#new ask blog as a spin off of this blog

[waybrightgender]

google how to get someone to stop reading about crypto and using degenerate

[teeskzagain]

˚‧‿₊୨୧₊You're Such A Brat₊ ˚‧୧₊︵‧ ˚ ₊

» pairing: arrogant!sunghoon x bratty!reader

» summary: since high school, park sunghoon has been the absolute bane of your existence. you’ve always viewed him as a stuck-up snob, and he has always seen you as a whiny brat. you aren’t sure why your mother still thinks of you two as friends, you can hardly stand being in the same room as each other. while at home from college one night, your mother surprises you with news of a work event she and mrs. park will be attending. the catcher? mrs. park’s nightmare of a son is going to be forced to spend the evening at your house…..

» warnings: college au, lots of arguments (both are toxic af), lowkey manipulative on both ends?? t e n s i o n, one scene depicting choking, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP), extremely rough sex, enemies….to…?, lil unserious in the beginning, reader and sunghoon genuinely detest one another (but isn’t that the best😫) mean!dom sunghoon, bratty!sub y/n, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), degrading kink, teasing, heavy/aggressive make-outs, breasts play, masturbation (f. - reader masturbates to fake scenario), humiliation kink, dirty talk, reader used to be affiliated with p.sh, orgasm denial + fingering, ass + pussy slapping, slight mentions of lee heeseung & sim jake...

» w.c: 11.5k (no wonder why it took forever!)

» a/n: would like to apologize for the delay!! but, it's finally here. please let me know if i should do more enha works.

» taglist: @indigoez @jakeswifez @aanniikkaa @slut4hee @heeknow @rairaiblog-blog @no1likeneo @d-dilemma @soobingf-blog @shuaxzcake @mingyuslice @heelovesmeknot @mitmit01 @hpnsfwaddict @jooniesbears-blog @pasteltheghost16 @goodforgyu @sunghoonsbigcoketip

"Why do you have to leave?" With a droopy face, you annoyingly complain- yet again -to your mom about her rude decision of abandoning you.

She rolls eyes- yet again -at your antics and continues to put up the last bits of groceries, "It's a simple work event, Y/N. I'm not sure why you're being so stubborn right now. Plus, you used to love when Sunghoon and his mother came over."

You shudder at the mere mention of his name, "That was before he became such a stuck up fucking prick-"

That line earns yourself a disapproving, 'Y/N!' and in turn you retract your statement with a couple of half-assed, 'sorry, sorry'.

Though, in your head, you knew you held back from saying worse things.

Your mother sighs deeply as she finishes shoving the last few items into the fridge before spinning around to face you, "I'm not asking a lot from you, just entertain the boy or something while we're out. Is that really too difficult?"

She lets her question hang in the air for a second, then proceeds to move from the kitchen to the living room. However, if she thought she could escape you, she would be dead wrong. Because you're not far from her in step.

"Okay, new question." You propose which earns another groan from Mom. You stop in place when she leans over to dust the couch off with her hands, " Since you and Mrs. Park are carpooling to the event, I understand why she's coming here. But does he really have to come too? Why can't he just stay at his own damn-.....d-dang, house?"

When she straightens herself out, she bears a look of plead in hopes that this is truly the last of your inquiries, "His mother is the one who suggested it. And if we're being truthful, you and Sunghoon used to be so......" she pauses, looking for the right word, "....so cute when the two of you were close."

A hand flies to your mouth as you internally gag at your mother's words. Cute? Maybe 10 years ago, when you both were still in elementary. But that was before he had the chance to grow into his unbearably horrid of a personality.

Granted, you partly blamed his high school friend group for his abominable transformation. While, yes, you did agree that Sunghoon just naturally held the asshole gene, you were also certain that hanging around and slinging dicks with stupid Sim Jake and stupid Lee Heeseung, surely wasn't going to help this fact either.

Disgusting pricks. All of them.

You lower your hand slowly, "Please don't remind me of that time."

"For the love of-" She excuses herself from your vicinity and struts back into the kitchen, "Honey, I don't understand how you could be acting like this. I thought once you two went off to university together, things would be different by this point."

Oh. It's different alright.

Instead of the harsher stares he used to simply give in high school, Sunghoon has upgraded his abrasiveness to terrible comments directed towards your character. Any chance possible, the two of you would butt heads even more than your previous encounters. On campus, in passing, at parties; if you saw him anywhere, you just knew something would be said.

On top of that, it also doesn't help that his buffoon bunch of friends followed him to the same college as you. And, you had to see them everywhere.

You figured once you came home, you could enjoy a week of internal peace. Free from the many stressors that come with university. Now, your mother seems to disregard any of your warnings and wants to let the main stressor inside of your house?

"Can I add as well," she speaks up in the absence of your voice- you had been too busy pouting- "I know the two of you share the same English class, and according to his mother, he's been excelling at his papers."

At the insinuation, your mouth drops agape, however, she disregards the reaction and continues on, "You can ask for some pointers from him."

"Absolutely not." There was no way that could've been an option. Firstly, you would never hear the end of it from Sunghoon: ‘Oh, you want help from me? I didn’t realize you were so awful at this,’ and then it probably would’ve been followed up with, ‘Well, I can’t say I’m too surprised. You’re not the…brightest person I’ve met.’

Annoying bastard.

He would never let you live that down, and frankly, you didn't want to give him anymore ammo to shoot you in the face with. Henceforth, that couldn’t be an option. Not if you wanted to keep your sanity.

Your mother regards you intently, and slowly begins to shake her head. She couldn't do it anymore, didn't know what more to say; a wall has clearly been put up and you are as strong as steel, not letting anything through. As she's left puzzled on how to refute your statement, a ping from her phone catches her eye briefly.

She casts her gaze downwards, keeps it there for a few seconds, and then she's looking back up at your contorted face.

"Well, sweetie,” a strained smile begins to spread, “You should probably fix that attitude of yours. They just got here." The doorbell ringing acts as a nail in the coffin, confirming your mother's words.

“You’ve got to be-”

She interrupts your complaining to tell you to get the door, so she can run upstairs and grab her purse. You're quick to bellow out a groan, but she's even quicker to shut that down, and instructs you to do it immediately while half-way up the staircase.

Once she disappears, you amble sluggishly towards the front, and as you're about ready to swing it open; a long, harsh breath is exhaled from the other side followed by a grumble.

"You better be nice to her or I swear Sunghoon...."

It's Mrs. Park, who's voice seemed to have a combination of both sincerity and aggression laced in it. Your eyebrows furrow, listening harder.

"Yeah, yeah. Be nice to the brat, I heard you the first 4 other times." He finishes with his own irritated huff.

Your expression goes wide at that. Is he fucking serious? Did he really just call you a brat? You. A brat? You're mind relishes in disbelief.

"Sunghoon!" His mother responds with, and more indistinct talking arose. However, while their voices grew quieter your annoyed levels skyrocketed. You begin to think that it's quite plausible….someone might die tonight.

"Y/N! Did you grab the door yet?" Your mom yells from her bedroom.

You do a double-take as you match her volume, "I'm doing it right now!"

Unbolting the locks, you pull back the piece of wood to reveal a very eager Mrs. Park, staring at you with smiley eyes. Sweeping your gaze right, there stood the ever straight-faced and stoic Park Sunghoon.

Even as you do a once over at his appearance- black hair fringed on his forehead, hands shoved into his long, sleek coat, and black sweats that barely poke out from underneath -you find it so, incredibly jarring that this came out of the always cheery Mrs. Park.

He didn't even try to smile, unlike you who beamed out a grin towards them, "Hello Mrs. Park! It's been so long since I last seen you.”

Dissimilar to her son, Mrs. Park is ready to envelope you into a warm hug. She extends her arms out and the two of you intertwine in a genuine and comforting embrace.

"Oh! Y/N! It truly has been a while," when she draws back, you watch her scan your face with an affectionate smile, "You just get more and more beautiful every time I see you." At the last second, she peeps over towards her son for encouragement, "Right, Hoonie? Doesn't she look lovely?"

His impassive eyes regard his mother, then ever so leisurely does he drag them onto your stature. The moment eye contact is made, you shift anxiously. Because why the hell is he looking at you like that?

You start to play with the hem of your oversized hoodie, which flowed nicely into your oversized sweatpants. Anyone with eyes could tell you’re not dressed for company. Hair messy from laying around, hardly any make-up on.

Clearly, you weren’t expecting anyone today. Nonetheless, someone who took so much pride in his appearance. You almost felt jealously from it. Like he’s somehow proving the point that he’s better in almost every way- clothing included. It’s infuriating.

With a single look up and down, Sunghoon cocks his head slightly before giving his answer, "No."

Intense bickering between mother and son start up, and you're left standing with a twitching eye of vexation as already you sense your patience running thin. Your fingers curl inwards to form a fist. It hasn’t even been 30 seconds and you feel like punching him.

"I am so sorry about him, Y/N. I don't- I don't know what his problem is..." She stops midway to address another mumble from the boy. The two have a minor quarrel this time, and then she’s back to focusing on you, ".....ah, may we come in?"

It takes your full strength to squeak out an, 'absolutely', despite your innate feelings. With a step back, you widen the door to appear more welcoming and the two of them step inside of your house.

Mrs. Park instantly calls out to your mother, with her shouting back at Mrs. Park, and when it's Sunghoon's turn to walk past, you couldn't help but notice the somewhat aggressive breeze he emits as he pushes through you.

A part of you could’ve sworn you also heard him mutter something in passing, but regardless, you decide to let that go instead of calling him out. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling, you hope to soothe the ever growing nerves that’s been caused so far.

Remember, self-control. Right, that is a thing and you are more than capable of exhibiting it. So, keep your cool. Try not to blow up. At the very least, if not for yourself, then for the sake of both your mother and Mrs. Park.

Yes, for them. You can do this for them. Just simply don’t engage and all will be well.

You repeat this to yourself a few more times as you close the door. All will be well if you let it be. Now feeling better, you flip around to see your mom make a descent back down into the living room, a purse now dangling from the crevice of her elbow.

She sashays up to Sunghoon’s mother, and the two women squeal in delight as they engulf one another. It’s admirable how much they care for each other, proving why they became such good coworkers then friends. You also find it adorable how similar their outfit choices are, with both of them sporting a dark blue dress.

Once they part, your mother turns her attention over towards the previously brooding boy. Though, you find it interesting how Sunghoon seems to have an easier expression now.

"Sunghoon, you're too tall! How am I supposed to reach you?" She gushes while brining him in for hug. A light chuckle dances out of him, and after a brief second they're pulling back from one another. Mrs. Park jumps in on the conversation about her son.

They begin to go on and on about all of his accomplishments; 'Oh! Sunghoon I heard you're doing excellent in your courses,' and, 'You are so involved with the community, it’s wonderful to see that someone’s trying.’ It’s sickening to see the immediate chokehold he has on the women, you observing the conversation emotionlessly.

After their near 20 minute rant (or what felt like it) finally your mother remembers your presence and decides to rope you in. She ushers you to come closer, and after a hasty back and forth, you scoot only mere inches into the circle, closer to him.

"You've been scoring well on your essays, Sunghoon, isn't that right?" Your mom starts and you want to scream right then and there.

He affirms her question with a swift nod, "Yes. I have."

"I don't think he's gotten below a 91 on his papers." Mrs. Park chimes in, and you secretly curse your mother for where this topic is about to go.

Your mom's eyes brighten as she looks over to Sunghoon, "That's amazing to hear. Actually, I think Y/N could use some tips on a few of her past works. She's been getting marked off on nearly every single one of them and could use the help!"

He hums in amusement, raking his eyes until they rest on your scowl. You feel his stare on you as you cross your arms and side step away from him, "Was that necessary to bring up?”

"Oh," your mother waves a dismissive hand, "Nonsense, sweetie. I'm sure a few pointers from this one will help raise that C- you have."

"Mom!"

Before you could object any further, a gasp leaves Mrs. Park's mouth and quickly she’s pulling your mother off to the side. She just remembered some news from work. While the two women chat, you’re left to stand idly, eyes darting off to the side while a wave of quietness engulfs the air. Sunghoon remains silent, as well.

You sure as hell hadn’t planned on talking to him and if that meant silence would be bestowed, then so be it. It’s for the better, anyways. You’re trying a new approach at things, and if you're forced to converse with him, you’re afraid it’ll lead to someone getting choked out. Not you, by the way. So…to avoid conflict, silence it is.

A short sigh from Sunghoon interrupts your thinking. You do a quick glance up at the..irritatingly tall boy, and see his gaze is turned all the way left, side-profile on display for you. He must’ve picked up on your hostility, which is why he has not said anything, you believe. Good. He should know better than to get you riled-

“You have a C- in that class? Are you serious?”

Perplexed, you raise your eyebrows from the sudden outburst, “Excuse me?”

Is he really trying to start this right now?

He keeps his head faced away from you, then at the last second he twists it back and you see a new expression dawns on him. That of complete arrogance, “English Literature is a stupid easy class. I’m surprised to hear you’re doing poorly.”

As you open your mouth to shut up him, he proceeds further with his berating, “Then again,” he lets out a dry laugh, “I guess I shouldn’t be so shocked that you need me. You’ve always fell short when it came to academics.”

Sunghoon watches your face morph into pure anger, and as sick as it may be for him to admit it, this is where he finds true enjoyment. In the reactions you always give in the moments you feel wronged.

You do a short shuffle as you feel yourself releasing the chains of self-control. You knew he would act this way. He always does.

“Okay, so I’m not doing well,” you state matter-of-factly, “So. Fucking. What? I’d rather have a shitty grade in this class than beg some snobby prick for aid.”

You tried to hold back.

At the sudden drop of name calling, a bitter grin erupts onto his lips, “Like you deserve my help.”

“For the record, I never asked for it,” you throw a hand up as new found confidence starts to build up in your core, “But trust me. If I really needed you, then I would make you fucking help me.”

His eyes widen from your accusation, “You really think I would tend to you? Knowing your unruly attitude?” Disbelief switches onto his face, his thick eyebrows creasing together uncomfortably, “God. You’re such a brat.”

And just like that, you hit a snapping point. Without wasting another second, you begin to hurl every insult in the book his way, your rage boiling past whatever containment you thought you had. He’s ready to argue back at you when a light shriek stops both of you mid sentence.

"Oh, we need to get a move on it. I didn’t even realize the time. It’s about to be 7.” Your mother comments and you almost retort it with a snide remark on how inquisitive she's been about Sunghoon's life.

Mrs. Park trots her way towards the door, saying her final goodbye to her son along the way. Your mother shares her own words of departure, though it's mixed with your protest on her leaving.

"Alright kiddos, we'll try not to be too long." She speaks with one foot out the door, "Y/N, please treat our guest kindly."

You give the boy, who's now walked up and standing to the side of you, a deathly glower, "Get him the fu-"

"Y/N. Kindly, please." She reiterates with a sweet bite, and to that you could only sigh defeatedly.

Mrs. Park is not far behind your mother as she twists to address Sunghoon one last time, "Honey, please be-"

"Be nice, I know." He finishes in a sort of annoyed tone. Though after that, being nice is the last thing she would need to worry about.

With more reassurance, the two women give each other a passing glance, and soon after another round of goodbyes, the door closes shut.

Leaving you trapped here with your absolute nightmare.

With a deep groan, you stagnantly turn towards Sunghoon just as he’s twisting his body to reluctantly face you. Peering up through your eyelashes, you make absolutely sure he feels the unwelcomed signals radiating off of you as you go to speak.

"Stay the fuck away from me."

His eyes roll nearly out of their sockets as he starts to slip off his coat, "What happened to being kind to your guests?"

He mocks the words that were handed to you, and your eyes narrow while watching him hang the jacket on a nearby rack.

You notice his shirt of choice- now on display -is a tight black T-Shirt, curving and outlining all of the spots you hate the most about him. God, you think you just got even more annoyed.

Turning your nose upwards, you start to inch closer towards the staircase, "I couldn't care less about that, if I'm being completely honest." You do a full twirl so all Sunghoon can see is your back, "Here’s what you can do: either entertain yourself in the living room or get the fuck out. Choose whatever you want as long as it doesn’t involve me.”

He goes tight-lipped. You are just the epitome of an ungrateful little brat, holy fuck. Sunghoon shoots his vision away with a brief head shake. Despite his growing emotions, he knows it will be better to not engage. He really didn’t feel like fighting with you right now. Like how you both always manage to do.

Clearing his throat, Sunghoon begins to walk slowly towards the couch, his upper muscles flexing with every step, "Whatever. I'm not dealing with you tonight."

That makes you halt in your tracks. Dealing with you? What? Like you're some untrained puppy?

"No, I'm not dealing with you tonight,” you sneer back then scoff, retreating upstairs once again, “Just fucking stay down here and we won’t have any more problems.”

His back hits the couch cushion with a flop as he starts to call out to you, “Right. It’s not like the problem isn't taking itself upstairs at the moment!"

Oh, that touched a nerve. So much so that you find yourself shouting from the second story, having made it up there a few seconds prior, “You should’ve just stayed at your own fucking house!”

"Do you ever stop fucking talking?” He raises his voice back at you; maybe not quite to the extent of your screaming, but nonetheless you could hear him from upstairs.

Upon entering your room, you slam the door shut with all your might. You swear you even felt the floor shake from the force. Pissed doesn’t even begin to describe your emotions currently. You’re at a whole new level.

You're fuming. Chest huffing, fists clenched, ooh- you've never met someone who irked as badly as fucking Park Sunghoon had.

Why? Why? Why did he have to be in your home right now? Why did your mother think this was a good idea? And why did he have to look so nice with his stupid shirt and black joggers?

You begin to pace around your room.

He's messing with you, clouding your head with complex thoughts. If there's one thing you loathed most about the boy downstairs it's his ability to turn your brain to mush.

It's like all thoughts and rationality fly out of the window, and instead is replaced with....just nothing. Nothing but anger, resentment, and a tiny bit of something else however you're willing to suppress that for the time being.

You bring a thumb up to stroke your lip. Mind racing, your brain starts to piece together what you should do to alleviate this stress. You're going crazy, you recognized that, and you’re certain a distraction is needed for you to get your thoughts cleared.

As you think back to all that has you feeling so jumbled, a sudden surge runs throughout your core. No. You know what your body is attempting to do. And it’s not going to work. Even as another hits you and makes your thighs clench unwillingly, you hold on to your determination.

You can’t do it, you tell yourself. Especially when Sunghoon’s downstairs. It’s ridiculous. Unfathomable. There is no way you would…..

Moments later, you find yourself completely and utterly naked in your bed, deciding the best way to calm down is by having a….release. Your pulses started became too unbearable to ignore, leaving you with only one option. This option.

Is it the most convenient method of stress relieving? Well, probably not. But, truly, in times where you’re free to strip bare and dish out a quickie, you always find it leaves your mind feeling blissful.

And you desperately need that right now, because in all honesty, you aren’t sure what the hell you’re feeling right now due to Sunghoon.

As your brain is beginning to wonder, you absentmindedly brush the backs of your fingers against your lower stomach. Park Sunghoon. The name is like poison in your head, and you can’t find the damn cure for some reason.

Your hand drops a little lower. Thinking back on your most recent argument, you remember the eye contact you two held, before forcing yourself to break free from his gaze. You tilt your head, the memory becoming even more clear. That damn gaze.

…..if only he could use it from a different angle.

A sharp exhale flies out of your mouth as you realize you’ve made contact with your clit. You’re lighting swarming around the area while it continues to throb enticingly. A different angle? Like….one where he’s in between your legs, staring at you with those stupid fucking know-it-all eyes.

Your body responds well to that imagination, your hips slightly bucking into your hand to garner some friction. Would you two be on the bed? No, you think you like the idea of getting him on his damn knees and making him eat you out nice and slowly while on floor…a whole lot better.

He’d tried to take control, you already know his arrogant ass would. Yet, in reality, you will be the one calling the shots. If he starts to suck a little too much for your likings, one hair tug and he’ll slow down. Cause he’ll listen to you, you’ll make sure of it.

A small smile cracks out onto your face, focusing deeply on your sprouting pleasure. Yeah, you like the Park Sunghoon in your imagination a lot better than the one real life. Your fingers are now circling the bud, producing ripples of sensation that keeps your movements and thoughts going.

He’ll keep his attention fixed on you the whole time he’s devouring you, you assume. Because if there’s one thing about Sunghoon, he’ll love to see you come undone at the cause of him. Would love to see that sexy ass face you make right before you orgasm.

And the way your thighs will squeeze around his cheeks so perfectly, oh fuck him. He’d get so fucking horny from just tasting your sweet, sweet pussy.

Shutting your eyes, your vision explodes with images of your lewd thoughts, playing out your ideal fantasy. You can hear yourself start to whimper while your pelvis becomes more sporadic in the way it chases the coming feeling.

At the minute you tell him you’re close, he’d latch onto your clit, no plan on stopping. Scratch that, he probably couldn’t stop himself from finishing you out. You’ve been treating him so well up until this point. Letting him cum inside you, in your mouth; the least he could do is give you a head-splitting orgasm.

You rub your soaking cunt all over the palm of your hand, desperation coursing through your veins. Imagine annoying little Sunghoon, who’s only wish is for you to cum. To cum all over his face, down his own throat. He’s on his knees below you because he wants the full effect of seeing how much you’re letting yourself go from his tongue.

Then, with one long sucking motion, you’d fall apart. With your orgasm hitting you dead on your clit, you’d start to quiver on top of him while screaming out, ‘So fucking good, So fucking good. Fuck, you’re making me cum.’

Your hand speeds up to have you cumming alongside your scenario, your own real orgasm washing over you deliciously. It leaves your body stuttering and eyes rolling back into your head as you continue to work at your pussy during the duration. And all you could think about was how much you fucking hated stupid Park Sunghoon.

Once your high comes down, you firstly lay in your bed to recover. That had to have been one of your best and strongest impromptu session. Fuck, did you enjoy every part of it.

True to nature, as well, your mind is so foggy from the haze that you can’t even recall your earlier fury, which is now replaced with a more simple feeling: lust. You bask in the warmness that’s spreading and also give your cunt a chance to get desensitized, before swinging your legs off of the bed and walking over to your dresser.

It was starting to get hot with your thick layers on anyways, which is why you opt for thinner clothes. You pull out a pair of cotton shorts that stop upper thigh on you, and then a cropped T-shirt for simple comfort.

Needing to wash your hands quickly, you swiftly run into the connected bathroom to your room, lather your hands in soap and soon you’re rinsing yourself off. When finished with that, you smile contently as you walk back to your bedroom and flop down stomach first onto the mattress.

You really did feel better. Your anger has subsided by now, the orgasm keeps your mind still a bit dizzy, there were no complaints to be had. Now, you planned on spending the rest of your evening locked up in here so you can continue feeling as such. Boom, simple as that.

A loud buzz from your phone on the nightstand has you scrambling to reach it, that giddy feeling not once leaving. Though, once you flip it over to reveal a text from your mother, you feel your smile drop immediately.

8:09 PM

Mom:

Hey sweetie, just wanted to do a quick check-in on the two of you. I hope everything's going okay.

You begin to type out a borderline aggressive message back, something along the lines of how everything was not going okay, but another message swooshes in before you could even finish your own.

After doing some rethinking, you don’t need to ask Sunghoonie for help anymore. It wasn’t fair of me to put you in that position without asking you first. You’re old enough to make your own decisions now, and if you think you’ll be okay without asking him for help, then you can decide that. I’m sorry for making you feel as if you never had a choice.

