking to Yoongi. You know it doesn’t matter, that you’ll likely never see him again, but it would really, really suck if his permanent mental image of you ends up being ‘lonely weird drunk girl,’ even if that’s what you are. You force yourself to look up at him. The look in his eyes makes your heart flip stupidly again.

“I get that,” he says, and his voice is soft, barely audible over the music filling the space. You’re reading his lips more than anything, honestly, and you don’t let yourself look at them for too long. He may be pretty—unbearably so, you’re realizing—but he’s a stranger. A mean, annoying, hot, pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Every guy says he gets it. This needs to stay what it is, you think. Momentary companionship between introverts who would rather die than square dance.

You don’t get much time to agonize over it. Whatever is going on between you and Yoongi is intercepted quickly by his phone buzzing in his pocket and his responding grimace when he pulls it out to check it.

“Namjoon fell off of the mechanical bull,” he says, like he’s completely unsurprised by that news. He downs the rest of his drink and pockets his phone again, pushing off of the wall. “I’ve gotta deal with that.”

You nod, pulling what you hope is a sympathetic face. “Good luck.”

His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and you hold your breath. He looks like he wants to say something, torn between rushing upstairs to save his friend and staying, just for a moment.

You think you know what he wants to say, think foolishly that maybe he wants to ask for your number, and you honestly don’t know if you’d give it to him if he did. You’re so used to saying no.

He runs his fingers through his hair, opens his mouth to speak, and then he looks down like his phone is buzzing again. When he looks back up, it seems like he’s thought better of it.

“Thanks for sharing your wall,” he settles on, smiling congenially. You smile back, and then he’s heading towards the stairs.

Good, you think. You know better. If he really gets it, he does too.

★ ★ ★

You’re dragged out to one more bar before you finally make it home, your interaction with Yoongi having knocked you off-kilter enough to agree to a few more drinks.

It does wonders for your social status at work, you’re sure, but by the time you’re dropped off you’re dizzy-drunk, fighting to stay upright in the elevator of your apartment building.

You’re fumbling and failing at getting your key into the lock of your front door, tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration, when a voice calling your name a few feet to your right almost makes you jump out of your skin.

You yell, clutching your chest, and when you turn to face the owner of the voice that almost made you lose the contents of your stomach on your doormat, you’re greeted by none other than corner-thief-mean-annoying-hot-pretty Yoongi himself, leaning against the door to the apartment two doors down.

“What the fuck,” you blurt out dumbly, and he laughs. At you! How dare he stand there, lean there, all hot and annoying and in your apartment building for some fucking reason and laugh at you.

“I was going to ask if you needed help,” he says, and oh, fuck. You were safe from just how deep his voice was under the thrum of the music at the bar, but in the quiet of your apartment building this late, you can hear it just fine. Feel it, even. Feel it in places you do not want to humor right now. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you do.”

It’s obvious that Yoongi is faring much better than you are, although his night clearly didn’t end after the mechanical bull incident. Faster than you can react, he’s right in front of you, gently taking your key from your hands and turning it in the lock, like it’s easy.

“Gonna make it in okay?” he asks, looking down at you. You force your brain to make words.

“I’ll be okay,” you assure him, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “Are you stalking me?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I think we’re neighbors.”

“Oh.” Oh. Okay. That’s fine. Just because he’s your neighbor doesn’t mean you have to do something stupid, like see him ever again.

“Give me your number,” he says softly. Oh.

You blink at him, and he grins. Gummy smile. You feel like you’re going to vomit all over his Jordans.

“In case you ever can’t use your keys again,” he clarifies. “I told you, those music industry parties are killer.”

And really, you’re powerless to resist. You give him your number, using all of your remaining brain power to remember the order of the digits. Seemingly satisfied, Yoongi pockets his phone and steps back, heading back to his front door.

“Goodnight, neighbor,” he says, unlocking his door with ease. “Sleep on your side.”

You swallow thickly and nod, slipping inside your own apartment as quickly as you can manage. 

Once you’re in, you sink onto the floor, your back pressed against the door behind you. Your cat, perched on your coffee pot, stares at you in your drunk, flustered state, unimpressed. Offended, even, judging by the way she licks her paw.

You’re so fucked.

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[capricioussun]

He has anxiety