You stop your rant midway, and look closer at the message. Oh. Oh. Oh….

“Mom…” With a frown, you watch as yet another message flies across your screen, and you find that you’re a bit more accepting of this one.

8:14 PM

Mom:

But, I do want to make sure that you are trying with Sunghoon. I understand as of right now, it may be difficult to do so, you two are apparently quite hostile. However, I’m asking if you can extend the white flag, at least for tonight. Make sure he’s not hungry, maybe you two can put on a movie downstairs. Just try and be cordial, that’s my only request. Can you do that?

Stomach churning, you begin to gnaw on your bottom lip right now, those complex emotions rising up again. Dammit. You seriously thought nothing more would come out of this situation tonight. You thought once you had your….release, you would be able to relax freely without any stressors.

But then you reread her latest text, and guilt surfaces in your heart. Maybe…you haven’t been putting in as much effort as you could have; you did just leave the boy downstairs to fend for himself. Is it possible for you to set your very, very strong feelings and just…suck it up for the sake of your mother?

You were accepting of this feat earlier.

A quick scroll up has you revisiting the first large paragraph she sent you, the one that acknowledges your feelings. Your mother is trying right now, and you register that it would be unfair of you to not try as well.

8:20 PM

Y/N:

okay mom, i can do that for you.

You're downstairs before you know it. After many, many, many mental preparations, you now feel ready to be within the same space as the devi- Park Sunghoon.

Approaching your living room, the pale yellow lighting illuminates Sunghoon's backside, giving you a clear view of him. With one defined arm stretched out on top of the cushion, Sunghoon seems entranced with the movie playing on T.V, not appearing to have noticed your presence.

You shuffle your feet against the floor until you slow to a halt. In the span of your waiting, not once does he turn around. The movie must be drowning out your existence. Pivoting, you opt to round out the couch and stand in the middle for visibility. Sunghoon keeps his eyes trained forward. Surely, he feels your presence now, even if he may not be acknowledge it.

Sticking your hip, you gently clear your throat, "Ahem."

He throws a cruel glare over his shoulder before reverting back to his previous position, no comment to be left from him. You're standing still, okay then...

You dart your eyes away to view something else, then sweep them back over to his body, “Are you…hungry?”

A look of bewilderment dawns on his face as he shoots you a perplexed look, “Why are you asking me that? Wouldn’t you rather have me starve?”

“I-” you try to rebuttal his claim, but incriminatingly you start to avoid eye contact with him, “No. Not necessarily…”

Yeah-fucking-right. He highly doubts that's true. Instead of replying, Sunghoon turns back towards the television. Silence remains. You follow his eyesight to watch a couple of seconds of the movie. Well, so much for trying.

You continue to stand awkwardly, wrapping your arms around your torso and rocking yourself back and forth slightly. Just try. Just try. Just. Try.

"Park Sunghoon." You mumble out and he snaps his attention towards you. If not for your eyes lurching up to look at the ceiling, then maybe you would have noticed the surprise once over he does to your outfit.

“What?”

You look down again, and try to shake the embarrassment that’s clawing at you. Just try, “C-Can I watch this with you?” Holy fuck that felt harder to say.

Sunghoon squints his eyes as he tries really hard to figure out what the hell is your deal. Merely an hour ago, the two of you were having a screaming match, and now you’re fidgeting and asking to be in the same room as him….willingly?

He doesn’t buy that for a second.

He drags his pupils up and down your frame, his greedy eyes wanting to drink in more of it, but at the realization of what he was doing, he forces himself to look away. Willingly? Yeah, no. He figures your mother would be the cause for this. Only reason he says this: his own mom sent a text not too long ago telling him to try harder with you. And…it appears you are at least doing something.

With a rough sigh, Sunghoon decides to not say anything else, but rather signals you to sit down with a single quick head tilt. Your face grimaces at his cave-man like gesture, and although you went slowly about it, you do as he says and take a seat.

You snuggle deeper into the couch cushion, and allow your body to relax. You’re so used to being on guard whenever around Sunghoon, it feels almost natural to stiffen up. Letting yourself relinquish this tension built up in your muscles, you find it easier to keep your cool.

Dropping your arms to your side, you start to focus harder on the movie and less on the boy sitting next to you. Does it slightly freak you out that his fingertips are only centimeters away from your shoulder? Yes. But for the most part, you can sense this is….tolerable. As if for once, you don’t feel like biting Park Sunghoon’s head off.

Minutes turn into over an hour this movie has been on, and both you and Sunghoon have managed to not get into a single argument. You aren’t sure when the last instance of this was. Elementary, maybe? Regardless, you’re at ease.

Your arm is propping your head up as you watch the characters on screen. The movie, though you never asked for its name, was some romantic comedy. You picked up on this fact a few minutes into watching it. And, wow, were they intense on the romance.

You couldn’t even count the amount of make-outs that has happened since you’ve been watching. You almost want to say 8 so far- oh, make it 9 now.

The lead characters are on their 9th kissing scene, stumbling around and fondling one another in the bathroom at some house party. You watch closely, part of your brain now heightened. The male actor is kissing the female until her ass touches the sink, and then he’s hoisting her up so she can sit on the counter.

Your face contorts unpleasantly. The scene further plays out to where the girl is begging the man for sex, desperate to have him inside of her, and you feel your mouth go dry.

This is beginning to hit a little too close to home for your likings, with a dusted memory you swore to bury attempting to resurface. You push the thoughts aways. Not now.

Trying to ignore the random squeeze your legs do, you tell yourself to ignore the familiarities and simply focus on the movie. However, at the moment the man grips the the women’s throat and she moans intensely, you nearly freeze. Yeah, you can’t watch this anymore.

With an airy voice, you keep your eyes fixed on the T.V to seem passive, “Change it to something else.”

“What?” Sunghoon doesn’t glance over to you, also keeping his gaze forward, “Why?”

You scoff lightly. Why can’t he just listen to you? What’s with the interrogation? “You always ask so many questions. Just change it.”

To that he responds with nothing. You’re not giving him a proper response, so why should he listen to you? He remains engrossed in the movie.

When a few notable beats pass, you crane your neck over to his direction with a scrunched faced, “Yah. Did you hear me? I said put on something else.”

He briskly whips his head to meet your eyes, his dark eyes boring harshly, “I don’t care what you have to say. I’m not changing it.”

Fed up with him, you reach over to grab the remote when he obtains it first. You glare menacingly at Sunghoon, while he mocks your expression, then holds the remote high above, taunting you. His slender fingers harboring it only fuels your anger, which grows hotter by the second.

“Don’t piss me off.” You warn with undertones of a threat, as you climb over him to reach for the device. He extends it further away from your grasp.

“Or what?”

Bobbing the remote over your head, he just knew you were going to lose your cool at some point. That’s what all whiny brats do when they never get their way; they throw tantrums.

“Just fucking put on something else!” You scream, fighting him for the remote.

You don’t care if you can feel your shorts start to ride up into your butt, or if your boobs are being shoved up against Sunghoon’s body. You don’t care that you’re basically on top of him, trying to win this remote, because all rationality has exited your head.

You ask him to do one simple thing, and he fucking couldn’t. Then, he wants to tease you and make fun of you? You tried, you think back to your mother’s message, and in your mind the exchange begins to burn. You really fucking tried, but this…arrogant bastard just always makes it so damn hard.

He shakes the little strands of hair away from his face as he narrows his eyes brutally towards your squirmy body, “What the fuck is your deal? You’re telling me your whore ass can’t handle one god damn sex scene?”

This time you don’t say anything back to him, instead your intention remains on getting the fucking remote. He takes your lack of response as an opportunity to dig further at you.

“Really? You’re going to act like that?” He spews out more comments while continuously keeping the control from getting in your reach, “I find it hard to believe you’re freaking out-”

“Damn brat. You’ve been needing this fucking for a long time, haven’t you?”

At the line of dialogue, Sunghoon shifts his attention towards the scene being played out, one of which the girl is now bent over the sink with the man pounding roughly into her backside. And with the combination of the man’s words and the stimulating scene, his eyes widen as he finally realizes what the core problem is.

A wave of deja vu hits him. A few months ago, he had you in a damn near similar position to that on the TV, even saying similar phrasing. The two of you had been drunk off of your minds, resulting in the memory being blocked from his head.

“What the fuck?” He mumbles, letting his guard down, giving you the chance to swoop upwards and snatch the remote away. All scattered-brain, you press the power button and watch as the TV powered down.

“See.” You grit through your teeth, throwing the remote down in the meantime, “I told you. I told your dumbass to fucking change it. But, no. You didn’t want to listen to me.”

His own chest starts to burn with aggression at your words, and he looks over to you angrily, “Will you just shut the fuck up? My god, you’re so annoying.”

“What? Mad because I was right?” You fake a pouty voice, your eyes going all doey while regarding him before swiftly fixing your face, “I never want to think about that night, and here you go, basically parading it in my face. And based off of your reaction, I can tell you hate thinking about it too.”

Sunghoon sits up from off of the couch, and brings his forearms to rest against his knees. That night was full of mistakes. Jake inviting him to that dumb ass party, Heeseung feeding him back to back shots of some sort of alcohol. The kind of of alcohol that forces you to act on thoughts that otherwise would've been suppressed.

The memories all rush back to him. The moment he saw you at the party, laughing and dancing around in that tiny fucking dress. It was like right then and there, his views on you changed. Instead of dismissing your presence, he found himself drawn to it. Instead of ignoring the silhouette of your body, he allowed himself to watch every single part of you.

When throwing all caution to the wind and deciding to walk up to you, he remembers you being equally as wasted as himself. That hadn’t stopped you from throwing an immediate snarl at his approach, however. Although the interaction started with you two bickering, as always- the evening had ended so much differently.

He remembers it all. Moving from the main room to the bathroom, still jabbing insults at each other. How from one second to the next, your dress was now hiked up above your hips. The touching, the teasing, how hard the two of you came. The whole scene plays out in his head, and for some reason, Sunghoon can’t stop it.

You snide in another comment which breaks his thoughts, “Yeah, I guess I’d be mad too if I were you. You basically threw yourself at me and begged to fuck me. It’s pathetic how desperate you were.”

Now, you’re really heated. You rise to your feet in seconds and march over to stand above him, feeling reminiscent of your previous imagination. At the noticeable imbalance, the same satisfaction from earlier mixes with your current anger.

It spreads across your chest as you lour down at him, watching him bring a hand over his mouth, “For a change, you don’t have anything to say, is that why you’re silent? Did I finally get you to shut up?”

At the quietness that lingers in the air, you press further to elicit a greater reaction. Bursting out more and more taunts, you knew this is where you found enjoyment, watching him spiral and be confused by his own thoughts. You’re proud to make him feel just as perplexed as you were the whole night.

You’re ready to throw another insult his way when his tall body shoots up into the air, looming over you. His eyes are rage-filled, you can see that, and reactively you backpeddle just as he rushes closer to you.

“Y/N, I swear to fucking god. You’re going to make me lose my mind.”

For a brief second, your hard exterior falters. His warning is low- almost growl like. It intimidated you initially, but then swiftly you regain composure and stand your ground, “You make me lose my mind all the time. So what? You’re not special.”

You audibly hear his breathing, and it begins to sync up with your own heavy pants. Both of you are pissed, that much is clear. It’s just about who is going to crumble first. And surely, it won’t be you.

He’s got a crazy look to his eyes, “I’m telling you right now. Shut. Up.”

You knew better than to challenge him. You knew you should walk away and storm upstairs. Exit the situation before matters get even worse. Quite literally anything else should be done, than the actions you decide to take.

You close the distance between you both, smiling the whole time as he brings his head in to regard you. At the recognition of that sick, sick smile you’re showcasing, he too knew it would be over.

Your voice starts off quiet, whispering out a, “What will happen if I don’t?” before absolutely losing it in his face, “Just face it, Sunghoon. You're not the perfect person you portray yourself to be after all. I mean, fucking the person you hate most at a party? Even that's a new low for you."

You hover below his face, stretching your body tall until your noses are almost touching, "I'm tired of you pretending to be higher than everyone else. Always treating people like they’re twenty feet below you. You’re vile and I think it's time you realized.....maybe you're the fucking problem. Hmm? Did you not think of-?"

Sunghoon doesn't know what came over him. One second, you're throwing words after words at him, and next thing he knows, he's pushing you up against the wall, knocking the wind out of you.

His veiny hands are curled around your neck, and your mouth hangs from shock at the sudden movement while he holds you firmly in your place. The pressure he's applied is not enough to significantly hurt you, he made sure it didn't, but was definitely enough to finally get you to stop talking.

You gasp lightly and your head feels faint.

"Do you…remember how that night started?" His tone is dark with his focus solely on you. You try bringing your hands up to pry him off of you, but he doesn't budge, instead going to answer his own question, "Because if memory serves me right, you were the one who was desperate. Desperate for this.”

This referring to the minor squeeze his hand does around your throat. He continues, "You were the one who kept testing me. Wanted to see what would happen if you made me angry enough." The gap between you two closes when he draws himself inwards, making sure you heard this next part clearly, "Someone needed to shut that bratty ass mouth of yours up then," He drops his gaze to briskly look at your lips then jeers, "And right now."

While you're left to wear a poor, helpless expression, Sunghoon couldn't help but eye you curiously. It should be laughable the new state you're in. So completely different from your previous attitudes.

Using his hand to guide you, he roughly brings your head forward, so his mouth can brush the outer shell of your ear, "You really pissed me off, Y/N."

You get shoved back against the wall with a wince. "And... maybe that was your end goal with all of these arguments. You wanted to get me to this point." At the recognition of his own words, the wheels begin to turn in his brain. His eyebrows dart upward and a devilish smile tugs at his lips, "And to that, you're going to regret saying even one word tonight. I'll make sure of it."

Before you can react, Sunghoon crawls his hand up until it rests below your chin. As his thumb releases from your skin, and slowly works his way up to your lips, you think he'll be gentle in the way he's getting ready to touch you.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The moment his thumb comes in contact with your mouth, it's being shoved into your wet hole. You gag on the digit as he begins ordering you to suck, "Just needa fuck the bratiness out of you, then. Remind you of how much of a fucking slut you were for me that night."

He instructs you to go harder, and faster, and leisurely, you do so. Tingles start to form all around him, "Yeah. I'll do that. I'll just have to fuck you dumb myself, starting with your loud mouth."

You squeeze your eyes shut at the motion, coughing hard against his skin as his fingers move to tangle within your hair. Sunghoon always knew how catty you can be, this fact evident from what happened that night at the party.

However, what's also true, is that you do it for your own guilty pleasure. You purposely bring this upon yourself.

He yanks his thumb away and in return, you're inhaling harshly for air, "-what the fuck?"

Sunghoon dismisses your worries. Without warning, he has you falling to the ground with one swift push, his own desires now starting to throb inside his sweats, "Go on. Pull down my pants, brat."

He murmurs those words with a tilted face. In contrast, you look up at him as fear and lust begin to cloud your vision. Even with the menacing face he sports, you know you're not one to fully give-in. Especially when it comes to Park Sunghoon.

You aren't sure what it is about the defiance, but it makes you crazy, "Like hell-"

The grip in your hair tightens and your mouth drops from the pain. He regards your expression, "Really? Do you think you're in a position to object me right now?"

Lips parted, you shudder out a sigh while staring at Sunghoon's deep gaze. The stance he has you in makes your stomach erupt into butterflies.

"Pull my pants down." He repeats once again and after a pause, you eventually do so. With a tremble, you begin to bring both hands up and fondle the waistband, struggling to remove the barricade.

A tiny smile breaks out onto the boy's face. It's amusing how you pretend as if this wasn't the end prize. He watches you react disgustingly to his finally freed cock that springs forward, and it takes all of his power to not ram it into your ungrateful little mouth.

"What are you looking like that for? Aren't you a whore for my cock, Y/N?" He derides and thrusts himself towards your face. You try to create distance, but the hand in your hair keeps you in place, "Let’s go. Stop acting like that and take out your fucking tongue."

You hate yourself for listening to him.

With a small shiver, you unhurriedly extend your tongue from your mouth, and immediately he slaps his dick onto your muscle. He's had a great amount of pre-cum built up for some time now, starting from the minute you came down in that skimpy ass outfit. So, as soon as his dick hits your tongue, your taste buds are drowning in the liquid.

He's gasping lightly from the immediate sensation. He rubs his head all over your surface, then gradually does he start to slip himself in and out of your mouth. Your eyes go nearly white from trying to take his full length, but that’s something that only makes Sunghoon hornier.

You’re gargling around his skin as he proceeds to go faster, his base smacking against your chin every so often. Spit and his thick liquid mix to form a froth that starts to spill from the corners of your mouth, and Sunghoon groans lowly at how filthy you look.

“Oh…fuck.” It feels too good, the rocking of his hips speeding up. He’s enjoying the aggressive way he bucks himself harder and harder inside of your throat. And even as you’re thrashing beneath him, straining to get air, he finds that he didn’t want to stop. It just turns him so damn much to see you take his fat cock.

He throws his head back, “Keep it open for me. Fuck- just keep that nasty mouth open.”

You’re sick. Sick towards him for using you in such a degrading way, for letting him nearly cut off the circulation to your head. Right now, you’re nothing more than a fuck toy for him, and he doesn’t even seem to care. Not when he has you as the perfect fucking stimulant.

Yet, you’re also sick at yourself. It’s embarrassing that you notice your pussy clenching around nothing the longer he keeps this up. The fact that you’ve become so dilated in your core that gravity has slick juices leaking from your entrance. All because of this asshole that’s abusing your mouth, you're becoming aroused like never before. It’s humiliating, really.

His movements begin to stutter with a vibration to his eyelids. Oh, fuck. He can feel his cum wanting to shoot out. Sunghoon continues to push your head into him as he internally debates at what the outcome should be. There’s still so much he’s wanting to do to you, to prove.

When you can’t take the torture anymore, you’re soon hitting his leg to get him the hell away from you. Your reaction makes him realize how intrusive he’s starting to be, but he's so swirled with the immaculate pleasure that he almost didn’t let go. Before he knows it, he’ll be cumming down your throat at any moment.

Ripping himself from your suction, Sunghoon relinquishes you two from the torture. Ragged breathing emits from you as hungrily you take in the surrounding air. He, on the other, holds quieter breaths. A part of him is surprised that he was even willing to let himself finish so quickly. You were going to make him finish quickly.

With a few additional huffs, and after a moment of silence falls into the atmosphere, he’s ready to address you. Because he’s not done with you just yet.

“Yah,” There’s a gasp to his tone while you glare up begrudgingly, “You finally changed that attitude of yours?”

With your chest heaving up and down, you continue to stare angrily. Sunghoon cocks his head to the side while he awaits for your reply, though judging by the look you sport, he doesn’t think it’ll be the answer he wants.

“Eat a fucking dick.” With a hoarse throat, you spit the phrase at him.

And. Snap.

Before you know it, Sunghoon is grabbing you by the hair and yanking you over to the couch with a stumble. He tosses your body face first into the cushion and you land with a soft groan.

“Just can’t stop, can you?” He sees your ass recoiling from the previous motion and he swears it makes him go feral, "I'll just have to keep reminding you then."

In a flash, when you tried to push yourself up, he strikes a hand down to your cheeks. Your flesh jiggles with the audible slap and you're falling back down with a much louder moan.

“Did you like that?” Feigning stupidity, Sunghoon uses one arm to grab at your tiny shirt from the back, flipping you around till you laid chest-up sprawled out on the couch, "Do you want another?"

Eyes glossy with anger, you can’t help but whimper as he lands a harsh smack to your clothed cunt. He repeats the motion in a harder manner once again, and this time you’re fighting back. You wriggle to close yourself off from him, but he’s fighting to keep your legs open. He's clasping your clit.

Your arms move in for attack, though he’s able to immobilize your hands by taking them with one grasp and holding them above your head. You’re stuck now.

You squirm around, “I hate you.”

"Really?" unfazed by your words, Sunghoon simply gives your wet core a hearty squeeze, “Well, I’m feeling that might not be true.”

Staring smugly, he keeps his eyes locked on your frantic gaze as he sweeps your shorts to the side. Wetness coats the tips of fingers in an instant and he hasn’t even fully touched you. Fucking hell.

“Right. You hate so much.” Sarcasm oozes from his lips with every stroke his fingers give your pussy, and you’re left to do nothing but wiggle. He towers over your contorted body, loving how quickly he was able to put you down.

His fingers circle your lips teasingly before moving into your dripping entrance. He doesn’t waste another second in shoving his digits in and out of your hole, eyeing the way you struggle to keep a straight face.

“S-So fucking annoying.” You stutter out, trying your absolute hardest to not slip and give him any further satisfaction of knowing he got to you.

Sunghoon takes this as a challenge. Leaning in closer, he changes the angle his fingers hit inside your squelching walls. His fingers gradually increase in pace until you're seeing stars. He continues to ram his digits inside of your pussy as they grow wetter and wetter. He keeps this up. And soon, your face morphs from that of resilience to a more natural state, your eyes lowering.

Oh, god. Your body’s succumbing to him. It’s taking the pleasure produced by him and using it against you, dammnit it. What becomes worse is how your body begins to rock alongside his fingers, chasing the high that’s ever growing in your system.

You howl, “Fuck!”

His fingers feel like they’re hitting your g-spot and now you’re a mess. Thrashing and twisting below him while he finger fucks your way to an orgasm. Your toes curl in the feelings that’s wafting over you. You’re losing control.

“God, I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.” You grit out through clenched teeth, eyes now tightly shut as you concentrate on his wicked pounding, “Can’t stand you. I-”

“Yeah? Yeah?” His questions are disingenuous. He wants you to keep going. Keep digging yourself a grave.

“Piss me of so- ah! Fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop.” The words topple from your lips without a thought. Your hips rut harshly into his fingers, so greedily, so close to basically squirting. By any second you’re going to….you’re going to-

Your body goes cold the minute Sunghoon snatches his fingers from you, abstaining you from the arousal you'd been subjected to. Screeching, you bellow out a desperate cry from how empty you feel.

He bores a look of apathy, indifferent to your flailing, "What? Did you think I would actually let you cum? After your shitty attitude all night?"

Reaching down, he adjusts your rigid body into a more elongated position, then he's straddling you, "I just needed to get you ready. Cause now I want to destroy you."

You want to slap him, your face growing hotter by the second. This night, you've spent it feeling nothing but rage and lividness because of the boy on top of you.

But then he's working to uncover your breasts, playing and squishing them with both palms, and momentarily your facade begins to fade.

He's hunched over in the way he's needlessly gunning for your neck, biting and marking every spot he could. You squeal from the pain, and that only pushes him further.

He circles around the same throat he held previously to leave splotches of red staining your skin. It's in this moment of daze, his rapture begins to enthrall him, causing his cock to throb and throb until it's hurting.

Sunghoon works his way up, passing by your chin until he's aggressively making out with you. All of the pent up tension and conflicts feels as if they're being spilled out within the rough kiss, and you wrap an arm around him and mewl needily into his breath.

You still hate him, even if his annoyingly perfect lips mold deliciously into yours. You still hate him, even as he expertly touches and grabs at your tits, providing more stimulation to your already horny self.

But even you can't deny the desperate longing your body seeks as his thick, hard skin prods at the entrance of your shorts right now. And he can't wait anymore.

"Mmm, ready for me?" He mumbles against your mouth, though he didn't necessarily care for a response. Because even if you were to protest, he knew it would just be another ploy at deflection.

He's back to kissing you. The aggression that's brought along with it could be mistaken for passion and it makes you weak. Right before he darts the fabric off to the side and ready to take you whole, you pull back slightly, wanting to say one more thing.

"I h-hate you so much," you whine and he could only laugh. You truly never know when to shut up.

"You've told me that a couple of times." Muttering back, he recaptures your mouth and without wasting another second his cock finally plunges into your deep pussy.

Your walls immediately grip him, and the two of you groan simultaneously into each other. He did a good job at prepping you; you're beautifully slick and warm, just the way he likes it.

His cock starts to thrust rhythmically, relieving the ache you both were so full of. You can't help the string of grunts that fall from your lips, all chopped from each hit he gives your pussy.

"S-Shit." Sunghoon detaches his mouth from yours to completely bask in the arousal that's coursing throughout him. It brings him back to that night.

The night where you bent your sexy ass over for him, and watched yourself in the mirror as he smashed into your backside. He was on Cloud 9 then, but now coherent and in the right head space, it's like the pleasure has doubled.

You, meanwhile, are having an internal battle with yourself. Holy shit. It feels so fucking good when he's pounding inside of you. You swear you're gonna cum at any point. But, there's still this sense of revulsion that bubbles in the pit of your stomach- because of the fact that you're allowing Park Sunghoon to fuck you so roughly.

"H-Hope you know- mmrgh! This is a-all your fault." You stammer out, eyes shutting forcefully on themselves, "You always c-cause problems. You're in the- you're in the-"

A hand comes down over your lips and shuts you up, your face relaxing into a state of bliss. You aren't sure why you always jumble out nonsense when in moments of euphoria. It's just as if....he's...

"I said I would fuck you dumb," Sunghoon sighs as his back lurches over to grind into your cunt at a different angle, "Guess I actually did."

Your response is muffled and buzzes into his skin. There are no intentions of uncovering himself, either. No way will he let this indescribable sensation be override by your loud ass, bratty ass mouth.

His hips continue to drive harshly into your liquified cunt, squelching and dripping the more he fucks himself into you. He only gets faster while you begin to grow limp. Your own pleasure starts to consume you until you don't have the willpower to move.

Sunghoon feels his cock start to twitch, "About to cum," he moans near your ear, "Can feel myself about to cum inside your dirty pussy. Are you close too?"

You shriek into his hand a multitude of yes's as you feel yourself so close to snapping. It's only a matter of time before you're losing control all at the hands of your actual worst nightmare.

He weighs his options, "Mmm....but should I? Do you deserve to orgasm with me?"

You'd despise not only him but yourself if you didn't. You're too far gone. The pleasure is catching up to you closer and closer, the more he buries himself damn near into your cervix. Waves after waves of ecstasy release into your core and you almost want to cry from how amazing it feels. So there's no fucking way you're going to miss this.

You never thought you would do this, but it's only a matter of time.

What sounds like your yes's transforming into pleads, Sunghoon scrunched his eyebrows, going to remove your hand. Are you....?

The moment your mouth is free you yell out a whimper, "Please. Please. 'm so close, Sunghoon. Sunghoon, please. I can't, I can't. I need this so bad."

Oh, fuck.

He'd never thought he'd see the day. He's never heard you beg before. The way his name sounds so good when you're pleading, how it squeals out from your lips. It makes his cock twitch once again and he's clenching his ass cheeks to stop him from popping a load right into you.

"You really want to?" He speaks quietly and more to himself, before deciding to give you what you want. Even brats can be rewarded.

He's pushing himself up and is now hovering over your face, his pelvis driving brutally into your core, "Okay. Okay, just let go. Cum for me."

You're so grateful you could kiss him. You let the slaps his skin produce fill you ears as you give yourself some slack for even letting this happen. You were about to cum because of Park Sunghoon, and there was nothing you wanted to do to stop it.

Sunghoon can't help but stare at your wavering face. Going from tight tension to relaxing and belting out a moan, your expressions keeps his eyes trained on you.

"Here, here. Faster, need you to cum right now." And almost like a present for you, Sunghoon brings a hand down to start massaging your clit, getting you to the very last point you needed to before exploding.

When his fingers circle rapidly against your nerves, combined with his pounding that has you babbling out nothing, your orgasm hits you so hard, starting from your pussy and running up into your head, making you dizzy. The moment causes you to starting quavering sporadically and mewing out, 'I'm cumming!'

That was what Sunghoon needed. Your orgasm causes your insides to start squeezing, pulsating around his cock so perfectly. At the third time he feels his cock beginning to twitch, he grants himself permission to let go. Next thing he knows, he's shooting out viscous ropes of cum into your velvety cunt, groaning about how perfect of a brat you are for him.

'Finally fucking listened'

'My perfect brat'

'God, you're amazing'

All is being said as you two finish out your orgasms. As he stutters above you, and you're quaking below him, you both seem to have finally found peace within being close to one another.

Which brings to an end this dirty, filthy night.

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- Bonus -

Your mother and Mrs. Park hadn't intended on being back at the house past midnight. But, how were they supposed to know the company gathering would be such a blast!

The event had the women interacting, mingling, dancing, singing with every single one of their coworkers until around 11:30 PM! And that was only because the event was over around then, they surely still had some more juice in their system.

By the time the two arrived back at your house, they'd been laughing hysterically to one another, unbeknownst to the absolute chaos that had ensued just hours earlier.

Your mother unlocks the door with her keys, and as they swing it open, they're met with a surprising scene in front of them.

Sunghoon, all wide awake, and sitting on the couch by his lonesome. The T.V is there to keep him entertained, but other than that, there were no signs that you were around. As Mrs. Park goes to greet her son, your mother stares at the boy with worried eyes.

"Oh, Sunghoon. Were you down here by yourself this whole time? Did Y/N not come down?" She walks up to him, though is quickly mollified when he's giving her a small smile.

"No, she did. We watched a film together, though half-way through it, she started to doze off. I had to carry her upstairs; she was so out of it." He nods softly at the end of his sentence and your mother reciprocates his delicate response.

It warms her heart to hear that you tried.

"Oh, Hoonie! I told you things would work itself out if you would just be nicer to the poor girl. You know how timid she can be." His mother pats at his shoulder, "Come on. Grab your shoes and I'll take us home."

"I'm happy you guys were able to have a nice night together." Your mother beams while walking alongside Sunghoon towards the front door, "Are you two okay now? Should I be expecting you back here more often?"

Sunghoon regards your mother, his own brain thinking at how to properly respond to that. It's not until he's slipped his shoes and coat on, and holding the door open for Mrs.Park to exit, before giving a proper answer.

"Yes, Miss, I believe we're just fine now.”

At the last second of his departure, his eyes catch sight of movement on the staircase. Having awoken from your slumber, you heard voices from downstairs and decided to investigate. Creeping around the top stairs, all you were met with was Sunghoon talking to your mother with one foot out the door.

You attempt to remain hidden behind the wall, waiting for him to leave. But, soon, you find his gaze moving slowly until it lands onto your face. He holds eye contact with you one last time, your stomach in knots from how compelling his essence is.

“I'll try to come back here more often," He steps his other foot outside as a faint grin overtakes his cheeks.

"I’ll make sure of it.”

[dollyichi]

YOUR BIGGEST FAN!

pro-hero katsuki bakugou x actress f ! reader ᯓ★ he finds out who the main admin is of his biggest fan page. 1.4k words. fluff / established relationship / not proofread / little smau at the end

spin-off from ‘a little mystery never hurt anybody’ [m—dni]

katsuki never cared about his image at all. nor did he care about what people post about him online. aside from his own beliefs, he only cares about what you think, and if you think he’s ‘fucking cool’ then he’s fucking cool.

he only ever checks social media and posts something that you’re a part of. if he had the chance to have all his platforms with a picture of you both or even just you, he’d do it—but you would scold him and tell him that he should just have a photo of himself. which you had to do instead since he’s stubborn and wouldn’t know what photo would look the best.

well fortunately for you, who has an album of pictures of him whether you took it yourself to gate-keep, from his fan sites, or his modeling / commercial projects just picked one portrait that would match his overall style. not too much, not too zoomed out, but still would exude that cool side that you loved so much.

and the moment you changed his profile you’re already switching to your verified fan account to notify your followers of his new profile photo. multiple notifications spawn at your lockscreen, the tweet already blew up too.

your co-admins don’t even know that it was the ‘dazzling actress y/n’ running the account in the first place, and it was for the better. you always had this account the moment katsuki was in his third year in UA. usually posting threads about how amazing of a hero he is, or his rankings in the recent fan polls such as ‘hottest hero’ or ‘most powerful rookie hero quirks!’ and your favorite, ‘heroes i wanna get in bed with.’ just from that, anyone other than you knowing your identity would be real bad.

pro-hero dynamight always had a loyal fanbase anyway. and you were always the first account they’d come to for any news on him.

when you started dating you had to ask for some help which is why you had some of your followers (who have been supporting your blog for so long too!) to assist you when you couldn’t post as frequently as you used to. it was easy to juggle the fan account while you were starting as an actress, but when you started dating katsuki, manning the page is a big challenge. he’ll definitely find out in no time since personal space was thrown out the window when you became his.

you wanted to keep it a secret since you were still such a big fan and it felt like a waste deleting the account since you worked so hard on it—pouring so much passion on it despite being with the main source. there were even times when you begged your staff to get him to sign your merch, which you happily post on the fan page too, wearing thick gloves because you figured katsuki would recognize you immediately.

sometimes you would slip and mess up. your co-admin posting about katsuki taking a photo of your new digital billboard by the station. and you accidentally quoted the tweet on your fan page that reads ‘he really likes me~’ and you immediately take it down before the viewer count goes up.

it was a very close call, and when someone did ask you about it since some of them had notifications on for your account you just made up an excuse like ‘i mean y/n! sorry it was a typo.’

sometimes you’d get katsuki to look at the fan page when you both have free time. and he only ever likes the tweets when it involved you. like when you’re both spotted on a date, or a quote from an interview of him promoting your own projects.

you begged him to follow and he didn’t really think that much of it. shrugging and pressing the button and going back to indulging himself beside you.

you never really post any updates on the pro-hero that’s related to you though. and when you do find out about it, you had your co-admins to thank. especially for that one video clip of him struggling to take a picture of another billboard you had in the middle of the city.

until one day, the two of you were apart for a bit. he was out on a mission, and it’s sad that he couldn’t spend the first few days of your break with you.

nonetheless, you are currently working with his fan sites near the area for some updates on him at the time. you end up missing him too much when they send you the photos in your direct messages. though, “he looks really good,” you think to yourself. up in the air with that pretty grin of his whenever he wins.

on your fan page you always have that certain ‘watermark’ when you make a post. ending the tweet with ‘admin ⭐️💥’ to indicate that it was you posting.

quickly, you make a new post about his new feat, scheduling to have it posted on the next day.

you didn’t think much of it, just happy that your boyfriend was safe and he could come home earlier to you.

when you wake up, katsuki’s already back home seated on his side of the bed. but what was unusual was for him to be on his phone this early. concerned, you reach out to him, hoping there wasn’t an emergency or anything bad that happened.

then he starts laughing that goofy laugh of his that you love. which gets you to giggle yourself, “what’s so funny?” you give him a kiss on his cheek as a morning greeting. it’s nice waking up to him so happy, until you feel your own face drop in horror on the screen.

it was your tweet, with that exact format that you always used—not on your fan page, but at your own main account with already thousands of engagement. you feel yourself sink in your spot on the bed.

you did it now, you knew you shouldn’t be posting when you’re sleepy. now you fucked up, big time. you don’t even want to know the replies on that post, and you couldn’t even face your boyfriend who’s already crying from laughing so hard.

“you’re such a dumbass no wonder you kept pestering me about this fan account.”

you groan, hiding yourself under the covers. you couldn’t even imagine what’s going to become of you and how your manager’s going to react. it’s not like you could just abandon your following either! “it’s different as a fan!”

you take your phone from the bedside table and delete the tweet immediately. it’s been 30 minutes after you scheduled it, but there’s nothing you could even do to remedy the mistake. not when thousands have already seen your tweet. you don’t even know how to tell your co-admins who probably found out your real identity.

“just kill me!” you say, wrapping the comforter around you which leaves nothing for him anymore. he puts his phone down and wraps an arm on you. “don’t be so fuckin’ embarrassed babe. if it helps i’m your number one fan too.”

you won’t budge, staying still in your self made blanket burrito with a pout. facing away from him and with a huff. you were so embarrassed that your whole body freezes, and your mind goes blank. “hey come on, i’m happy about it!” you hear him say.

you could already feel the scoldings of your manager, you just hope this is mainly good publicity if it resurfaces—because you’re damn sure a lot of your shared fans are going to spread it all over the net.

“don’t fuckin’ ignore me babe! i’m really damn flattered here!” and he’s laughing again. he really couldn’t take it seriously, and you really wish this was just a really bad dream. it’s not like you wanted to keep it a secret forever! but you didn’t think he’d find out this way, bummer.

he pulls you on top of him, kissing all over your pouting face that’s sticking out from the thick comforter. “ah fuck this is so good! i bet when we get married you’re just on your phone posting live updates or some shit.”

you’re never going to hear the end of this. especially not when he digged a little deeper and found your ‘thirst’ postings from years ago. oh well, at least he knows you’ve always loved him. it was honestly such an ego boost learning his girlfriend just ‘as obsessed’ as he is towards you. besides, his page was almost a fan page of you in itself. whatever, you’re gonna laugh it off next week anyway.

at least you’ve given him another new thing that has him head over heels for you again.

bonus!

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : aaaaa this was so funny to me idk T^T it’s really stupid

[stllmnstr]

every fragile thing

pairing: park sunghoon x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, figure skating au, college/university au

word count: 12.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, jealousy, non graphic descriptions/depictions of injuries, use of the american (usa) university system, a kiss or five

soundtrack: get him back! / brutal / jealousy, jealousy / good 4 u / the grudge / bad idea right? / drivers license - olivia rodrigo

After an ankle injury lands you in mandated physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for nationals, you're absolutely certain you must be the most frustrated, emotionally volatile figure skater on the planet. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.

or,

every fragile thing has one of two choices: become stronger or shatter into a million pieces.

note: hi hello yes this is me on a new blog with the same name. I deleted my old one and wasn't sure if I planned on remaking/reposting but here we are! if you've read this before, then I hope you enjoy just as much this time around. and if you haven't, I hope you love figure skater sunghoon just as much as I do! happy reading ♡

Silence. One word, two syllables. A fairly straightforward term with a meaning that can be easily deduced from a quick scan of its Merriam-Webster definition. 

But unlike many words, silence is one that’s typically learned through experience. Through stilted moments, pregnant pauses, dreamlike moments in the dead of night while the world around you is at a standstill. 

In the moments just before the music starts, when it feels as if the audience around you is holding their breath. And you stand at the center of it all, blades of your tightly laced skates against ice, chest rising and falling in time with your heartbeat, mind spinning with possibility. In those moments, your long trained muscles take over, following the memory of countless repetitions as your body prepares to do what it knows best. 

There’s a question in that silence. One that’s asked with baited breath. 

Will I land this skill? Will I go home with a medal around my neck, cold weight a familiar comfort against my skin? Will this be my best performance yet? Will they love it? Love me?

That, as you’ve come to learn, is your favorite kind of silence. The kind that’s filled with endless possibility, with the promise of something beautiful or disastrous or some odd mix of the two to come. 

The feeling of freedom, of flying as blade cuts through ice, as your body defies gravity with every jump, every spin. 

But that is very much not the kind of silence that greets you where Dr. Min eyes you warily over the top of his pristine clipboard, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows. Frowning, he glances at the paper once more before returning his gaze to you. 

“You’re sure you’ve been resting? No weight on the fracture at all?”

It takes a good chunk of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Mostly because you’re lying through your teeth, but who’s keeping track? 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the thick black boot the lower part of your left leg and foot have been imprisoned in for the better part of a month, you add, “This thing’s still coming off in two weeks, right?”

Two weeks is pushing it, but you’ve done more with less. Two weeks puts you exactly three months out from regionals, which gives you exactly ninety-one days to pull together the most jaw dropping program you or the judges have ever seen. One that’s certain to land you on the podium and secure a spot at nationals. 

Once again, you thank your lucky stars for Coach Lee. She’s been with you since you were still struggling to lace your own skates, and there’s no one else you’d trust to have you ready for regionals in such a short time frame. No one else you’d bet your fate on like this. 

“That was our original time frame, yes…” Dr. Min trails off, avoiding your gaze in a way that has your stomach dropping unpleasantly. 

“And we’ll be sticking to it, I’m sure.” You hate the way the end of your phrase turns up like a question. 

Dr. Min sighs. “Look, ___, our original time frame was ambitious to begin with, and I hate to tell you this, but your ankle is not healing as well as we’d hoped. Fractures don’t heal overnight, and the best thing for you right now is rest.” 

The argument is already forming on your tongue. “But—”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not trying to ruin your life, ___. Truly. I’m saying this to you as the parent of an athlete and a former athlete myself. Pushing yourself now will only lead to reinjury in the future and will also very likely shorten your career. Your ankle needs to heal before you skate on it again. It needs to heal before you so much as put weight on it. And you need to let it heal completely.” The sincerity in his voice is hard to stomach when he says, “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll regret it for the rest of life if you don’t.”

And logically, you know he’s right. Know that this will be nothing but a minor setback if you allow it to run its course. If you follow his advice to rest and heal. But skating has never been something you’ve done with the logical parts of yourself. And Dr. Min doesn’t get it. You tell him as much. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. Regionals are in less than four months, and—”

“I hear you. Believe me, I do. But this is your third year of university, which means you have another shot at nationals next year. If you push it and try to skate before you’re ready, you may very well lose that chance too.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Sit around and do nothing until my ankle decides to cooperate?” Even voicing the possibility has you suppressing a grimace. 

But Dr. Min has different thoughts. “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do.”

You don’t avert your gaze. Neither does he. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “My recommendation at this point is still rest, but—”

“But?” Your excitement is impossible to contain fully. 

Dr. Min levels you with a cautionary look over his clipboard. “But, if you’re going to do anything, our athletics department does also run a physical therapy program, which I think could be beneficial. It would help to retain flexibility, mobility, and agility in the areas of your leg that support your ankle. It could help get you back on the ice faster and maintain the leg strength you’ve built. There’s a group session that runs on Tuesday afternoons—”

“Yes,” you nod, not bothering to hear the end of his statement. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I… okay.” As much as you want to hate him for it, Dr. Min has a point. And while you doubt physical therapy will be anywhere near as grueling as your usual workouts, it sounds a hell of a lot better than doing nothing. 

…

You’ve never liked hospitals. The odd juxtaposition of white, lifeless sterility and a culmination of some of life’s most painful moments has always left an unpleasant taste on your tongue. 

It’s one that has you double checking the address Dr. Min forwarded to you as you enter the oddly cheerful building that is apparently home to a renowned athletics physical therapy facility. Despite the medical purpose, there’s a distinct liveliness that envelops the space. 

The woman at reception informs you that this is indeed the right building and the session you’re attending has just begun in the room to your left. 

Pausing at the door, you’re struck with a sudden timidness. A physical therapy group for athletes will obviously be filled with, well, athletes. And although you can’t speak too harshly on that particular subsect of people, being one yourself, they can be intimidating. It must be the competitiveness, you think. The drive to push, succeed, win that gives off such a distinct aura.

Steeling yourself with one last breath, you remind yourself that’s why you’re here. To get back to that version of you that has everyone else feeling a little shier. That version of you that eats, breathes, and sleeps with ice skates laced on your feet and visions of the top of a podium driving your every decision. 

With determination straightening your brow, you push open the door. 

And immediately find yourself grateful for the mental preparation as three heads snap in your direction.  

Hitching your bag up an inch on your shoulder, you try not to melt under the sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, one of them is better at breaking ice than you.

“Hi,” the boy closest to you is the first to fill the silence. He’s all smiles where he gives you a friendly wave, moving a stray hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he tells you, “I’m Jungwon.”

You offer your name in return, trying on a smile to match his friendliness. You have a feeling it comes more naturally to him than it ever will to you, though. 

Regardless, he offers an equally cheerful, “Nice to meet you.” Glancing over to where the second boy is moving through a series of stretches, Jungwon makes eye contact, silently telling him he’s up next. 

Even mid-stretch, he acquiesces. “I’m Niki,” the second boy follows. 

“And I’m Jake.” The last boy doesn’t need any prompting from Jungwon. Nodding towards the walking boot that covers the bottom half of your left leg, he glances at a similar one that he wears on his own. “Looks like we’re twins. Tore up my achilles pretty bad in my last soccer match,” he explains. “What about you?”

“Fractured my ankle,” you return, a rueful smile dragging your lips up. “Figure skater.”

“Ah, man.” Jungwon winces. “That sucks.”

You shrug, forcing a nonchalance you don’t feel. “No worse than a busted achilles.” 

“That’s cool that you skate though,” Jake offers. “Kind of a funny coincidence, actually. There’s another—”

Whatever it is, he doesn’t get to finish the thought. At that moment, the door opens again, this time revealing a middle aged woman in a white physician’s coat. Her name tag reads Dr. Kim, and she introduces herself as such to you. 

“Looks like everyone’s here, including our new members.” She gives another cursory nod in your direction. “Welcome again.” Glancing around, the instructor pauses. “Oh, wait. Except for—”

“I’m here, I’m here.” For the second time in the span of a minute, the door behind you opens. You don’t miss the glance that passes between Niki and Jake. You turn to face the new arrival, but his back is to you as he sets his bag down and begins the process of switching his shoes. 

The way the new member enters with a dismissive wave of his hand and lack of proper greeting has you thinking tardiness is not an uncommon trait of his. Even from behind, you can feel the waves of arrogance he exudes. That seems to align more with your preconceived notions of athletes. 

Studying him for another second, a sinking feeling of dread begins to build in the pit of your stomach. Long, dark hair. Unnaturally graceful movements, even if all he’s doing is digging through his bag. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long legs. 

An athlete’s build through and through. Perfectly suited for the ice. 

“Great.” Despite the statement, Dr. Kim’s tone is flat. “Well, we were just getting started and introducing ourselves since we have someone new joining us today.”

“Hi,” he offers, still fixated on his bag, yet to offer as much as a glance in your direction. If anything, it only serves as a confirmation of his identity. “I’m—” You don’t even need to hear him say it. 

“Sunghoon?”

At that, he does finally look up. 

Gaze locking with yours, a moment of confusion is quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He’s not thrilled to see you either. 

A beat passes. 

Two. 

Neither of you break eye contact. 

The silence extends to the point of discomfort for all four onlookers, each of them hesitant to break the tension that’s rising by the second. 

Finally, Dr. Kim takes a knife to the tension. “Do you two know each other?” 

Park Sunghoon. Renowned figure skater at your rival university. Someone with such a natural knack for carving lines through ice that whispers of prodigy have been shadowing his footsteps since the minute he put them on a rink. 

Someone with his head so far up his own ass you’re not sure how he can see half the time, much less keep his hair looking so perfect. 

Oh, you know him alright. 

“___?”

And it would seem he remembers you as well. 

It also answers Dr. Kim’s question well enough. 

“Ah, good.” It sounds like a question, like she’s hoping your acquaintance will be a positive thing instead of a disaster. You don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. “The figure skating community is tight knit, I suppose.”

You suppress a scoff. That’s one word for it, you guess. 

You remember when it felt that way to you, too. Before tight knit became too small. Back before university, when it felt like it was you and Park Sunghoon against the world, instead of against each other. Back when the two of you didn’t skate for opposing teams but instead were members of the same club. A time when you took the ice together, skated as partners until he—

You force your thoughts to stop in their tracks. Your blood pressure has spiked enough in the last few days, and thinking back on long days spent with Park Sunghoon will only send it skyrocketing again. 

If anything, you’ll use this opportunity to practice perfecting your poker face for when you inevitably run into him at future competitions. 

And future competitions means you need a healed ankle, not a bruised ego. And certainly not an unpleasant trip down memory lane. 

Turning away from Sunghoon, you’re the first one to answer when Dr. Kim asks if you’re ready to get started. 

“Yes,” you tell her, determination written across your brow, in the set of your shoulders, and perhaps most noticeably, in the way you avoid Sunghoon’s wandering gaze for the next two hours. 

…

Without the rink, days are quick to meld into one another. It may be concerning, considering that you still have a set schedule of classes and homework to follow, but your life has revolved around training for so long that it’s hard to tell Mondays from Wednesdays without a set practice schedule. 

Thankfully, you do still make it back to the clinic at the right time on the right day, this time for another session with Dr. Kim and your fellow band of broken athletes. 

Including him. 

Aside from the glaringly obvious exception, you’re not as bothered at the thought of returning as you feared you might be. 

Jungwon, Niki, and Jake have proven themself pleasant enough company, and Dr. Kim seems to have built an understanding of how difficult it is to be forcibly removed from the sport you love. As such, she’s one of the least aggravating medical professionals you’ve spent time around. 

“Hey,” Niki greets when you arrive. “Did you have a good weekend?”

You shrug. “Good enough. Mostly just catching up on homework.” Setting your bag down and switching out your shoes, you join him on the mat, beginning the series of warm-up stretches Dr. Kim instructed you through last week. “What about you?”

“Not too bad. I got some good news from my doctor, actually.” He switches legs in his stretch, and you’re almost envious of his flexibility. He’s a dancer, and an exceedingly good one at that. One with an unfortunate knee injury at the moment. “My x-rays are looking a lot better. He thinks I might be able to start easing back into regular use by next month.” 

“That’s great,” you smile, even as a pang of jealousy stabs somewhere near your gut. “I’m really happy for you, Niki.” 

“A month still feels like forever, though, doesn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I was out of the studio for this long.” 

Jungwon slides down onto the mat next to you, joining in on the stretch routine. “Consider yourself lucky, man. They told me at my last check-up that I probably won’t be able to do any jumping or kicks again for at least three months even though the fracture is already mostly healed.” He shakes his head. “No jumping or kicking,” he echoes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, things that are super easy to avoid in taekwondo.”

“If it’s any consolation, I just got told that I’m gonna have to sit out of regionals this year. Which means I’ll have no way of qualifying for nationals.” You wonder how many times you’ll have to admit that particular reality to yourself before the sting starts to fade. 

“That sucks.” Jake agrees, coming down to the mat and occupying the spot next to Niki. “I’ll probably have to sit for this entire season, too. I love my team, but it’s so frustrating watching them play when I know I could be an asset on the field.”

“That’s true.” You’re struck by a sudden wave of sympathy. “At least skating is an individual sport, so the only person I have to disappoint is myself.” 

“Speaking of skating,” Jungwon sounds hesitant as he approaches the subject. “Do you and Sunghoon, uh…” he pauses for a moment in search of a neutral way of framing the unmistakable tension that surfaced the last time he saw the two of you together. “Do you two know each other?”

Grimacing internally, you suppose an explanation was bound to be solicited after your icy reunion. “We skate for rival universities.” Your gaze fixes on a spot on the ground. “And before college we used to, uh, we used to skate for the same club.”

The three boys share a glance. It’s hardly an explanation for the venom you said his name with but before they can press you further, the subject in question enters the room. 

Again, he takes his time setting his bag down, getting his things ready. This time, he also pulls out an obnoxiously big pair of headphones, secures them over his ears before he bothers to turn around. Despite the fact that all three boys offer him friendly smiles and waves, he returns the gesture only with a tight smile, making his way to the mat on the opposite side of the room before he begins his stretch routine.

It’s a message that rings loud and clear. A frown passes between Jake, Jungwon, and Niki. It’s obvious to you, then, that you’re the reason he chose to set himself up as far away as physically possible. 

So be it, you think, letting the slight roll right off of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you the cold shoulder for something he plays an equal part in, and you doubt it will be the last. 

Besides, it will only make your sessions pass by quicker, if the burden of avoiding gazes and minimizing interactions falls on his shoulders instead of yours.

With nothing but a shrug, you adjust slightly, ensuring that the only view he has of you is of your back. 

…

It’s a pattern that continues as physical therapy sessions start to become a regular routine in your week. Sunghoon, with his apparent disdain for anyone’s time but his own, is always the last to arrive. He also continues his habit of picking the spot in the room furthest away from you. 

Despite the fact that you’d like to chalk it up to his social ineptitude alone, that explanation doesn’t track. Although there’s still a certain aura of aloofness that follows where he goes, it’s too often that you see him smiling at a joke cracked by Jake or sharing easy conversations with Jungwon and Niki.  

Hell, he even interacts with Dr. Kim with a level of warmth you didn’t know was possible coming from him. If there’s any disdain in their conversations, he directs it all towards his right wrist. It’s why he’s here, you assume. Encased in a brace similar to the one you wear on your left ankle, his right forearm seems to be the reason for his attendance. 

It’s hard to not be envious. While a wrist injury is nothing to scoff at, it doesn’t necessarily keep you off the ice. Not in the same way a fractured ankle does. 

Refocusing your thoughts, you push the boy across the room firmly out of mind as Dr. Kim helps adjust you into the next stretch.

“How about now?” Dr. Kim pushes your spine a fraction of an inch further, pressure light but demanding. Before, this much flexibility would have been an easy request of your body, but lack of use has your muscles feeling tight. “Any tightness or pain?”

“No.” The bead of sweat on your brow begs to differ, as does the way the negation slipped through gritted teeth. 

But you’re frustrated. Annoyed at the progress you’ve lost, at the new limits of your body, at the way you feel like a stranger in your own skin. 

Across the room, you miss the flicker of annoyance that flits over Sunghoon’s features. Headphones on as always, you imagine you’re nothing more than a blip on his radar, a pesky intruder that’s easily ignored as long as he has his back to you. 

“Hm,” Dr. Kim muses. “You’ve retained more flexibility than I expected.” She offers you a smile. “That’s a good thing, a sign of a quick recovery.”

You suppress a grimace. It should be a good thing. You should be recovering quickly. If only you could get your stupid body to cooperate. 

Stealing another glance at the boy across the room, you can’t help the way a small burst of rage bubbles in your stomach. Prodigy. Why does he always get to be the anomaly, the exception to the rule? His injury is already less severe than yours, and he’s probably recovering quickly, too. Without even having to fake it.

Easing you out of the stretch, Dr. Kim jots down a quick note. “I’ll have Dr. Min run another x-ray at your next visit.” Nodding towards your ankle, she adds, “I think there’s a good chance that things are looking a lot better, and updated x-rays will help guide our next sessions.” She pauses for a minute. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself or get your hopes up, but I think we might be able to start putting some weight back on it soon. Start getting it stronger again.” 

You’re hesitant to let your excitement grow too much. But it would be a lie if you weren’t already counting the days until your next visit with Dr. Min in your head. “Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll hope those x-rays come back looking good, then.”

“Me too,” she smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then. Hopefully with good news.”

You nod, returning her smile before heading to the door to gather your things. Jungwon catches you on your way out. 

“Hey, ___, hold on a sec.” When you turn back towards him, he tells you, “The rest of us are gonna grab lunch at a place nearby, if you want to join.”

Your uncertainty must write itself across your features, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. Sunghoon won’t be there. He’s got a class right after this.”

Slightly embarrassed by the way he read you so easily, you nod. “Sure. Lunch sounds good.” Despite their friendliness with Sunghoon, you’ve come to like the three of them. And it’s been far too long since you broke up the monotony of class, homework, and medical appointments with something as simple as lunch with friends. 

And as long as he’s not there, you imagine it will be nothing but pleasant. 

It doesn’t take long for them to prove you wrong. 

Niki barely lets you get one bite in before he asks, “So, what exactly happened between you two?” Even without the name, the question is obvious. 

Still, after choking on the sip of water you’d been taking, you answer, “Who?”

Jake just gives you a look. 

You sigh. “Like I said, we used to skate for the same club. We, uh, never really got along, I guess.” Avoiding eye contact, you add, “And now we skate for rival schools. I suppose it’s only natural to not like each other.”

Niki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that sounds made up.”

Jungwon swallows his bite, parts his lips like he has something to say. Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. If any of the three of them spare you, you have a feeling it would be him. “I mean, it does seem like something else must have happened.”

Or not. 

“You don’t have to tell us,” he adds. “But it’s just… I mean, the two of you can’t even look at each other.”

Sighing, you suppose the circumstances do look odd from the outside. “There was… an incident. Back when we used to skate together.”

“What?” Jake asks. “Did he steal your skates right before a show or something?” 

“No, no.” You shake your head. “It happened on the ice, actually. During a program.”

“Wait,” Niki interrupts. “You said you used to skate together. Do you mean like, as partners?”

The guilt on your face says it all. 

“No way.” Jake says. 

Jungwon’s eyes grow bigger. “What did he do?”

“Yeah,” Niki turns to face you fully. “Wouldn’t being his partner be a good thing? At least on the ice, I mean. I know he can be a little insufferable, but isn’t he some sort of prodigy—”

“Prodigy, my ass.” You’re so sick of that goddamn word. “Wasn’t a prodigy when he dropped me in the middle of our program at junior nationals, was he?”

The way all three or their jaws drop in unison is almost worth the admission. 

But the thing is, he was. No accusatory fingers pointed in his direction after it happened. No one blamed prodigy Park Sunghoon for the mishap. 

No, it was decided fair and square by the jury of public opinion that the mistake was entirely your fault, your burden to bear. And it’s not like you were immune to the criticism. Whispers followed where you went. And you always, always managed to hear them. 

Maybe if you’d trained a little harder, completed the second rotation a little sooner, the skill would have gone off without a hitch, they mused. Hell, maybe if you’d stuck to your diet a little better, those last two pounds would have spelled the difference between a perfect landing and your ass on frozen ground, program music still crescendoing as onlookers watched with horrified fascination.

“Oh,” Jungwon grimaces. 

“That’s rough,” Niki agrees. 

And they don’t even know the worst of it. Don’t know that back then, at fifteen, you’d had a giant, soul crushing, earth shattering, massive crush on your skating partner. That you searched for his approval just as eagerly as you’d sought out your coach’s. 

That you’d squeezed in as many extra practice sessions as physically possible for five months leading up to the routine just to make sure you were as close to flawless as possible, just to make sure you were chosen to be his partner on the ice. 

That you giggled, giggled, when you saw the matching costumes the two of you would wear for the first time. 

That you followed where he went with long sighs and lovesick eyes. That you looked forward to the grueling hours you spent on the ice with him, turning perfection into something even greater. 

That your heart skipped a beat every time you ran through your program, every time he caught you with sure hands and a strong grip. 

That Park Sunghoon never made a mistake, never let you fall, not once. 

Not until a spotlight was spinning dreams into reality and you were already anticipating the secret smiles you’d share with matching gold medals around your necks. 

Not until it all shattered in a single moment. 

It was cold, as you laid there on the ice, sprawled out and unable to move from the sudden shock of it all. Luckily, you’d avoided any critical injuries. You had staggered off the ice with nothing but some bad bruising, the worst of it staining your ego and your heart. 

And after it all, no matter how many times you passed him on your way to the locker room, shared the ice with him, or searched for the gaze he pointedly avoided across the room, Park Sunghoon never uttered the two words that just might have made you forgive it all. 

Instead of an apology or even the decency of an explanation, you got a cold shoulder and a lost friendship you were too confused by to mourn. 

In the end, you’d decided to turn it all into a blessing in a very thorough disguise. From that moment onwards, all of your time on the ice was dedicated to you and you alone. Never would you let anything but the sheer strength of your own will, your own goals, motivate you to become better, faster, stronger. 

And you found that victory tasted even sweeter, when the full weight of it could rest on your shoulders alone. When no one could whisper behind their palms that the only reason you stood on the podium was a prodigy of a partner. 

So fine. Park Sunghoon didn’t owe you shit. Not an apology, an explanation, or even a second glance. 

And if he was a prodigy, an ice prince or whatever stupid title he’d earned alongside his medals, well, you’d just have to be even better.

But now, sitting across from new friends with a fractured ankle and a ruined shot at medalling this year, a quiet part of you admits for the first time that maybe, just maybe, part of that resolve is nothing but spite in disguise. Part of the anger you’ve clung to for so long isn’t directed at him, but at yourself. 

That it was embarrassing to fall in front of a crowd, yes, but it was also humiliating to know that he was hearing all those little comments about your inferiority too. To realize that his silence meant he probably agreed. That you were a liability of a partner, unequal in both skill and importance. That he could move on from the incident, from you, completely unscathed. 

That your little crush was entirely one-sided, just like the respect and admiration you’d once felt for him. 

You stare at the half-eaten lunch in front of you, appetite suddenly completely gone. 

“What a coincidence that the two of you ended up injured at the same time,” Jake muses. 

“And in the same physical therapy group.” Jungwon nods. 

“Yeah,” you echo hollowly. “What a coincidence.”

…

When Park Sunghoon speaks to you for the first time in five years, it’s completely by accident.

As the weeks have continued on, you’ve fallen into a perfect routine during your shared physical therapy sessions. A routine of avoidance, ignorance, and as much space between the two of you as physically possible. It’s become so easy that the two of you navigate it with the kind of grace only two elite figure skaters could ever manage. 

If anything, it’s more awkward for the other members of your session than it is for the two of you. Jungwon, Jake, Niki, and Dr. Kim are the ones suffering as they try to stay friendly with both of you without icing out the other. 

It must be why he doesn’t even bother to check who it is that’s standing right next to him as he reaches for his bag on the shelf near the front door at the end of another session. Must be why he says it in a voice so casual you don’t think it’s him at first. “How pissed do you think Dr. Kim will be if I’m late again next week?”

Even though the voice doesn’t quite fit, you half expect to see Jake standing next to you when you turn to the side. 

Sunghoon realizes his mistake at the exact same second you do. You watch as shock flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something guarded, unreadable. Just as completely closed off to you as always. 

It pisses you off, the way he’s so utterly and completely unaffected by you. The way he can brush you off as easily as a piece of dust. Insignificant. Unimportant. Unwanted. It has you freeing the reins on comments you should bite back instead. 

“Hard to say.” Ice and resentment drip from every syllable. “Then again, I’m surprised you care about what she thinks. Doesn’t seem like something that would bother you.”

That at least earns you some of his emotion. Another bout of shock crosses his face before it shifts to confusion and falls finally to anger. You can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. The flare of heat in his eyes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

If he falls to anger, you’ll rise above it. At least on the outside. There’s no accounting for the way your gut twists in rage. Still, you offer him a smile that’s almost as fake as it is sickeningly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you spend enough time thinking about it.” It’s patronizing, and intentionally so. You hope it annoys him enough to keep him up tonight. 

Reaching for the front door, you take your exit first. The hallways of this building have become familiar over the weeks. Even with anger clouding your vision and a bad ankle, you trace a steady path to the parking lot. You’re halfway to your car when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

You freeze for a moment, turning the sound of it over in your brain, stuck on the way it almost sounds like a plea, a prayer coming from his lips. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. They fall quickly, as if he’s running. Your indecision still renders you immobile. 

“Hold on a second. Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

If you thought you were angry before, you’re surely seeing red now. How dare he. 

Spinning around, you only hope you sound as outraged as you feel. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“What? No.” His brow furrows. “I mean, I know our schools are technically rivals and all, but we haven’t really seen each other in years.”

“Right, because you’ve been so sunny and welcoming since I joined the group.”

“I was giving you space. You practically bolted like a scared cat when you saw it was me.” He runs a hand through his hair. You hate the way it falls perfectly back into place. And you hate the way he looks so good doing it. “But clearly you’ve got something against me.”

The audacity, the sheer, utter audacity. There’s no trace of humor when you say, “You’re hilarious, really.” And there’s no room for debate when you turn away from him again, continuing to walk towards your car. 

“Wait,” he tries, but it falls on deaf ears. “God, ___, would you just hold on for a second, I—”

You turn. To do what, you’re not entirely sure. But before you can decide, the grip he has on his car keys loosens, the fingers of his right hand less dexterous than usual thanks to his arm brace. He still has his reflexes though. With his other hand, he manages to stop them from falling completely. 

“Better take care of that.” You jerk your chin to where he awkwardly fumbles with his keyring, trying to find a better grip. “Wouldn’t want to drop those too.”

His gaze snaps to you, eyes wide, mouth slightly slackened. The keys fall from his grasp, metal clinking delicately on the pavement. A million questions swim across his features, none of which you’ll give the grace of answering. 

Instead, you turn around once more. You make it all the way to your car, all the way out of the parking lot, all the way home. 

And he never says your name once. 

…

The following Tuesday, you are the last one of the group to arrive. And while you would usually never pass up the opportunity to best Sunghoon at anything, including being the latest arrival, competition is not the reason for your tardiness. 

It’s avoidance. That, and the fact that you had to spend eleven minutes giving yourself a pep talk in the car before you could work up the nerve to approach the front doors of the clinic. In the end, it’s a glance down at the boot on your left foot that does it. You’ve let Sunghoon ruin your chance at a gold medal once, and you’ll be damned if you let him do it again. 

Besides, your last visit with Dr. Min was a good one. Your ankle hasn’t healed quite as much as Dr. Kim suspected, but progress is progress, and you’re making plenty of it, according to your most recent x-rays. 

You enter the session with an apology for Dr. Kim and concentrated efforts to not let your gaze wander to the back corner of the room as you make your way over to where Jake and Jungwon sit. Starting your stretches, you assume Niki is over with Sunghoon, but you can’t work up the nerve to confirm that. 

Despite her initial annoyance at your tardiness, Dr. Kim is equally pleased at your latest x-ray results and gives you the green light to switch out the resistance bands you’ve been using for the next level up. Just as you’re reaching for the set of red bands on the shelf next to the treadmills, a set of obnoxiously smooth hands gets there first. 

Turning to Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, you grab the end of the band set he just snatched out from under you, eyes ablaze. 

The little fucker has the gall to roll his eyes. “What are you doing?”

You yank on the band. He doesn’t even flinch, grip steady. “I’m trying to follow Dr. Kim’s instructions,” you inform, tone flat. 

This time when you yank again, he yanks back. Much to your annoyance, he’s able to exert enough force to have you stumbling forward. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“And it’s working,” Niki whispers to Jake and Jungwon in the back corner of the room. Dr. Kim just shakes her head. 

“Just take the green bands,” Sunghoon suggests. 

“They don’t have enough resistance. I need these ones,” you argue. “Why don’t you take the green ones?”

“Pretty sure if one of us takes the lighter bands, it should be you.” Sunghoon tightens his grip. “Or are you seriously trying to claim that you’re stronger than me right now?”

“I’m using them for my legs, you absolute jackass. Which are definitely stronger than your forearms.”

Sunghoon cocks a brow. “Should we put money on it?”

“You are such a dick. Dr. Kim literally—”

“Has another set of red bands,” the woman in question interrupts. She levels the two of you with an exasperated look as she holds them out in front of her. “There’s another set of every color on the equipment shelf next to the door.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, pulling back a little on your end of the band before you release it, just to hear the small cry Sunghoon lets out when it snaps against the skin of his good wrist. “Thanks.”

And the satisfaction that comes from completing your usual number of reps with a higher resistance is almost as gratifying as when you see Sunghoon rubbing at the still reddened skin on his left wrist as you pack up to leave for the day. 

“Those two are gonna kill each other,” Jungwon tells Jake and Niki as the three of them walk to their cars, brow creasing in concern. 

“Or something,” Jake agrees. 

Niki hoists his bag up on his shoulder. “My money’s on ___.”

A contemplative look passes between Jake and Jungwon before they nod in unison, “Yeah.”

…

You’re in the middle of passing a medicine ball back and forth with Jake the following week when he asks, “Are your school’s finals next week too?”

And although it’s hard to believe, first semester is already drawing to an end as the days get shorter and assignments get longer. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m up to my ass in essays right now.”

“Same,” Jake agrees. “Sometimes it makes me wonder how I do it when I’m training, too.” Although you agree, a pang of jealousy is the only thing his words inspire. Of the skaters on your team that are preparing to compete as you speak. That have already choreographed their routines and selected their music and are spending every waking moment perfecting each and every detail of their program. 

It’s hard. It’s brutal. You’d be the first to admit that. But you miss it all the same, so much it hurts. 

A moment passes before he continues. “Well, anyway, Jungwon, Niki, and I were thinking that since none of us are training right now, we should celebrate the end of the semester like everyone else does.”

You arch a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Right, sorry,” he apologizes. “Consider this your formal invitation to get absolutely shitfaced with us next Friday.”

The laugh that bubbles in your throat is so unexpected you can’t quite bite it back. While you have your fair share of good, old-fashioned fun, he’s right. Every other semester, you’ve celebrated the end of finals season with a cup of hot tea and an early night in bed. Traded one source of stress for another as you woke up bright and early the next day to hit the ice. 

You send him a smile, tossing the medicine ball back in his direction. “Count me in.”

…

The following Friday night finds you double-checking the address on your phone before tentatively knocking on the front door of what you hope is Jake’s apartment. In the middle of the university district across the city from your own, you can’t say you’re familiar with any of the buildings outside of the athletic complex, which you’ve only ever visited for a handful of competitions. It strikes you then that this is also the university Sunghoon attends. And, stomach dropping, that you never actually asked who all would be attending tonight.

Before you have the chance to spin on your heel and high-tail it down the stairs you just climbed, the door swings open. It’s not Jake. 

“Oh,” you mumble. The boy who opened the door is not Jake, but he is very much attractive. “Sorry. I’m looking for Jake Sim’s apartment.” Your voice turns up at the end like a question. 

“You’re in the right place,” he smiles, and it’s gorgeous. “I’m Heeseung, Jake’s roommate. You must be ___.” He opens the door wider, allowing you space. “Come on in.”

“That’s me.” You offer him a grateful smile as you enter, hanging your coat and sliding your shoes off. 

The interior is surprisingly sophisticated, for a college boy’s apartment. It’s clean, for starters, and as you follow Heeseung down the hallway towards the kitchen, you can’t help but be impressed by their choice in decor. 

“Help yourself to anything.” Heeseung gestures to the impressive spread of snacks on the table. “But first, can I get you something to drink?”

“Um…” Your lack of alcohol-related knowledge is apparent, and the uncertainty must be obvious, because Heeseung just smiles again. 

“I’ve got you.” There’s an undertone of something in his words. Something playful, something bordering on flirty. But it’s too subtle to tell for sure, and you’re not one to bet on losing odds. He reaches for a glass and a handful of ice cubes. “Do you like fruity flavors?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That sounds good.” Besides, it’s been a minute since you’ve been well and truly flirted with at a college party by a boy that looks like he could spell trouble in his sleep. This could be fun, you think.  

Glancing towards the adjacent living room, you notice the usual familiar faces. Jake and Niki are sitting on the couch while Jungwon chats with a pair of boys you don’t recognize. Eyes tracing the perimeter, you feel your shoulders tense when they land on a familiar silhouette. Sunghoon has his back to you, but his identity is just as unmistakable as it was on your first day of physical therapy. Like Jungwon, he’s talking to another person you don’t know. 

Oh, well. It’s too late to back out now and too early to make an exit. If you and Sunghoon can coexist in a room once a week without starting too many fires, you’re sure you’ll manage to get through tonight just fine. 

Heeseung hands you a full glass. It’s cold where it meets your fingertips. 

“Should we join them?” He inclines his head toward the living room and you nod. 

Following in his footsteps, you wave a quick greeting to Jake before taking a seat next to Heeseung, enough space between you and Sunghoon for you to relax slightly.

“How do you and Jake know each other?” You ask, searching for something to fill the silence, to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you play soccer together?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, we’ve been friends since elementary school. But I am on the basketball team, which helps. I feel like student athletes just kind of get each other, you know?”

You do know, and you tell him as much. The crazy schedule, the unwavering commitment. It’s much easier to explain to someone that’s living through the exact same thing. 

“Speaking of which, you’re a figure skater, right? For the university across town.”

You arch a brow. “I’m surprised Jake told you so much about you.”

“Not nearly enough,” he flirts, and this time it’s blatant. 

You take another sip of your drink with upturned lips, weighing a response on your tongue. Before you can decide how many cards you’d like to show, you make eye contact across the room with the one person you were hoping to avoid. 

Sunghoon looks equally—scratch that—even more displeased to see you. Jawline so taught you could cut your finger on it and lips drawn in a straight line, he’s pissed where he locks eyes with you from his seat. Sunghoon is the one to avert his eyes first. Throwing back whatever’s in his cup, he slices through the moment of tension with a knife. 

If Heeseung notices the way your breath splutters, he doesn’t comment. Thankfully, Jungwon chooses the next moment to say his hellos and introduce you to the boys you hadn’t recognized earlier. 

“Sunoo,” he nods towards the boy he’d been sitting with earlier, who offers a friendly greeting. “And that’s Jay, over by Sunghoon. And you’ve already met Heeseung.”

“And you all go to school here?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Jay and I live together, and Sunoo is Niki’s roommate.”

“You’re deep in enemy territory,” Heeseung elbows you lightly, teasing. “What are we gonna do with you?”

You lift your now empty glass towards him, grinning. “Get me another drink, hopefully.”

Sending you a wink, he takes the glass from your outstretched hand before standing from the couch. “On it.” You watch his back retreat into the kitchen, oblivious of the second one that follows it a handful of moments later. 

Jay, as it turns out, is not an athlete, but does play guitar for a local  band your friend has been raving to you about for ages. He’s already promising you two sets of complimentary tickets to every one of their upcoming shows by the time you realize Heeseung’s been gone for a while. Too long. 

Excusing yourself, you head toward the kitchen. And it’s just your luck that you find the person you’ve spent the evening avoiding, instead of the one you’re searching for. Even with the buzz of your first drink fading rapidly, your inhibitions are feeling low. 

Sunghoon barely has the chance to register your presence before you’re laying out accusations. 

“I know you don’t like me, but do you really have to spend the whole night glaring at me like that? In front of everyone?”

Sunghoon’s shoulders tense, a confirmation that he hears you, but he says nothing. Instead, he just swallows the remainder of his drink in one large gulp. His eyes are still flaring, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you did something to piss him off. 

But it’s just like him, to avoid conversations he doesn’t want to have with the end of another drink. To treat you like someone not even worthy of a response. You don’t know why you expected anything different. Scoffing, you notice the full drink sitting on the counter. Heeseung must have had the chance to refill it before disappearing. 

You move to step around Sunghoon and reach for it when he finally says, “I’m not glaring at you.”

The gaze you level him with is incredulous. “Do you think I’m stupid? I have eyes—”

“For all I know you are stupid!” Sunghoon sighs, drags an open palm down the length of his face. “I mean, are you really gonna let some guy you just met pour your drinks all night?”

“Heeseung?” You’re confused why all of his rage seems to be directed towards something so insignificant. “He’s Jake’s roommate”

“And a complete stranger to you.”

It’s infuriating, the way he assumes his opinion should hold any weight in your life. The way he thinks he has any say in your decisions. “So should I avoid all the food now too?” You’re being petty now for the sake of it. “I mean, since you’ve been in here unsupervised for quite a while now.” You take another step towards your drink and he moves, blocking your path with his body. 

When you look up, you find his eyes already trained on you, and there’s no ice in them now. Just pure, unadulterated heat. Fire. Flames that lick the base of your spine. “You’re so fucking agitating, you know that?”

“I’m agitating?” You take another step forward, hoping the proximity will force him away. It doesn’t. If anything, he leans into it. Into you. 

You reach for the drink again. This time, he stops you himself. Fingers of his unrestricted hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Yeah.” His words are low, voice a caress even as it drips venom. You feel his breath ghost across your cheekbone. “Real fucking agitating.”

Your eyes are still locked on his, and you search them for a hint of something coherent, something that makes sense. Every bone in your body drawn taught, it’s as if muscle memory reverts you to the last moment you were like this, the last moment he held you this close, body entwined with his own in a familiar embrace. Your wrist slackens in his grasp. 

Last time, he dropped you. Sent you scattering across ice until the only thing you could taste was the bitterness of defeat and the sharp sting of humiliation. 

Last time, he let you fall. 

You have no idea what he’ll do now. 

In the end, it’s the sound of approaching footsteps that has the two of you springing apart, your wrist falling from his grip. In the scramble, you remember your original target. 

Despite the long melted ice, this drink feels even cooler in your grip, a stark contrast to the simmering heat just beneath your skin. 

When Heeseung enters, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I had to take a call. My brother gets chatty at the worst times.” Nodding to your hand, he smiles, “You found your drink.” 

“Yeah, I did.” You take a step closer to the living room, closer to Heeseung. Further from Sunghoon. 

Glancing between the two of you, there’s a hint of uncertainty when Heeseung asks if you want to rejoin the others in the living room. 

You put his worries to ease and your questions to rest when you agree easily, not even bothering to give Sunghoon a second thought. 

You do seek his gaze one last time, though, before you follow Heeseung back to the party. Looking directly at him, you raise your glass in a mock toast. Without breaking eye contact, you bring the cup to your lips, swallowing half the drink in one long sip. When you do finally turn away, it’s to find the empty seat next to Heeseung. 

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur, trading stories and laughs with the people around you while Heeseung keeps the seat at your side warm. Sunghoon does you the favor of disappearing from sight after your stand off in the kitchen.

It’s easy to relax into the company of everyone else, so much so that you don’t see Sunoo until you’re running right into him, the contents of his cup saturating the front of your shirt. 

It’s a problem Heeseung is quick to solve, and the gray hoodie he offers you is cozier than any of your own with a scent that’s almost addicting. 

He’s sweet, you think. Sweet and charming and forward in all of the right ways. It’s solidified when he offers to join you on the porch when you tell him you’re stepping outside for some fresh air. It’s cemented when he accepts your refusal with nothing but a smile and the request that you “come back quick.”

Stepping outside, it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not alone. It would appear that your earlier assumption that Sunghoon must have gone back to his place was wrong. There’s no drink in his hand, but the way he sways with the gentle midnight breeze makes you think he’s still working through everything he downed earlier. 

Silently, you glance up at the cloudless night sky, at the way the stars seem to wrap around you. Gaze returning to Sunghoon’s back, you suppose the simplest course of action would be to leave before he realizes you’re here. You turn to do just that, to make good on your promise to Heesung, when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

Or at least, you think that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell, with the way his syllables and sounds slur together. Turning back towards him, you find him already looking at you. He repeats your name, and this time around, it’s a bit clearer. 

His eyes trace a downward line from your face to your change in clothes. Something in his face crumples, withers. 

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, words not lining up quite right through the inebriation. 

“What?”

“That day.” The sudden onset of sincerity in his tone makes him seem more sober than he is. “I should have caught you.”

The stars in the sky suddenly don’t seem so far away. You must have heard him wrong. A crease forms between your eyebrows, eyes scanning over his features. They’re laid open in their honesty, no trace of deception. 

“I wanted to catch you. I tried to.” He sighs. “Was my fault.”

“I…” You search for words, for the vindication you’d always imagined you’d feel at his admission. In its absence, you find only confusion and an odd pang of regret. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

“Sorry for what? Why are you bringing that up?”

He just shakes his head, eyes falling to his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Like a broken record. His pain is wrapped up in there too, trapped in a loop time has never quite let it escape. 

When you return to the party, it’s with a jumbled excuse of needing to check on a pet cat you don’t have. 

In the haste of it all, you forget to so much as exchange numbers with Heeseung. But you do find the time to pull Jake aside on your way out the door, to make sure that he helps Sunghoon get home safe. 

…

The next morning greets you with a pounding headache and an unfamiliar hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. It takes a moment of searching through hazy memories before recollection of that particular string of events finds you. 

With a sigh, you head out in search of water and Advil, sending Jake a quick message that you’ll stop by his apartment later to return Heeseung’s hoodie. 

Even a handful of hours later, you can’t decide if you hope Heeseung is home or not. It’s a Saturday afternoon after a long night, so you figure the odds are high. But you still can’t pinpoint whether that feeling in your gut is excitement or dread. 

In an effort to delay the inevitable, you take a detour before visiting Jake’s apartment again. Your rival university’s sports complex is just as nice as you remember it, large, pristine buildings that hold everything an athletics department could dream of. Fondly, you remember the first time you skated in this stadium, back in middle school. It had felt so big, then, so special, to be skating for such a large crowd. 

It felt even more special to be sharing the ice with someone who put dreams in your head and butterflies in your stomach. Still fairly new to pair skating, the two of you had put on a program with a less than favorable amount of deduction. 

But still. It was yours. It was special. It was shared. 

You wonder if he knew then, that one day he would be the reigning king of this very same rink. 

Probably, you think. Park Sunghoon never had the habit of letting things feel impossible. 

Looking down at the boot on your foot, you miss it, all of it, all at once. The late nights. The early mornings. The bruises and cuts and aching muscles. The determination after defeat. The elation after glory. The feeling of flying every time blade touches ice. 

The sign posted next to the stadium is an advertisement, a reminder, of the upcoming regional championships. There’s a pang of loss, a moment of grief, for your program that will have to wait for next year. 

But your x-rays are coming back better every time, and Dr. Kim is sure you’ll be back on the ice by the time spring comes. 

For the first time in a long time, you think it’ll be okay. You know you’ll be okay.  

In front of you, the stadium door opens, and you realize you’re standing right in front of the exit. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly moving to get out of the way, but then you take a closer look. “Coach Kang?” you ask, just as she says your name with the same air of disbelief. 

It’s an odd feeling of synchronicity, to stumble into your childhood skating coach just as you’re reminiscing on the past. 

“It’s been so long,” she beams, pulling you in for a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting a friend. What about you?”

“Coaches’ meeting,” she explains. “Trying to see if I can get some of my junior skaters in to watch a few practices before regionals.” Nudging you with her shoulder, she adds, “speaking of which, how’s your program coming along? Are you getting excited?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually off the ice for this one.” Glancing down, you lift your booted foot in explanation. “Ankle fracture has me out for the rest of the season.”

“Oh, no.” Coach Kang places a consolatory hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. That has to be so hard.”

“It’s okay, actually.” You don’t know who’s more surprised, her at your admission, or you at the fact that you actually mean it. “Everything is healing up nicely, so I’m looking forward to an even better program next year.” 

“Well look at you, all grown up.” She smiles. “I can say that thirteen-year-old you would not have had such a good attitude about it. Honestly, I’m surprised a fracture was enough to stop you. You were always so stubborn about things. You and Sunghoon.” She lets out a short laugh as your shoulders tense at the mention of him. “I was just thinking about you two the other day, actually. We had a skater fracture his tailbone and argue until he was blue in the face that he still wanted to compete.” Shaking her head, she adds, “It reminded me of that time Sunghoon insisted on skating even though he’d just sprained his wrist.” She shakes her head again, releases a small laugh. “Never could keep you two off the ice.”

It all checks out, the stubbornness, the determination even when it was stupid. But you’re hung up on one detail. You’re sure you could list every one of Sunghoon’s skating injuries just as thoroughly as he could. But before the current one, you can’t recall any wrist injuries. “What? When did he sprain his wrist?” 

Coach Kang waves her hand flippantly, like the sinking feeling in your gut isn’t intensifying with every passing moment, like she isn’t about to confirm a realization you’re already dreading. “Oh, you remember. It was just a few days before nationals that one year.”

That one year. She skirts around it, for your sake probably. But you know exactly what she means, when she’s referring to. 

And suddenly, you’re falling through air again, plummeting towards ice as a hand makes a desperate attempt to catch you. As sheer will alone is no match for injury weakened bones and ligaments and muscles. As you’re sliding across frozen ground and he’s gripping his wrist with pain on his face and terror in his eyes. 

As your head spins, spots clouding your vision from the force of the impact. Before the world goes black, your eyes search for him. 

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you watch as his mouth moves to form words you can’t hear. 

“I’m sorry.”

…

Raising your fist, you pound at the door again. One, two, three times. At this rate, your knuckles will be bloody before you get a response. 

But before you can start your assault on the wood in front of you again, the door swings open slowly, revealing a familiar frame. 

“You absolute idiot.”

“Well hello to you too.” Rubbing at his eyes, you appear to have just woken him from a nap. If his head is feeling anything like yours was this morning, you almost feel sorry. 

But there are more pressing matters at hand. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“That I’m an idiot? Probably not.”

“That you sprained your wrist three days before nationals? That you skated anyway? That you attempted to catch a person quite literally spinning through the air with a wrist injury?”

A beat of silence passes. 

And then another. 

Sunghoon suddenly looks wide awake. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What the hell were you thinking?” There’s fire in your eyes, an anger that’s directed towards him but not in the ways he’s used to. 

He pauses for a moment, eyes searching your features for another beat. Finally, he sighs. “Would you have let me skate if I did?”

It’s not the answer you expect. And it’s just like him, to answer a question with one of his own. “I… what?”

“You heard me.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Would you have let me get on the ice if you knew I was hurt?”

And what is it, him and his habit of asking ridiculous questions like they don’t have obvious answers. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. No one in their right mind would have let you do that program with a wrist sprain, much less your partner. And I love Coach Kang, but I’m about to file a negligence suit against her, because what the hell kind of—”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he grimaces, and you’re still getting used to the way apologies sound on his lips. “That came out wrong. What I was trying to say was that you… Well, I… I mean…” He trails off for the third time, casts a tentative look at the way your eyebrows only raise higher and higher every time he stops a train of thought in its tracks. His gaze falls down, somewhere between your nose and chin. An exhale passes through parted lips. Something in his resolve slips. “Oh, fuck it.”

And then he’s kissing you. 

Lips against lips and hands in your hair. It’s messy and awkward, and you can’t quite get the timing right. 

Sunghoon pulls back a fraction of an inch, catching his breath and letting you do the same. 

“What are you doing?”

There’s heat in his eyes and fondness too, a soft sort of expression that only melts further every time he looks at you. But now there’s anxiety in the mix, a crippling fear that he’s misjudged everything entirely, done something horribly wrong. 

“I’m sorry.” Before today, you could count his apologies on one hand. Now, you’re running out of fingers. “Did you not want—”

This time, it’s you that pulls him down, hands lacing around the nape of his neck, exhaling a soft sigh against parted lips that sends his mind spinning. 

And it’s only the second time, but it’s already better. Already a natural rhythm that the two of you seem to fall into with a little more grace. 

The expanse of his door is cold against your back when Sunghoon pulls you into his apartment with his good hand, and he’s a quick study. Attempt number three is an even greater improvement as hands search for new skin to discover and things start to fall into place, one at a time. 

Reaching for Heeseung’s forgotten hoodie, Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to toss it somewhere outside your current plane of existence. In this moment, you exist only within the space the two of you occupy, everything else an afterthought. 

And you have the feeling attempt number four will be your best yet. 

…

epilogue

“Are you ever gonna join me or do I just have to stay out here looking stupid forever?”

You don’t even take a moment to consider. “The second one.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon pleads, skating back towards you where you remain planted firmly to the bench on the perimeter of the rink. He moves towards you with a grace that used to inspire a raging, stomping green monster of envy. Now, you just admire the way he cuts across the ice with the agility of a dancer. “It’s fun out here, I promise.”

Avoiding his gaze, you let your eyes fall to your feet instead. They’re already laced up in your favorite pair of skates, black boot all but forgotten since you had it removed at your last visit to Dr. Min’s office. Since he gave you the green light to return to the thing you love most. 

You had been ecstatic then. Brimming with so much extra energy Sunghoon had to physically intervene to prevent you from accidentally knocking over an elderly lady on your way out of the hospital. But now, with the opportunity you’ve been dreaming of for long, hard months at your fingertips, something in you hesitates. 

Sunghoon says your name, and suddenly he’s serious. “This is all you’ve been talking about for months.” Sliding down onto his knees in front of you, you’re suddenly at eye level. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He casts a doubtful glance. “Really, I just…” It’s hard, to speak your fears into existence, to let them take flight. Even if the boy in front of you makes it a little easier. “What if it’s not what I imagined?”

It’s a million little worries wrapped up in one. What if your ankle isn’t the same? What if it’s never the same? What if you’re not as good as you were? What if you’re not good enough? 

Sunghoon hears them all, and puts them to rest with a smile, a gentle touch as he rests his forehead against yours. “You and that big brain. Always worrying about the wrong things.”

“Hey! I—”

“It won’t be what you imagined.” He draws back a few inches, and your eyes have nowhere to land but on his own. “It will be different. It will feel weird, and your legs will feel wobbly, your muscles will feel weak, and your ankle might give out.”

Your lips flatten into a thin line. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Sunghoon just pinches your cheeks together, forcing your lips to purse. “So you’ll show up. Over and over again. Every day until your skates start to feel like a second pair of feet and the ice starts to feel like home again. Until your ankle and your muscles and your stamina are all built back up, in a way that’s different from before but will feel familiar before you know it.” He presses a single, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until I’m dragging you off the ice instead of onto it, because your boyfriend needs attention and is feeling a little jealous of all the time you’re spending here instead of with him.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so needy. It’s gross.”

Sunghoon only smiles. “Only for you.”

This time, when he gets back on his feet and extends a hand, you take it. You follow him onto the ice and headfirst towards your insecurities feeling a little bit like a newborn deer, a bike without its training wheels. 

He laughs when you stumble and brushes hair out of your face when you pout. 

After an hour, you’re already feeling more solid than before. After two, that feeling of flying is starting to return. 

It’s somewhere just before hour three when Sunghoon says, “Remember how I told you earlier that you’re worrying about the wrong things?”

“Yeah.” You drag the word out slowly, not liking the hint of deviousness in his sudden grin. 

“This is what I was talking about. Instead of worrying about getting back on the ice, you should be worrying about how long it will take you to be able to beat me on a lap around the rink.”

“You absolute asshole. I fractured my ankle!”

Already halfway around the rink, Sunghoon just laughs. 

…

outtake—five years ago. 

Sunghoon’s vision is blurry. It’s a terrible combination of things—the exhilaration of the spotlight, the pain in his wrist, the grief of an egregious error. The sudden onset of tears that sting in the corners of his eyes and fall without his permission. 

Despite all of it, he finds his way back to his dressing room. Choking back a sob, he reaches for the glass of water he’d left out earlier. It tastes acidic on his tongue, burns like regret on the way down. 

Stupid, he was so stupid. His hands tangle in his hair. He wants to pull it out. Wants to scream until his throat is raw and he can’t anymore. 

It was a terrible enough decision to gamble his own fate on an unhealed injury, but as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him, he realizes he’s done something much worse. 

Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn’t matter. All he can see is you, sprawled out on ice, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes dazed at the impact. 

The unexpected impact. Because you trusted him. You trusted him so much that of course you’d never considered what you would do if his hands failed, if his wrist gave out. If he decided to risk your program, your fate, you, all on a whim, on an inflated sense of self-importance and a lack of regard for the injury he was so certain he could power through. 

He couldn’t imagine it, three days ago. Telling you that he was injured, that he couldn’t skate the program. He couldn’t imagine watching as the features he bashfully considered so, painfully pretty twisted into disappointment. Into anger. 

So he turned his shame into resolve, into determination. One that allowed him to catch you with a fractured wrist in every practice run, every time, except for the time that mattered. Biting back grimaces and cries of pain all for the fool’s hope of seeing you smile in a few days’ time, a gold medal around your neck. 

Instead, he got to see you spinning through the air, slipping through his fingers, landing with a sickening thud. He wants to ask what hospital they took you to, wants to ignore the pain in his wrist a little longer and run there himself, just to make sure that you’re okay.

But then he imagines the way you’ll look at him when you see him. The way all that disappointment and anger he’d wanted to avoid so desperately will surely be all you have to offer him. 

He understands. He does. He wouldn’t want to see him either. 

Turning away from the mirror, he tucks away his shame for the future. But that only leaves his gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers sitting on the table. The one he’d spent nearly an hour agonizing over, the one his mother had assured him a dozen times you would love. The one he made sure had all of your favorite colors. 

He snuck his own favorite in there too, in hopes of what exactly he can’t be sure, but he knows he likes the way they look together—your favorite color and the deep blue irises that represent his own. 

It seems to stupid now. After everything, after this, he can’t imagine you want his flowers, and even less his favorite color. He can’t imagine that you want anything to do with him. 

So he doesn’t seek you out. Not in the hospital that day, not when you’re cleared to practice and back on the ice again, not when chance has the two of you colliding five years later. 

Not until he watches you walk away from him with all that anger and resentment and disappointment he’s been so avoiding for so long. Not until it strikes him in the face and he realizes that he can’t live with it, can’t let bygones be bygones and hope time and the absence of him in your life have healed you for the better when it still hurts to even look at you. 

On a dressing room table, five years in the past, a bouquet of flowers wilts. 

And Sunghoon learns that with love and patience and a little bit of sunlight, beautiful things, even the fragile ones, bloom when you water them.

.....

note: thank you for reading! as always, comments, reblogs, and asks are very much appreciated :D

[feeder86]

Feeder 86: The Top Ten

Can you believe that the Feeder86 ‘Orginal Gainer Stories’ blog will soon be posting the two hundredth story? I thought of many ways to celebrate. But then I stopped and realised that I would probably be best using the time to address one of the questions I get asked about most frequently. Which of the stories do I personally like the most?

This was not an easy list to make as I very rarely go back to re-read my own work after I have finished editing and posting them. This is not because I do not like them, but because I always see bits that I want to change. Nevertheless, this project was the perfect opportunity to revisit a few oldies that I remember being very proud of at the time. 

Hopefully you will see this list for what it is: a glimpse into how I write, my motivations and drive; rather than just a self indulgent pat on the back for myself. Yuck!

So, with that being said, let us begin...

#10 The Feeders’ Formula: This tale certainly had to be placed into the list. After all, it is the one that kicked off ‘Original Gainer Stories’ all those years ago. There are many amazing examples of instant body weight transformation stories out there. I felt that I needed to write this one as my contribution to the genre. It went down well at the time. I swiftly wrote a Part Two, then followed it up with others (The Feeders’ Formation, The Feeders’ Formalities, The Feeders’ Foreclosure, The Feeders’ Forecast, The Feeders’ Former Years), becoming something of an ongoing saga in recent years; focusing on the different Feeders from that very first meeting. As a writer who sometimes struggles to find the ending, these are wonderful to write as they all have the same inevitable conclusion. There is also so much freedom to be had when you’re working with characters who are pretty much pure evil. I know so much more about the Feeders than I’ve ever written down, so it is great to tease out those little details with each new installment. The newest of these tales (The Feeders’ Foreplay) was the darkest yet, but seems to have provoked a very favourable reaction from many. Who knows what the Feeders may get up to next? I do! And you can find out too, once we start a whole new sweeps season of stories this April! Come with me into The Feeders' Fortress!

#9 Only One: Where do I start? Only One has my absolute favourite type of feeder. Ben is big, sexy and very in control. He’s one of those rare types of guys who always stays on top and is a step ahead of absoultely everyone he meets. Who wouldn’t fall for him? I certainly did! In fact, I loved him so much that I wrote an entire prequel for him (and none of you even noticed!) Check out Rewire if you want to see how Ben became the man we know and love.

#8 The Wright Boys: The idea of a weight gain that cannot be stopped or controlled is a tempting one for many. How much easier would it be if you didn’t have to second guess your choices or face the pressure to lose weight? This was the first tale of what I see as ‘The Curses’ saga that eventually bled into many other stories (including another one on this list!) and culminated in Wright vs Beckett. However, this story remains my personal favourite of these. If you’re a fan of looking for crossovers between my stories, these are some of the most explicitly linked. I followed it up with a spin-off tale (The Wright Boys: DNA), but continue to have ideas about how I could go back to these boys in the future. Watch this space.

#7 Making Monsters: The title of this story really does give away how I felt about it at the time. This is quite the saga, spread over into not just two, but three parts! It began as a story that was very similar to Blackmailed; a tale that I had written previously about a guy voyeristically enjoying seeing his friend fatten up her boyfriend. However, this story evolved even further for me, with Tommy’s love of eating and gaining weight being both his greatest love, and his biggest shame. His denial only heightened the tension for me, and, when he does eventually give in, the gains feel all the more satisfying as a result.

#6 The Pig Feed: It’s not easy to write a gainer story where there isn’t another character spurring the events along and encouraging things. In this tale however, that role is given to a very tasty and surprisingly addictive pig feed mixture that Steve gets himself hooked on. It’s a story that I really enjoyed writing and still feel very happy with. I have considered writing more stories around this interesting feed. However, I am yet to do so; deciding (for now at least) that things are perhaps best left as they are. But, feel free to let me know your thoughts on this.

#5 Farm Boy: Whether you grew up in a big city, or a small rural community, like Hayden in this story, we can all relate to having desires and attractions that those around us don’t understand. And, thanks to how well connected we are these days, we now know what it’s like to realise that you’re not actually alone, and the whirlwind of excited emotions that follow. I enjoyed writing this story because I, quite simply, fell completely in love with Hayden. As kinky as he was, he still retained that fresh faced innocence throughout. If any of my characters were destined to be together forever, I imagine that these two would be my top choice.

#4 Keeping a Crush: This is one of those stories that I wrote in a matter of hours, and I was so pleased with it when I was done. Getting the train to go to work is not necessarily something that many Americans have to do, and so the location had to be switched to the UK (quite refreshing, I thought!). For me, it’s one of those really rare instances where placing very solid restrictions on the structure of a story (In this case, having it all take place during the commute to and from work) and finding that it actually elevates the sexual tension and mood. All scenes take place in public settings. All conversations could, in theory, be overheard. These days, so many people meet online and flirt for weeks by messaging back and forth, before they even see each other for the first time. Nowadays, for better or for worse, the actual, real fantasy is finding a connection with someone you just see in the real world; perhaps with a person you literally just met on the way to work...

If you’ve not read this one, I really would highly recommend it.

#3 To the Max: Stories with a magical element to them are either loved or hated. However, I find that this tale walks that line very successfully. Ned gets his hands on a love potion and makes straight guy, Max, fall for him. I’m sure we’ve all been there with that fantasy! However, it is in the consequences of inviting someone into your life, someone that you actually know very little about, that the entire eroticism of this story is based. I won’t spoil it for those who have not read it, but believe me when I say that things soon start getting very interesting indeed…

#2 Tommy’s Two Hundred. Don’t recognise this one? Well, that's because none of you have read it yet. 

Now, I’m not just saying this because I want you all to come back for the two hundreth story, but this is genuinely one of my absolute favourites. For my big milestone stories in the past, I have written something specifically for that event (Wright vs Beckett, The Seven Feeders of Finn). However, this is just a tale that I adored writing and decided to hold back for you all, especially for this occasion. It’s a story of domination and submission within a fairly open, but very kinky, relationship. Strapping Hunter plays the part of a very controlling feeder, making me break many of my own rules and stretching my boundaries to the absolute limits. You’ll either love him, or you’ll hate him. That’s all I’m going to say…

Also, this story is going to be the first Feeder86 story that will be fully illustrated. It’s all thanks to the amazing talents of Spellwell9 who was given an advanced copy and asked to imagine the characters in four different scenes. I cannot wait for you to see this!

Put it in your diary. All will be revealed from Friday 5th April…

#1 F80 Control: This is perhaps a controvercial choice (especially as my #1). I have previously admitted that this story strays a little from its purpose of being a gainer story. In other words, I get very caught up in the background story that is being told. However, I feel that the science fiction genre is surprisingly underused in tales of weight gain. Yet, the combination of Aritificial Intelligence and submission seemed, to me, to be the perfect blend. It really is a beast of a story if you can follow it all the way through to its conclusion. 

With the advent of improved artificial intelligence software in recent years, I felt the time was right to develop the world further, with the addition of F80 Ctrl Alt Del; a spin-off tale set slightly before the main story. Then, unable to help myself, I followed this up again with another companion story, F80: Kidnap and Control. 

The reason I chose this universe as my favourite is because this is where I am happiest writing. With AI, I don’t need to consider the morality or motivations - I know exactly what their aims are and I can see multiple ways in which it will cause conflict with humanity (and their waistlines!) I would also love to write more for this world one day, and I even left a little unused subplot in the last story that I think would provide the perfect starting-off point for another chapter. Will I ever write it? Well, we’ll have to wait and see…

So, there you have it! The the complete list!

This was a much harder exercise than I expected when I first embarked upon it. Stories like: Jiggle the Jock, Meticulous, Rule Number One, Freaks, Leftovers I and II, Ethan: The Secret Feeder and, not fogetting The Consequences I, II and III all crept in and out of the list, unfortunatley missing out on the final cut. There are many, many others, of course. But this list cannot go on forever...

So, why not tell me which ones were your favourites? Feel free to write in the comments and post a link to any other stories that you have enjoyed from myself, or from other authors. Hopefully, if we all work together, this could become a great resource for people in the future, filled with signposts and reccommendations.  

Also, don’t forget the Feeder86 Contents page where you can find links and descriptions of all the 200 stories posted so far (as well as plot outlines for upcoming tales as well). Please continue to enjoy the vast catalogue of stories, and even have a go yourself! I love supporting the many new gainer fiction writers who contact me. So please do get in touch if you need advice, or to talk through your ideas. Let’s all encourage a whole new generation of people to get typing away! I’m sure you will cheer them on just as much as I will.

Thank you to everyone who supports the stories blog here on Tumblr. Keep checking in every Friday througout April for a whole new sweeps season to celebrate this milestone. Stories will include: Tommy's Two Hundred, Train for a Gain, The Feeders' Fortress and The 1% (a companion story to The 5%). For now, I thank you all for taking time out to sit and read the very bizarre tales that sprout from my mind. You are all wonderful.

Happy 200 stories!

Feeder86

[everyonewooeverywhere]

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ bf!mingi x afab!reader

synopsis ✭ facesitting w/ pinkgi

content/genre ✭ smut 18+ MDNI

word count ✭ 853

note ✭ the voices won

warnings ✭ none really. a lot of talk about thighs (mingi loves thighs 🙂‍↕️), facesitting, multiple orgasms, ambiguous ending

✭ ✭ ✭

Mingi loved staying over at your place. He loved seeing the little items you had on your shelves that showed off your personality and interests. He loved lounging in your bed, breathing in your distinct scent from your sheets. And he fucking loved watching you walk out of the bathroom with damp hair and your body wrapped in a fluffy towel. Your skin, still slightly damp, reflecting the dim light from the lamp on your nightstand.

He watched from your bed as you rummaged through the dresser looking for a sleep shirt, shamelessly palming his dick through his sweats and biting his lip when you dropped the towel to slip the shirt over your head. 

When you moved over to the nightstand to grab underwear, he rolled from the middle of the bed to your side, swinging his legs off the edge.

Before you could even grab a pair of panties though, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you between his legs. 

“Hi,” you giggled at his eager attitude.

He hummed, “Hi baby.” His fingers fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

You ran a hand through his hair, freshly dyed. “I like the new color.”

“Yeah?” He looked up at you with big eyes, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Well, I like you in any color,” His eyelids fluttered when you scratched his scalp, “But pink does suit you really well.”

“Thank you,” He was no longer looking up into your eye, though. You watched as he admired your thighs. Palming at them and massaging them with his hands.

You smiled and bit your lip, “Mingi.”

He only gave you a little hum of acknowledgement.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Will you let me sit on your face?”

That caught his attention. He brought his eye back to yours. “Really?”

You nodded.

“Fuuuck, baby,” He groaned, “Yeah. Please.”

—--

Being between your thighs was a fucking dream. In fact from the moment he took you out on your first date, he couldn’t help but imagine himself between those thighs. The way they’d looked under that black miny dress had his mind spinning.

He just never thought you’d ask him for this. He’d dreamt about it over and over and over again, but absolutely nothing could compare to the way you dripped all over his mouth and chin. You tasted fucking heavenly on his tongue.

The groan he let out when you pulled at his pink strands pulsed through you, causing you to whimper and grind down harder on his face. 

Even when you tried to lift yourself up off of him to give him a breath, he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you back down. Your control over your legs dwindled as he kept pleasuring you with his tongue. He took full advantage of that and held you in place so he could have full uninterrupted access to your pussy. 

He fucking loved how vocal you were too. Whining and begging for more. Not even fully aware of what sounds came out of your mouth. He had you on his face for so long that you lost control of your words. Just needlessly begging for yet another orgasm. 

Neither of you knew how many times you’d come, but he fucking died every time your legs clenched up as squeezed his head as you came. And then you’d fall back onto his mouth where his tongue was waiting to toy with your swollen clit. 

And he’d do it over and over again. Your pleasure was his pleasure. Every whimper you made went straight through his ear and to his dick. And every time you came he got closer and closer to heaven. And each time he got closer the less controlled he became. He went from meticulously switching between sucking your clit and fucking you with his tongue to aimlessly grinding you over his face hoping that you’d come all over him (and you did).

For one last orgasm, he brought a thumb to your clit, so desperately rubbing your clit one final time. When you came, your thighs engulfed his head, pressing his ears and nearly crushing his skull. After you’d ridden his tongue through your high, you sat back on his chest, holding yourself up slightly with a hand beside his head.

Both of your breaths were heavy and erratic. Trying to make up for the loss of oxygen on both sides. 

“I think–fuck,” He still could hardly breath, “Shit.” He reached a hand behind you and palmed his, now softening, dick. 

“Holy shit,” you laughed breathlessly, “You came untouched.”

He nodded. “I don’t think you understand how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Yeah?” You teased, “So, if I asked you for another round tomorrow, you wouldn’t be opposed?”

“Fuck baby,” he groaned. “Not at all.”

“Ok, perfect. Because there’s something else I wanna try.”

He bit his lip at the suspense, but, fuck, he’d let you do anything you ever wanted to him. So it didn’t matter what little ideas you had floating in your head. He was ready for all of them.

[dollfacefantasy]

Playing to Win

pairing: stepdad!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: your new stepdad isn't much older than you, yet he has the audacity to ask you to call him daddy?

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, dubcon, daddy kink, humiliation kink, spanking, praise/degradation

word count: 4.3k

a/n: i got a little silly hehe. this is technically my first commission. if you’re interested, check out my ko-fi. as always i appreciate the support, smoochies.

this is my first commission written for my beloved @nexysworld. without her, this would never have come about. she's a great writer and such a sweet person. you all should go check out her blog if you haven't already.

“You want me to call you what?” you ask incredulously as you stare down the man standing across from you.

“You heard me,” Leon says with no sense of teasing in his voice.

You laugh in his face, a cruel, unabashed laugh. You could not believe his audacity to ask you to call him daddy. 

Technically, he was your new stepfather, but it was comical to you to even acknowledge him as such. He was right around your age, only a couple years difference, no way in hell were you going to call him daddy.

You had been open with your mother about your displeasure over Leon’s presence in your life. You called her a cradle robber and a cougar but to no avail. She continued her relationship with him; a young, bright eyed, rookie cop who always thought he knew best.

He wasn’t the problem so much. Sure, he was kind of annoying, but he was also pretty cute. He was funny, and if these were any other circumstances, you could see yourself and him getting along great, even being friends. Generally, he was nice to you, maybe a little over friendly if you were being honest. It always seemed like he knew something you didn’t, but you assumed that was just his nature.

“You’re funny, Leon,” you taunt, “Seriously, good joke.”

“It’s not a joke,” he corrects you and folds his arms over his chest, “Now that I’m taking a more serious role in your life, I expect you to show me some respect.”

“Oh, you do?” you laugh, “Leon-”

“Daddy,” he corrects.

You almost can’t speak, stunned to silence by the nerve of him. Was he doing this to annoy you? Was it supposed to be funny? Because there’s absolutely no way he could be serious about this.

“We are almost the same age. You realize this, yes?” you ask, enunciating the words slowly to get your point across, “I’m not calling you anything but your actual name. And maybe not even that cause you’re pissing me off, and I don’t wanna talk to you.”

“All this attitude, sweetheart, and for what?” he says as approaches you, “I’m not asking you to run a marathon for me. All I want is to be addressed properly.”

You scowl at the pet name. He brings a hand to your face, stroking your cheek with his knuckles before you swat it away.

“What is your problem, Leon?” you say angrily and shove him away, “Is this some fucked up fetish of yours? Like it’s not pathetic enough you’re fucking a divorced woman twice your age, right? You have to feel in control of me too to get it up?”

You laugh at him again when he responds with a glare. Rolling your eyes, you walk closer to him and get in his face.

“Aw, did I hurt daddy’s feelings?” you mock in the sweetest tone you could manage, giving him puppy dog eyes and putting emphasis on the title he was so obsessed with, “I’m so sorry daddy. Please don’t be mad at me.”

You’re about to laugh again before Leon spins you around so you quick the motion nearly gives you whiplash. Your back is flush against his chest, and even though you were teasing, your little performance clearly had some effect as you could feel his dick, now half hard, against your ass. It causes a small flash of heat in your belly that you try to pretend didn’t happen.

“Listen up, I’m not going to tell you again, baby. You do what I’m asking you, or we’re going to find another way to get it through your pretty little head,” he says.

His grip was firm. Despite his usual officer friendly persona, he could obviously be serious when he wanted to be. It didn’t shock you. You knew he was fit and could be intense. You’d caught him working out with his shirt off, sweat dripping down his muscular back while ‘Kim’ by Eminem blasted in his airpods. You tried to deny it, but it had left you feeling a little hot under the collar for the next few days.

You squirm in his hold, but he keeps your wrists pinned to your lower back. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, send me to my room? Ground me?” you say as you try to wriggle away.

“Oh no, we’re past that. You want to be a brat, I’ll handle you like one. I’ll put you over my knee and smack that cute ass until it’s raw, and you understand who’s in charge around here,” he says.

“You’re gonna spank me?” you shriek. You thrash harder in absolute shock. “No way! Are you fucking crazy? My mother will kick your ass.”

“Your mother isn’t here, babe. I’ll do whatever the hell I want,” he says. His fingers only tighten on you, digging into your flesh. An arm loops around your waist and starts pulling you over to the sofa. “Maybe she’ll be grateful that someone’s finally trying to teach you some manners.”

Even though you knew he was in shape, he was much stronger than you thought. He sits down on the sofa and folds you across his lap with no real effort. You’re secure there too, unable to get to your feet or away from him. You still try though, flailing your limbs about and bucking your hips.

“There, there. Let’s calm down, honey,” he coos, now clearly taunting you. He rubs the swell of your ass over the tight dress you were wearing. “Just tell Daddy you’re sorry, baby. I’m not a bad guy. I’m willing to hear you out.”

You don’t even respond. You pound your fists against his leg while kicking your feet.

“Poor baby. There’s no reason to throw a tantrum,” he says in the most condescending voice you’d ever heard. He gives you a light warning tap on the ass. “Just tell me what I want to hear, and Daddy will make it all better, give you all the kisses you need until you’re back to being a good girl.”

He was driving you fucking wild. Your body was taut with anger while your mind ran wild with frustration, not only at him, but at yourself. You could feel your panties getting sticky with arousal as he spoke down to you.

“Shut up, Leon!” you say and continue struggling.

His hand comes down again, cracking a little harder against the supple flesh of your ass. You suck a sharp breath in. It didn’t hurt yet, but it stung. Anymore force behind the swing of his palm and you knew he could fulfill his threats of marking up your ass.

“You wanna try that again, princess?” he says, “I’ll give you one more chance.”

“No! I’m not calling you Daddy you sick fucker! I-”

A loud slap echoes through the room. That was the smack you were scared of. So hard you could feel the burn beneath your skin. There was absolutely no doubt about his strength now. He lands another two, one on each cheek, drawing whimpers from your throat.

“Watch your mouth,” he says, “I’m sick of the whining and the back talk. I’ve given you more than enough chances to fix your behavior. I’m done playing nice with you.”

In a quick motion, he yanks your skirt up to bunch it at the small of your back. You squeal out “Leon!” but it makes no difference. Again, you attempt to wriggle away. All it does though is give him a view of your ass wiggling around in those cute panties you wore. The ones he had seen peeking over the waist of your jeans.

He lays more lashes to your skin in rapid succession. You wriggle slightly and involuntarily whine. Your ‘stepfather’ felt no guilt though. Partially because it was all part of the plan, partially because he could see the light purple fabric between your thighs darkening with arousal. Plus, the pathetic noises spilling from your mouth only made him want to work harder, rip more sweet cries from you. He continues cracking his solid hand against your bottom, sending ripples through the soft flesh. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, your eyes start to water, and your bottom lip juts out into a quivering pout.

“Oh, look at that sweet face,” he coos, taking a break from spanking you to stroke your cheek, “I know it hurts, baby. But it can all stop once you decide to stop being a stubborn little brat.”

He punctuates his statement with another swat. Your body jolts forward at the contact, head falling forward to hang in shame. You hate yourself for playing into it, but you can’t stop the automatic response that exits you in a humiliating whimper.

“I’m not a brat.”

“Oh you’re not? Could’ve fooled me,” he responds. He cracks his hand against your cheeks a few more times before giving you a break and rubbing the sore skin.

“I’m not. You’re just… you’re just mean.”

The words tumble from you in a pitiful cry, physically hurting you to say something so pathetic. To show such weakness when he was being such a prick. You shut your eyes, and a warm tear falls down your face. That only made you feel worse, making you want to cry more. A vicious cycle you couldn’t break out of when all your mind could think of was your stinging flesh and his patronizing voice.

“I’m being mean to you? Aw baby, after all the things you said, you think I’m the mean one?” he mocks.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whimper out without really thinking about it.

“I don’t need you to be sorry, sweetheart. You know what I want,” he says.

What’s supposed to be a groan comes out as a frustrated whine. You shake your head weakly and open your eyes again. His fingers slip beneath your chin to lift your face to look at him.

“Just say it. Say it and it will all be over. We can get on to helping you feel better,” he says.

The pain radiating from your ass, now glowing red, was almost enough to make you give in on the spot. But you could hear it in his voice. He was so fucking smug, having so much fun watching you cry and shift around in discomfort. You couldn’t just let him win.

So you shake your head defiantly, sniffling as your watery eyes connect with his in a stare. You immediately regret your decision because the amused glint that forms his eyes lets you know that he enjoys the resistance more than your submission. The corners of his lips tick upwards into a slight smile. Now it’s his turn to shake his head and mockingly tut at you before swinging his forearm and blasting your sore flesh with the heel of his palm.

You cry out, the noise strangled with despair. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip to restrain the louder sobs that were bubbling in your throat.

“Just give in, sweetheart. There’s no need to act tough for me. Do what I know you want to, and say the word,” he orders, his words coming out low and slow.

You know you should, but god, you don’t want to. It’s like your most basic instincts don’t want you to either. You have to think through it, force your tongue to conjure the word and expel it from your lips.

“I’m sorry… Daddy,” you whimper. A couple more tears leak from your eyes. The humiliation that mounts in your chest is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. But as the heat rises to your cheeks and clouds your mind, making you feel dizzy, you feel a deeper sense of heat spreading out in your lower belly. And it only gets worse when he starts in on you again.

“Oh, that’s my girl. Such a good girl when you want to be. I knew you could do it,” he coos, “Say it again for me, baby. Least you can do after being so cruel.”

At this point, you figure you’d already said it once, so what’s one more time. You say it again if for no other reason than to stop his harsh blows from raining down on your sensitive skin.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” you cry.

“That’s right. I know you are, honey. I know you don’t mean that stuff. You just wanted some attention, right? Wanted some time with Daddy all to yourself,” he says as his hand comes up and starts stroking your hair.

You weakly shake your head. You weren’t acting up because of that. He was being an asshole. That’s why you were acting up. Or were you even acting up? Your reaction was justified, wasn’t it? All the attention on you mixed with the shame boiling in your head makes it hard to think through this stuff.

“Oh, are you shy? Don’t wanna tell the truth?” he coos with a cruel chuckle. One of his hands rubs your aching ass while the other trails up and down your thigh soothingly. The latter hand slowly creeps to the junction of your legs. “I know that’s what it is, doll. I can feel it.”

As he says that, you feel fingers petting the damp fabric that conceals your cunt. You take a sharp breath to which his chuckle grows into a short laugh. He presses his fingers against the cloth, and you can tell immediately that even his movements are done in a way to mess with you. His digits drag against your panties, not giving you the pressure you need on your clit. You squirm awkwardly in an effort to find a better angle and not feel the soaked garment cling to your folds.

“Feeling a little impatient?” he teases.

You nod, any remaining shreds of dignity you have slowly being peeled away. You just couldn’t resist. The potential pleasure that’s just out of reach. The heat of his thick cock against your hip. His voice, like soft velvet slipping over your mind.

“Well honey, show me you can ask nicely, and I’ll be happy to help you out. Won’t even make you wait, we can get right to what you really want,” he says. His tone sounds slightly more genuine here.

“Pretty please, Daddy,” you force out. Your eyes cast down in shame as if you’re studying the pattern of the living room carpet.

“Pretty please what, babydoll?” he says, the teasing returning for a moment.

“Pretty please… fuck me,” you squeak.

He smirks, his victory written all over his face.

“Woah, listen to the mouth on you,” he tuts, “Normally, I wouldn’t let that kind of language fly, sweetheart, but I think you’ve had enough punishment for one day.”

His hands squeeze your waist and flip you over on his lap. He wipes away your tears with his thumb and presses a kiss to your forehead, that stupid smug expression on his face the entire time.

The next move is guiding your body onto the couch. You whimper as your back meets the cool leather. He pays that no mind and instead lifts your hips and tugs your skirt and panties off in one motion. You notice in your peripheral that he takes a souvenir, shoving the light purple underwear in his pocket.

After giving your ass a firm squeeze, his hands drift up and pull your shirt off. His eyes fixate on your tits, his soft hands coming to cup them and flick his fingers over your nipples which were beginning to perk up.

“No bra? I guess I should’ve expected that from you,” he chuckles as he continues fondling your soft breasts. The touch relieves some of the building pressure, the weight in your chest just begging to be squeezed and massaged. He watches the pliable flesh move beneath his fingers before giving your nipples a quick pinch and moving to undress himself.

He doesn’t waste any time, his clothing pooled on the floor in mere moments. He gets on top of you. Large hands hook behind your knees, angling your hips upward. Your legs come to rest on his shoulders as he grabs his cock and swipes the tip through the slick that had collected between your thighs.

“So fucking wet, I didn’t even need to warm you up,” he grunts as he pushes the tip in.

You bite your lip, unable to stop the whine it brings out of you. He exhales with amusement, and his free hand goes to your face to rub your cheek. It was only the tip so far, but you couldn’t even deny how good it felt. And while he moves with a purpose, he draws out this first thrust as long as possible. He inches it in, going as slow as he can. The pleasure he gets just from watching you squirm with desperation is clear in the way he looks down at you.

“There we go. Just what you need. Daddy filling you up. Gonna make you a good girl from now on,” he coos and drags his thumb over your bottom lip. 

Without even thinking, you open your mouth and flatten your tongue against the digit before wrapping your lips around it. You suck on it gently, softly moaning as your saliva coats his thumb.

At this point, it’s physically impossible for him to look more pleased with himself. Honestly, it seemed like he took more enjoyment from watching you slip farther into his grasp than he did from the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him.

Once he’s all the way in, completely buried in your warm, wet embrace, the hand that had been guiding his cock slides up. He gently thumbs your clit, grinning as your sweet mewls become the slightest bit louder.

He begins dragging himself in and out, savoring the feeling of your walls gripping him, sucking him in. It seems you only clamp down harder as he plays with your pretty little bundle of nerves. He keeps toying with it as his hips work back and forth.

Your eyes flutter, becoming half-lidded with the smooth stream of pleasure flowing through you. You whimper and whine while still sucking on his thumb. He started to repeatedly tease pulling it out before pushing it all the way in, nearly gagging you.

“So precious, aren’t you?” he whispers, leaning forward.

Your thighs are now pressed to your chest. His cock so deep it reaches places you didn’t even know about. He picks up the pace a bit, balls smacking against you with each move. To your dismay, he removes his thumb from your mouth, dragging it down and smearing spit down your chin. Your disappointment is only momentary as he’s quick to capture your lips in a searing kiss. 

His soft lips move against your wet ones while he continues pumping deep. Your head swims with the pleasure he provides. Everything becomes a soft warm haze as he toys with your clit and stretches you out. The gentle kisses combine with the tender feeling of his warm skin sliding against yours.

“Gonna have to do this every time you get bratty, baby. Keep you dumb on my cock, exactly where you should be, making sure you don’t get outta line,” he grunts, eyes closing as a wave of pleasure hits him, “This all you needed, just some time with Daddy.”

You nod lazily, all hopes of keeping a resistant exterior up gone out the window. “More kisses, Daddy,” you mumble as you connect your lips in a messy kiss.

He chuckles at the lack of resistance left in you. He returns your nod and indulges you. His tongue slips into your mouth, meeting your own as you make out.

It’s all so good. You can’t get enough. Everything is him right now. It’s all for him. You know you’re getting close and so does he. He can feel the way your pussy rhythmically constricts around him. It’s working him closer too, but he can’t let it end yet. Not before he gets to the final step.

His movements become strategic. You’re teetering on the edge, getting enough pleasure to keep you whining and clutching at him, but not enough for that final push to heaven. Just one more stroke in the right wave, and you know you could get there.

While your head continues to fog up from his efforts, he pulls away from kissing you. He nestles his head in between yours and the couch cushion.

“You know, honey, now that we’re seeing eye to eye, I think I should let you in on something,” he whispers, hot breath fanning across your ear.

“Mmm, what?” you ask. You were only half paying attention, too caught up in the heat of the moment.

“I’ve had my eye on you for a while, sweet thing,” he rasps.

“Really?” you ask, unsure why he was bringing this up but choosing to go along with it in your dreamy state. He had been dating your mom for a while, so maybe he had this little infatuation for longer than you thought.

“Mhm, earlier than I think you know,” he says with a nip to your earlobe.

“That’s nice,” you murmur and nuzzle your face against his hair, breathing in his scent.

“Aren’t you curious when? When was the first time I saw your pretty face? The first time I wanted to slide into this tight pussy?” he murmurs.

“When?” you ask. You tried to feign interest, but fuck, you really just wanted to cum.

“I remember it, clear as day. It was at a party, you remember that guy from high school who had the 3D tv in his basement. It was at his house. You were down there, looking so fucking cute, talking to some douchebag. And I heard you talking to him. About Fortnite,” he says.

You just nod and moan. You honestly didn’t even remember that he went to your high school, but you didn’t really care at the moment. It still felt so good, him drilling in and out of you. You just couldn’t help but wonder why he thought now was the time to bring this up.

“You told that guy your gamer tag. But I realized I also remembered that name. I had played a match with you before. You beat me, stole my victory royale,” he says with a soft laugh.

“Umm… ok,” you reply, totally lost and not just because your mind was all cloudy from being railed into the couch.

“Tell me, honey: do you remember the name rookiepillz?” he asks.

“No?” you say. Was this really the time for this conversation? That was all you could think. But before you could voice your complaint his hand starts rubbing your clit again with even more pressure than before. All words in your throat tangle up into a string of whimpers.

“You should. I sent you a message after that game. Told you ‘I’m gonna fuck you and your mom sweaty,’” he says with a particularly hard thrust, “Well, look at us now.”

You listen, absolutely lost, until the dots start connecting. You turn your head to look at him, not believing this was real. You did remember that message. It made you and your friends giggle for the next hour, created an inside joke for the next few years.

“No way,” you say. You try to keep your voice even, but despite his insane words, his cock was still hitting just right, “Rookie- fuck! Rookiepillz?”

He puts in a couple of those strokes that hit just right, brushed all your sweet spots, filled you up the perfect amount. All the while his thumb rubs your clit in tiny, quick circles. You couldn’t hold on. A sharp cry leaves you as you gush around his cock. You grip the couch for support as your body rolls with the rush.

“Yes way, sweetheart. Rookiepillz,” he grunts.

When most of the high has finished and you’re starting to come down, you open your eyes and look up at him with disbelief. He’s grinning, so satisfied that he’s gotten the last laugh.

“Wha- you’re… you’re fucking insane… literally why would you remember that? And why would you take it so seriously? It’s Fortnite!” you moan, still feeling the aftershocks of your release.

“I play the long game, baby, and I play to win,” he moans as a strained expression washes over his face. He snaps his hips a few more times before slamming in all the way with one final thrust. “This is my ultimate victory royale.”

With that, he empties himself inside you, hot cum flooding your cunt. You whimper yet again. It still felt good even if you just found out his motivation behind all of this was borderline psychotic.

He pumps in and out a few more times before pulling out. His chest puffs with deep breaths on top of yours. Both of you lay together in silence for a few moments. What had just happened? You could barely even comprehend it. Instead of driving yourself as crazy as he is by dwelling on it, you shove him off of you. You get up and start putting on your clothes again.

“You’re fucking crazy,” you say.

He laughs and sits up on the couch. “Don’t act like you didn’t have fun, baby,” he says while stretching, “You were such a good girl for your daddy.”

Your eyes widen and cheeks burn with embarrassment at his teasing. God, why had you ever said that? Now that you weren’t all worked up, you just wanted to go back in time and kick your own ass for even thinking of giving in.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

He stands up, still laughing and clearly on top of the world with his “victory.” You smooth out your outfit as he starts putting his own clothing back on. He holds up his belt and cracks it teasingly.

“Watch your mouth, there’s still time before your mother gets home. That sweet ass might not have enough marks,” he taunts.

You shoot him a glare before storming out of the room.

“Oh come on, babe. If you’re not into that, maybe we could play some Fortnite?” he calls.

[hp-hcs]

• smut (?) • like a record, baby [soulmate au]—poly! simp! mattheo riddle x poly! simp! harry potter x poly! gn! reader

hey sorry i fell off the face of the planet for like two and a half months i fell back into my old hyperfixation and started a new blog just for that and lowkey forgot abt this one and kinda fell out of the fandom lmfao anywhore—

inspired by that one Dead or Alive song

tws: sort of smut? it’s mostly implied and also like two sentences and also doesn’t involve the reader whatsoever?, lowkey bottom mattheo tbh, blink-and-you-miss-it reference to potential harry self harm :(, so fucking ooc omg

not edited if you see any mistakes shhh no you didn’t

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

If I, I get to know your name / Well, if I could trace your private number, baby

Mattheo huffed, resigned. It was official; he’d finally have to talk to Scarboy.

Eight years.

Eight years of avoiding the damn boy. Eight years of ignoring the sudden sharp pains that would slice across his forehead, right where Potter’s famous scar was. Eight years of waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares that weren’t his own.

His fingers reached down on instinct to mindlessly trace the prominent soulmarks etched into his wrist. His fingertips skated over the sprawling lightning bolt mark that twisted its way up his arm, its branching lines crossing over part of his faded Dark Mark.

His fingers then marched their way across his scarred skin to the other soulmark. It was an odd black circle with a smaller red circle inside, and an even smaller circle in the center. Thin white lines following the curve of the circular shape were intermittently drawn on the black part, giving it a ridge-like visual texture.

He had no fucking clue what it was supposed to be. Neither did his mother, the one time he’d worked up the nerve to ask her about it.

Potter might, a little voice in his head whispered. He was raised by Mudbloods. If it’s a Muggle symbol, he might know what it is.

Fuck. He really would have to get over himself and talk to Scarboy.

~~~

I, I got to be your friend now, baby

“It’s a vinyl.”

Mattheo paused. “What?”

“The mark. It’s a vinyl.” Harry pushed his glasses up his nose where they’d started to slip down. “It’s an old-fashioned way Muggles used to play music.”

“Music? Is it an instrument?” Mattheo asked, his eyes lingering for just a second too long on Harry’s slender fingers. Potter had taken the news of being Mattheo’s soulmate surprisingly well. He’d just shrugged and nodded, saying he already knew.

Mattheo looks between his and Harry’s exposed forearms. His skin itches to pull his sleeve down, to cover up the shameful mark of his father burned into his flesh for eternity. Harry’s arm is also scarred, but in a much different way. Both bear the same circular soulmark—the vinyl, as Potter had called it—although their other soulmarks differed. Mattheo’s was the obvious lightning bolt, while Harry’s was a cigarette, puffing out a cloud of smoke that formed the shape of a snake.

And I would like to move in just a little bit closer

“Sort of,” Harry answered his original question, doing his best to explain as his fingers tracing the identical vinyl soulmark on his own wrist. “It’s just a plastic disk. When you put it on a record player, it spins, and a little needle follows the grooves. It plays whatever music was recorded onto it.”

“Uh huh,” Mattheo hummed in acknowledgment a half-second too late, too busy focusing on Harry’s fingers. Had they always looked that good?

Harry smirked and reached over, lacing their hands together. Mattheo’s skin promptly heated up about ten degrees and the skin under his soulmark sizzled with a pleasant buzz before radiating a soft silver glow.

That’s it. They were together; now, until forever.

~~~

Mattheo’s legs shook, his teeth digging into his lower lip hard enough to bleed. “A-ah~ P-Potter—”

“Nuh uh.” The man in question, currently hidden underneath a library table, pulled off. “That’s not my name, and you know it.”

“Harry!”

“That’s it. Good boy.”

~~~

All I know is that to me / You look like you're lots of fun

They refused to call it the Yule Ball this year. After all, the war was over, there was no reason to continue separating Muggleborns and Purebloods with something as silly as a school dance.

So, much to the horror of many a Pureblood parent, Hogwarts was hosting Prom this year.

Open up your lovin' arms / Watch out, here I come

Harry was having a blast. Admin had insisted on only playing Muggle music at Prom, and it had been a wonderfully painful mix of *Nsync, Outkast, and Ricky Martin.

“You have to dance with me,” Harry demanded, pulling Mattheo out onto the dance floor by his arm.

Mattheo stumbled, still not used to the odd formal attire Muggles wore. (A tuxedo, Harry had informed him it was called.) Although he’d never say it aloud, he preferred the tux over his usual dress robes. So much easier to move around in; why were dress robes ever on the table as an option?

~~~

You spin me right ‘round, baby, right ‘round / Like a record, baby, right ‘round, ‘round, ‘round

You spin around in a circle with Hermione, both of you doing your best to teach Pansy Parkinson—Hermione’s soulmate—how to dance anything other than ballroom-style.

All three of you were laughing like mad, spinning around and around until you all got dizzy.

All three of you tried to stumble off the dance floor and back to the table you’d called dibs on earlier in the night. As you’re stumbling back, dizzy, you bump into a pair of men.

Suddenly, your outfit feels a lot stuffier than it did before. You feel hot all over.

One of the men grabs your bicep to try to steady you. His hands are slick with sweat. The other also looks rather warm, his face flushed. All three of you stare at each other as a bright silver glow emanating from three people’s wrists suddenly cuts through the dimmed lights of the dance floor.

I want your love.

[onebadassunicorn]

All I Want Is You

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: SMUT (18+ only)

word count: 4k

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this story! Feel free to re-blog if you choose!

Image owned by Velocity Visual Media.

****************

Chapter 1

Azriel POV

The sultry hum of music filled the air at Rita’s, the vibrant lounge in Velaris where fae of all walks of life gathered to dance, drink, and revel. Azriel, the enigmatic Shadowsinger of the Night Court, stepped inside. His dark wings—now folded tight—still drew attention, though he remained the embodiment of cool detachment.

He hadn’t intended to come tonight, but Cassian had insisted.

“Loosen up for once,” his brother had said, practically shoving him out the door.

Azriel scanned the room, his sharp eyes catching every detail.

Then he saw her.

In the center of the dance floor, illuminated by the dim glow of faelight, a stunning female danced. Her long black hair shimmered like a raven’s wing and her eyes, a piercing green that seemed to glow with their own light, caught his attention instantly.

But it was her dress that held his gaze longer than it should have. A low-cut, down to her navel green glittery gown that wrapped around her neck and left her back completely exposed.  The dress, barely more than a scrap of fabric, hugged her curves perfectly, the shimmering fabric catching the light with every movement. The hem barely skimmed the tops of her thighs, and a slit ran up one side of the dress, stopping high at the top of her leg. When she twirled just right, Azriel caught the briefest glimpse of a strap of lacy black panties, barely there and teasingly visible. His throat tightened, and he forced himself to look away—only to find his gaze drawn back to her like a moth to a flame.

Her laugh rang like a bell over the music, carefree and intoxicating. Azriel’s breath caught in his throat.

Who was she?

For a moment, he simply stood there, entranced. His shadows whispered in his ear, curious about this captivating female who moved with such grace, as though the music was hers to command.

“You’re staring,” Cassian teased, his voice cutting through the thrumming bass of Rita’s. “At least try to be subtle about it.”

Azriel didn’t bother to deny it. His hazel eyes were locked on her—the stunning woman across the room who moved like liquid fire under the flickering lights. Her long black hair cascaded down her back to her waist in waves, catching the gleam of the chandeliers as she swayed to the music. She was a masterpiece of temptation.

She was dancing with another man—a fae with golden hair and a cocky grin plastered across his face. Azriel’s jaw tightened as he watched the man’s hand slide too low on her waist.

Too familiar.

Something tightened in his chest when the golden-haired male wrapped an arm around her waist, spinning her closer.

“Who is she?” Azriel asked, his voice low but laced with something dangerous.

Cassian shrugged, taking a swig of his drink. “No idea. She’s not from around here, though. Definitely new to Velaris.” He smirked, leaning closer. “Why? You going to do something about it, or are you just going to stand there brooding?”

Azriel didn’t answer. He was already moving, weaving through the crowd with the predatory grace that came so naturally to him. His shadows trailed behind him like a silent warning, parting the dancers as he made his way to her.

The moment he stepped onto the dance floor, the energy shifted. People seemed to sense the intensity radiating off him and gave him space. But she—she didn’t notice him at first. She was too absorbed in the rhythm, her body moving with a natural sensuality that made his pulse quicken.

When he finally reached her, he tapped the other man on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?” His tone was polite, but there was an edge to it that left no room for argument.

The golden-haired male blinked, startled. He glanced at Azriel, his expression shifting into a wary smile as he sized up the Shadowsinger. The male hesitated, but the female smiled, her glowing eyes alight with intrigue.

And then it was just the two of them.

She turned to him, her green eyes locking with his. For a moment, everything else faded away—the music, the chatter, the crush of bodies around them. It was just her and him and the electric charge that crackled between them.

“Bold move,” she said, her voice warm and sultry. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Azriel,” he replied, stepping closer. His hand found the curve of her waist, the heat of her skin searing through the thin fabric of her dress. “And you are?”

“Y/n,” she said, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Don’t think this means you’ve won me over yet.”

Challenge accepted.

Azriel repeated her name, savoring it like the finest wine. “Y/n,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the music.

She tilted her head slightly, her emerald eyes catching the dim faelight, making them seem to shimmer like jewels. “Do you always say names like they’re a secret worth keeping?” she teased, her lips curving in a playful smile.

Azriel didn’t respond, too captivated by her to think of a reply. Her name fit her perfectly - elegant, strong, and utterly enchanting. He drew her closer, their bodies moving as one to the sultry beat of the music. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back, but he could feel the heat of her skin through the thin, glittering fabric of her dress. It was intoxicating, almost overwhelming, but Azriel held himself together, keeping his emotions tightly reined, even as they swirled within him.

They moved in perfect synchronization, her lithe form fitting seamlessly against his solid frame. Every step, every turn, was effortless, as though they had been dancing together for years. She arched slightly as he guided her into a spin, the slit in her dress parting just enough to reveal a glimpse of her toned leg and that teasing strap of lace. Azriel’s wings twitched behind him, his sharp focus faltering for the briefest of moments.

When she returned to his arms, he steadied her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. In those green depths, he saw more than beauty. Her gaze held him captive, refusing to let him look away.

“Careful,” she murmured, her voice low and inviting. “You might just fall under my spell.”

Azriel’s lips twitched into the faintest of smirks. “I don’t fall easily.”

“Don’t you?” she asked, tilting her head as though studying him. Her hair shifted, brushing against his arm like silk.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he dipped her low, his hand firm on her back as he leaned closer, his shadowed presence enveloping her. “I think it’s you who should be careful, Y/n,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Her green eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into him, her fingers curling lightly against his shoulder.

“And what makes you think I’m yours?” she asked, her voice still playful but softer now, almost daring.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his shadows swirled faintly at the edges of the dance floor, restless and intrigued by her. “Because I’ve already decided I won’t stop until you are.”

“Do you always take what you want?” she asked, teasing but curious.

“Not always,” he said, his gaze dropping to her lips. “But I’ve learned not to waste time when it matters.”

Her laughter was soft, but it sent a thrill through him. “And you’ve decided I matter?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t need to. The way his hand tightened slightly on her waist, the way his wings flared ever so slightly, spoke volumes.

He pulled her closer, their bodies aligned as they began to move together. She fit against him perfectly, her curves molding to his hard planes as if they were made for each other. His hand slid lower, resting just above the dip of her ass, and he felt her shiver in response.

“You dance like you own the room,” he murmured, his breath grazing her ear.

She tilted her head back, her lips brushing his jaw. “Maybe I do.”

Her confidence was intoxicating. So was the way her hips rolled against his, every movement deliberate and maddeningly slow. He slid a knee between her legs, her hips gyrated, grinding on his thigh. He could feel the heat building between them, the tension coiling tighter with each passing second.

“You are not from here, are you Y/n?” he asked, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her back.

“No,” she replied, her voice soft but steady. “But Velaris has a certain… charm to it. And now, it seems, so do you.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Their conversation flowed easily, punctuated by stolen glances and lingering touches. He learned bits and pieces about her—her love of stars, her sharp wit, her unapologetic independence. But there was something guarded in her eyes, something she wasn’t saying. It only made him want to unravel her more.

The song slowed, the rhythm softening, and so did their movements. He guided her in a gentle sway, his hand sliding just slightly lower on her back, anchoring her to him. The faint glitter on her dress shimmered against the dim light, but it was her eyes—those radiant green eyes—that held all his attention.

As the night wore on, and the music continued to slow, the air between them grew heavier. The world had narrowed to just the two of them, and Azriel realized with startling clarity: she wasn’t just beautiful. She was magnetic, an irresistible force pulling him in. Sure, he’d been drawn to a pretty face and gorgeous body before, but this—this was something else entirely.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice low and rough, like the rumble of distant thunder. Her name on his lips felt intimate, like a promise. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Her brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across her face, followed quickly by a playful smile. “Bold of you to assume I’ll say yes,” she teased, though her tone held none of the rejection her words implied.

Azriel’s lips quirked in a faint smirk, his confidence unwavering. “You don’t seem like someone who enjoys staying in one place too long,” he said, his hand brushing lightly against her waist. “And I’m not in the mood to share you with a room full of strangers.”

She tilted her head, studying him as though weighing her options. She wasn’t one to leave with someone she’d just met, but Azriel… he wasn’t like anyone else. His presence was magnetic, his touch addictive, and those shadows of his whispered promises of something far more enticing than a crowded dance floor.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her gaze searching his. Then she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

They left Rita’s hand in hand, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat that burned between them.

His townhouse wasn’t far.

Thank the Gods.

******

Azriel POV

When they finally reached his home, he wasted no time. As soon as the door closed behind them, he pinned her against it, his mouth crashing down on hers. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if they were both trying to consume each other. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, while his roamed her body, memorizing every curve.

“Upstairs,” he growled against her lips, his voice thick with need.

Her eyes widened slightly, and she pulled away, a flicker of surprise and amusement dancing in those emerald depths.

“Careful,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “You might just fall in love with me.”

Azriel tilted his head, his shadows curling around them like curious onlookers. “Is that a challenge?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

Her lips curved into a sly smile, one that made his pulse quicken. “Only if you’re brave enough to take it.”

His response was swift as he crashed his mouth back against hers.

They stumbled up the stairs, shedding clothes as they went. By the time they reached his bedroom, she was down to nothing but that damn pair of black lace panties, and he was utterly undone by the sight of her.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips swollen from his kisses. Her eyes, now a hunter green, darkened with desire, locked with his, her cheeks flushed.

She was fucking breathtaking.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, his voice rough with need.

“I want this,” she whispered, her hands reaching for him. “I want you, Azriel.”

That was all the confirmation he needed.

He claimed her lips again, his hands roaming over her body, memorizing every inch of her as if he could imprint her essence into his very soul. She arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as his fingers found the sensitive peak of her nipple. He bent his head, kissing the valley between her breasts and nipping lightly at her skin.

“Azriel,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as he moved lower, his lips following the path of his hands. His tongue traced the edge of her panties, teasing her until she was trembling with need. He hooked his fingers into the waistband, tugging them down slowly, savoring the way her breath quickened with every inch of bare skin revealed.

When she was finally free of the last barrier, Azriel knelt before her, his eyes devouring the sight of her. He kissed the inside of her thigh, his lips brushing against her heated skin as he moved closer to the apex of her thighs. Her hands clenched in his hair, her hips straining toward him, but he took his time, gently parting her folds with his fingers before finally tasting her.

Her moan filled the room, echoing off the walls as Azriel drank from her like a man starved. His tongue circled her clit, the pressure just enough to make her knees buckle. He dipped his tongue back inside of her, moaning at the taste of her.

Fuck, she was intoxicating and sweet.

Just like honey.

She steadied herself against the bedpost, her thighs quivering as he worked her with expert precision. Every flick of his tongue sent sparks shooting through her body, building the tension until she was gasping for release.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking as she rocked against his mouth. “I need you.”

Azriel rose to his feet, lifting her effortlessly and carrying her to the bed. He laid her down on the bed, his weight pressing her into the soft mattress, hovering over her as he drank in the sight of her bare skin. “Gods, baby…you’re breathtaking,” he murmured and began trailing kisses down her neck.

She arched into him, her breath hitching as his hands explored her. As he trailed kisses back up to her mouth, he pulled away and gazed into her green eyes.

The firelight cast flickering shadows across the room, but all Azriel saw was her, radiant and beautiful beneath him, her raven-black hair fanned out on the pillows. Every touch, every kiss, ignited a fire in him that he hadn’t known was possible.

His gaze locked onto hers, their breaths mingling in the heat of the moment. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly across her flushed cheeks.

And then it happened.

It was as if the world shattered and re-formed in an instant. The room, the firelight, the quiet city beyond his windows—all of it dimmed, leaving only her. Her piercing green eyes bore into his, and he felt the bond snap into place. It wasn’t a slow realization; it was sudden, overwhelming, and absolute.

The mating bond.

Azriel’s breath hitched as the weight of it settled over him. The intensity of her gaze softened, as though she could feel it too, though her expression held no recognition of what just happened. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell her, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he pressed his forehead against hers, his wings trembling as they flared slightly behind him.

“Y/n,” he whispered, his voice breaking with the raw emotion coursing through him.

She was his.

His mate.

She didn’t respond with words. Instead, she cupped the back of his neck, pulling him closer as her lips met his in a kiss that felt like a promise.

It was enough.

For now, it was enough.

He could tell her later—when the moment was right, when he wasn’t so utterly undone by the magnitude of what she’d become to him.

As their lips met again, they became a hungry tangle of tongues and teeth as he positioned himself between her legs. She wrapped them around his waist, urging him closer, her nails digging into his shoulders as he entered her in one smooth thrust.

They moaned in unison, the sensation of being joined so completely overwhelming. Azriel paused, his forehead resting against hers as they adjusted to the feeling of each other. Then, slowly, he began to move, each stroke deep and deliberate, aimed to drive her wild.

Her hands roamed his body, her nails leaving trails of fire along his back. She arched into him, meeting each thrust with equal fervor, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. The bond between them sang, a melody of passion and connection that neither could ignore.

Their pace quickened, the bed rocking beneath them as they lost themselves in each other. Her cries grew louder, her nails raking down his back as she clawed him, getting closer to her release. Azriel’s name fell from her lips like a prayer, and he growled in response, burying himself deeper inside her, chasing the ecstasy they both craved.

Their bodies moved in perfect synchrony, the world narrowing to just the two of them. His shadows quieted, their usual restlessness replaced by a rare stillness, as though even they recognized the significance of the bond. Azriel’s hands roamed her body with a reverence he couldn’t put into words, every touch, every kiss an unspoken vow.

The room was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking—her gasps, his groans, the rhythmic creak of the bed. It was raw, primal, and utterly consuming. When Y/n came undone, her body spasming around his, Azriel followed her over the edge, his release crashing through him with the force of a tidal wave.

Azriel felt a swell of emotions so strong it nearly overwhelmed him.

He pressed his forehead against hers, his voice a rough whisper in the dark.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, his words raw and unguarded, a vow more than a statement.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, whispering her name like a prayer, grounding himself in her warmth and the undeniable truth of their connection. Azriel pressed a kiss to her sweat-slicked temple, his arms tightening around her as they lay there, hearts pounding in sync.

They laid together, limbs tangled, their breathing ragged.

For a long while, neither spoke, simply content to share caresses and kisses.

Caresses and kisses that would result in Azriel making love to her again and again until the sun began to rise and sleep finally claimed him.

******

Azriel POV

When Azriel woke hours later, the warmth of the bond still thrummed faintly in his chest—but the bed beside him was cold. The absence of her body jolted him awake, his heart lurching as he sat up, his wings shifting with unease.

“Y/n?” he called softly, his voice hoarse.

His gaze fell to the pillow where she had lain, and his chest tightened when he saw the folded piece of parchment resting there. He reached for it, his hands trembling slightly as he unfolded the note.

Azriel,

Last night was unforgettable. You made me feel seen, cherished, and alive in a way I never thought possible. I will hold onto the memory of your touch, your voice, and the way you looked at me—as though I was the only thing that mattered.

When you wake, I will already be gone from Velaris. I am so thankful that I got to spend my last night on holiday with you. However, it is time for me to return home.

Let me live in your memory as the woman who shared this night with you, because you will always be in mine.

Forever yours,

Y/n

Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, the note still clutched tightly in his hand, its edges crumpling beneath his grip. The ache in his chest was unbearable, a raw, searing pain that only deepened as the bond thrummed within him, empty and yearning. His shadows swirled around him, their usual whispers quiet, as though they too mourned her absence.

She was his mate.

His.

And now that he had found her—now that he had tasted what it was like to hold her, to feel her warmth, to see himself reflected in her brilliant green eyes—he knew he could not live without her.

The memory of her filled every corner of his mind. The way her raven-black hair had shimmered in the firelight. The softness of her voice when she had whispered his name. The way her body had moved with his, fitting so perfectly it was as though the universe had crafted her just for him.

She had slipped into his life like a shadow and left as suddenly, but Azriel wasn’t a male who let shadows disappear without a trace.

“No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his wings trembling as he stood. He crumpled the note in his fist, his hazel eyes blazing with determination. “You’re mine, Y/n. And I will find you.”

The room was suffocating now, filled with the scent of her that clung to the sheets and the ghost of her laughter that still echoed in his ears. He couldn’t stay here—not without her. The bond inside him thrummed insistently, tugging at his very soul, and he knew he couldn’t ignore it.

Azriel crossed to the window, staring out at the quiet streets of Velaris. She had said she would be gone from the city by the time he woke, but she hadn’t said where. He replayed her words in his mind, searching for any clue she might have left, any hint of where she was going. His shadows slithered around him, restless and eager, as though they too understood the task ahead.

He couldn’t live without her. The thought was as clear and unshakable as the bond itself. He had spent centuries guarding his heart, locking himself away in shadows and solitude, and now that he had found her—the one person who made him feel whole—he wouldn’t let her go. He couldn’t.

His wings flared behind him, powerful and unyielding, as he turned from the window.

She had asked him to let her live in his memory, but he knew that was impossible. She wasn’t just a memory; she was a part of him now, bound to him in a way that no distance could sever. But she didn’t understand—she couldn’t understand. She wasn’t just a memory to him; she was his mate, the other half of his soul, and he would not let her slip away so easily.

Azriel grabbed his cloak, the shadows coiling tighter around him as he stepped out into the crisp morning air. The city was waking, but his mind was already far beyond Velaris, his thoughts focused solely on her. He didn’t know where to start, but he didn’t care. He had spent centuries unraveling secrets and tracking the impossible. This was no different—except that this time, the stakes were his very heart.

The bond in his chest pulsed faintly, a guiding thread that he knew would lead him to her if he listened closely enough. His shadows stirred, whispering promises of the hunt to come, and Azriel allowed a rare flicker of hope to bloom within him.

“You can’t hide from me, Y/n,” he murmured, his lips curving into a determined smirk as he took flight, his wings cutting through the morning sky. “You’re mine—and I’ll prove it to you.”

Chapter 2

[daisies-daydreams]

Bouncin’ (Shanks x F!Reader Drabble)

Pairing: Shanks x F!Reader

Category: Smut (18+)

Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (Wrap Before You Tap!), Cowgirl, Slight Squirting, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Daddy Kink, Belly Bulge, Pet Names (Baby, Sugar, Mama)

Summary: You ride Shanks. That’s the “plot”.

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

A sharp cry fell from your lips as you felt Shank’s fat cockhead kiss your swollen cervix. The red-haired man released a guttural groan, his half-lidded eyes glued to the way you sank down on his thick, veiny cock.

“That’s it-keep movin’ your hips like that, sugar,” he husked, his rough hand smoothing over the plush of your hip.

“S-So much, Shanks-it’s too much!” you squealed as your gummy walls fluttered around his shaft. Your head tilted back as you stretched yourself open on his member, your slick dribbling down his shaft and coating his plump balls. Shanks cooed as he slid his hand over your stomach, feeling the slight indent that poked out each time you slid your hips down.

“I know, baby. Just a little longer, promise,” he slurred, his pupils blown wide as he caressed your belly. You gasped and dug your nails into his chiseled stomach when he pressed his calloused thumb against your swollen clit. Shanks gave a lazy smile as he drew slow, sloppy circles around your sensitive bud.

“Y’look so pretty like this, mama-stuffin your cute pussy full of my cock,” he said lowly. Tears poured down your warm cheeks as he sped up his wet strokes against your bundle of nerves, the muscles in your lower stomach growing tighter by the second.

“Shanks,” you hiccuped as your flesh slapped against his, your wetness starting to leak onto his taut thighs. You gasped and craned your neck as you felt him flick your nub, your head spinning with delight as pleasure coursed through every vein in your trembling body.

“Oh fuck baby,” he groaned as you slammed your hips down for the last time. You cried his name as your legs shook over his waist, your pussy greedily sucking him closer to your womb as your walls pulsed around his twitching member. Your vision was shrouded with stars as your mind drowned in an overwhelming bliss.

You panted as your lower muscles throbbed with a final contraction, sending a sweet pleasure that rippled through your core. Your eyes widened when you saw the wet patch slathered against his stomach.

“Oh my God,” you breathed. Shanks chuckled before suddenly bucking his hips up. You yelped and fell forward, your hands bracing against his shoulders as you dipped your face into his neck. Shanks growled as he grabbed one of your asscheeks and squeeze it roughly. You sobbed as your pussy gushed around his shaft as he thrusted with fast, desperate strokes.

“Gonna fill you up nice and good, make you so full of me you’ll be leakin’ for days,” he puffed. You gripped onto his shoulders for dear life as your breasts rubbed against his rugged chest.

“Daddy,” you whined. Shank’s breath hitched before he snapped his hips forward. You moaned as you felt him fill you with hot, sticky ropes of his cum. Shanks kept his hand glued to the globe of your bum as his cock throbbed incessantly against your slick walls. You blinked your eyes open as he spilled the last of his spend inside your cunt. Shank’s breath stuttered as he patted your hip.

“Such a good girl,” he purred into your ear before kissing your cheek. You flushed and hid your face deeper into the crook of his neck. Shanks chuckled as he kept your pussy plugged with his softening cock. “Wanna get cleaned up?” your lover asked. You shook your head.

“Can we just stay like this for a while?” you asked. Shanks beamed, a new sparkle in his eye as he nodded.

“Sure thing, sugar,” he grinned. You sighed as he rubbed your hip, the warmth of your bodies soothing you into a heavy tiredness. You eventually let your eyelids fall before you drifted off to sleep. Shanks wasn’t far behind you, his soft snores filling the room as he kept his arm wrapped over your lower back.

————

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[vintagebuckybarnes]

Scarves, Snowflakes, Sweethearts

Pairing: Girlfriend! Natasha Romanoff x Avenger! Romantic Partner! GN! Reader

Total Wordcount: 1.2K

Summary: You mentioned off-handedly that you'd never gone ice skating before, so Natasha will make it her mission to change that. When she succeeds, you can't help but utter the words you've been dying to say for a long time, turning your date night into the best night of your life.

Tags & Warnings: Canon compliant, Avenger! Reader, genderneutral! Reader, established relationship.

Story Rating: G | General

Author's Note: This story - filled to the brim with nothing but pure fluff - is written for the Fluffy Winter Event, hosted by @buck-star! I had heaps of fun writing this, and I have officially melted my socks off with the number of sweet moments I managed to put into this story! 💜

Writing Prompts @buck-star Fluffy Winter Event: Saying "I love you" for the first time | Ice skating | Drinking hot chocolate | All I Want For Christmas Is You - Mariah Carey | "You're adorable when you giggle. You're always adorable." | "You're the most precious thing ever. I will protect you with everything I have." @fandombingo: "I would never joke about loving you." @fandom-free-bingo Bug Edition: Alone @fandom-free-bingo Gingerbread Edition: Snowflakes | "Sometimes walls are there so we can lean on them and rest." @fandom-free-bingo Medical Edition: 'I'm never giving up' | "I don't understand."

Tag List: If you'd like to be tagged in my stories, you can find my tag list here.

My blog is for adults (18+) only, and most of its content is intended for mature audiences. Remember that you are responsible for your media consumption. If my content is not your cup of tea, feel free to navigate to blogs other than mine.

The snowflakes fall slowly, covering all of New York City in an angelic layer of beauty. You can't help but snuggle a little deeper into your scarf as you gently squeeze Natasha's hand. This gesture has become a non-verbal cue that you're okay without needing to be asked, and she glances over at you with a slight smile on her lips.

"What's wrong? Isn't an Avenger like you used to it being a little cold outside?" she asks playfully, raising your eyebrow as you give her a mock-offended glance, knowing you can't get mad at her for anything. However, seeing her smile instantly warms you from the inside out, as it never fails to make your heart sing.

"I don't understand how people willingly go outside in these weather conditions. They must be crazy to do it."

Although you were born and raised in New York, you've never been a fan of winter and all that it entails. However, for Natasha, you'd do just about anything, including braving freezing temperatures while the snow crunches beneath your boots.

"I guess I'm crazy then," she says with a shrug before quickening her pace, pulling you along as you approach your destination for the evening: the ice skating rink. It wasn't long ago that you confessed you had never been ice skating before, so she made it her mission to take you on a date to do just that.

"Are you excited to go ice skating?" she asks eagerly, her voice rising with happiness. You nod and reach into your pocket for your phone to pay for renting skates in your respective sizes. As soon as that's done, Natasha finds a bench to sit on and put them on, her enthusiasm infectious as she can't stop telling you how excited she is.

"I’ll do some spins and laps around the rink too! But first, I'll teach you how to skate, of course. There's nothing more important than that," she tells you before leaning in and giving you a peck on the cheek, which makes your face break into a massive grin and sends your stomach doing a little somersault with happiness.

"And what about drinking hot chocolate? I was promised my hot cocoa." You squint your eyes at her playfully, and she nods, her fiery red curls bouncing with each motion.

"That too, Золотце [Darling]. Don't you worry your pretty little head about that for even a second," she giggles.

"You're adorable when you giggle. You're always adorable," you tell your girlfriend, making her cheeks flush from the compliment. It's not something she's entirely used to, but you're gradually teaching her that it's okay to accept compliments. Watching her cheeks warm up at your words fills you with pride, too, especially since she rarely gets this shy and cute.

"Well… you're the most precious thing ever. I will protect you with everything I have." Her words are sealed with a kiss that warms your cheeks this time, making her smile proudly as she pulls away, leaving your lips feeling a bit cold and alone.

"Thank you, Солнышко [Sunshine]."

Once you're both secured and ready to go skating, Natasha reaches out her gloved hand to you, and you happily accept it, taking your first steps on the ice. Though the first few meters feel like a baby deer learning to walk, you soon gain confidence, and it shows. While you're far from mastering the spins and laps that Natasha can do, you're still proud of your progress.

"Can we finally go get my hot chocolate now? I need to sit down before my legs give out and I plant my face on the ice!" The question escapes her lips with a huff as she skates gracefully over to you, expertly maneuvering around all the other people skating simultaneously.

"Of course we can, Золотце. You've done an amazing job, and I'm proud of you," she replies. You smile before eagerly stepping off the ice and holding onto the wall for support. While you search for a table with two chairs to sit at, Natasha orders the hot drink you've been craving the whole time, leaving you with your thoughts for a moment.

As you look at your girlfriend, the urge to say "I love you" for the first time weighs heavily on your mind. It's something you've wanted to express for a while now, and there will never be a more perfect moment than tonight, with the moon illuminating the scene and fairy lights glowing as you enjoy hot chocolate together.

"Here you go—I got your favorite!" Natasha says, placing the cup in front of you, with extra marshmallows floating on top just the way you like.

"So? How are you enjoying our date so far?" The cup rests between her now gloveless hands, allowing her to warm them on the steaming liquid inside. A small smile plays on her lips as she gazes at you with pure adoration and love.

'Let's just say I'm glad that sometimes the walls are there so we can lean on them and rest," you tell her with a chuckle, stretching out your legs for a moment as the soreness slowly disappears.

''But then again, I'm never giving up, so I'll be here until I'm just as good as you.'' Natasha raises an eyebrow at you, her expression a mix of disbelief and pride.

''We'll have to see about that,'' she replies, sitting back and closing her eyes to savor the moment—the warmth of her hot chocolate, your company, and the music playing in the background. As the song switches to 'All I Want for Christmas Is You' by Mariah Carey, you finally gather the courage to share the words you've been thinking since your first date with her.

''I love you, Солнышко.''

As soon as the words hang in the air, she opens her green eyes to meet yours, and her mouth falls open in surprise. Her eyes widen as tears gather in the corners, and you're immediately worried you may have said the wrong thing, though she quickly reassures you.

"Please tell me this isn't a joke. Because I love you too," she asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper. You lean forward, your fingers intertwining with hers as you hold her gaze, the connection between you visible.

"I would never joke about loving you, Natasha. I love you from the furthest corners of my soul to the deepest depths of my heart. You're the one I want to grow old with, and the one I have given my heart to. I love you, and I will never tire of telling you this," you tell her gently, making her smile wide as tears roll down her cheeks.

Instead of responding, she gently sets her drink down and cups your cheeks, drawing you into a heartwarming, passionate kiss. As the snow falls gently and the temperatures continue to plummet, a sense of warmth spreads from within, directly coming from your heartfelt confession.

"I love you too, Золотце, and I long to be your wife one day," she says, leaving you speechless. As you try to process her confession, she kisses you again, and your lips fit together in perfect harmony, sealing your promises.

Navigation ~ Natasha Romanoff Library

GIF ~ All the other graphics you see on this post are made by @vintagebuckybarnes

[chelseeebe]

cold as ice

sooo it’s been a long time coming.. steve’s grand return to my blog!! now i’m not really one for hockey romance or wtv but i saw this one picture on pinterest and it just spurred me on to write this.. whatever this is

18+ mdni! smut. violent themes. eddie is r’s brother though descriptors are not used so take that relationship as you want! steve harrington x female reader. hockey au.

the rink is cool, the clattering sounds of skates and sticks hitting the ice fill the arena.

it’s too early for steve to really give a shit about practice, waiting for the moment he’s allowed to crawl back into bed again.

the arena’s usually empty at this time of the day, not many people were keen to watch them scream at each other over failed passes.

but today, you sit in one of the seats, quietly watching as they warm up.

steve’s still fairly new to the team, only recently drafted, though things were looking a whole lot better if he knew you’d be showing up to practice regularly.

“who’s that?” he nods, sliding up to the small group congregated at edge. he’d just assumed you were somebody’s girlfriend dragged to practice.

“munson’s sister,” jason smiles, thumping him on the back, “don’t even think about it man.. not gonna happen.”

steve’s features crumple, confusion echoing his face, “well why not?”

they laugh, sharing a knowing look between them, a joke he wasn’t in on. tommy steps forward, clapping his hand on his shoulder, pitying almost, “you think we haven’t tried? eddie doesn’t play about her.. i wouldn’t even bother.”

his eyes travel back to your solemn spot in the bleachers, cocking his grin to the side.

he wasn’t one to ignore a challenge, and he certainly wouldn’t be now.

-

lucky for steve, the only reason you’d tagged along to practice was to use the rink after the guys had left. making use of the quiet hour between them practicing and the public flooding in.

he was smart, waiting for eddie to leave before sliding his skates back on, venturing out onto the ice to interrupt your peaceful routine.

“hey,” he calls from across the ice, slowly making his way over without startling you. “what’re you doing?” moving alongside you slowly.

“practicing,” you reply rather bluntly, ignoring him to spin around the cool rink, speeding off into the distance.

steve grits his teeth, just about skating fast enough to catch up, wrapping his arm around your waist and knocking you back into the plexiglass, all in one fell swoop.

“oops,” he smirks, mere inches from your face, “i tripped.”

you smile, a contained, coy grin that you’d hoped wouldn’t boost his ego too much, turning your face away from his.

“i don’t think we’ve met,” laying on the charm thick and heavy, just as he meant to go on, “i’m steve, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“i know who you are,” narrowing your cold eyes, “eddie told me you’re bad news.”

steve’s not shocked, not one bit. eddie hasn’t been particularly welcoming since his arrival, though he’d put it down to new team rituals or whatever.

his throat vibrates, humming his response, “i’m sure he did.”

how rude of eddie not to return the favour and introduce you to him too.

“i’m gonna ask you out,” poking his tongue into his cheek, “and we can either do it the easy way or we can do it the hard way, it’s your choice,” quirking his head to the side.

“steve,” you warn, dropping your gaze.

“so you choose the hard way, that’s fine,” keeping his hand firmly on the plastic, pinning you in place, “what’re you scared of? eddie?” blowing the air out of his mouth, “he’s not gonna know.. don’t worry.”

you hum, taking your bottom lip between your teeth, “he’ll kill you,” jutting your chin out, “i don’t think you want that.”

the words melt off of his tongue, resembling butter and all things sweet, “for you, i’d risk it,” a true smooth talker, knowing exactly what you wanted to hear.

your eyes roll back, dipping your chin, presumably to hide the flush he’d bought to your cheeks. worked every time.

“we can have dinner,” finding enough pride to meet his gaze again, forcing faux reluctance into your tone. he’s aware that it’s all a game, he’s rolled this dice a thousand times and knows exactly how it’ll land.

“tonight,” ordering, not asking, “i’ll pick you up, yeah?”

your lips purse, “fine,” the bright lights shine from your eyes, highlighting the flustered glow of your cheeks, “eight o’clock,” a feeble attempt to gain some control over the moment.

steve gleefully releases you from the makeshift cell he’d held you in, slowly moving backward along the ice, “wear something pretty for me,” flashing his teeth in a over bearing grin, darting off of the rink before anyone had the chance to spot you together.

-

he’s there at eight on the dot, nonchalantly eyeing the door, playing off the excitable beating in his chest.

you don’t emerge until the time on his dash reads 8:09. perhaps another attempt at flipping the ball into your court or maybe you were just late.

steve didn’t mind either way.

he leaps from the chair, making his way around the car before you even got to the road, opening the door with a grin.

“you look great,” he purrs, hanging onto the door as you step inside, lingering inches from his face, cocking your head to the side to thank him before sliding in.

he’s almost vibrating on the drive over, fingers nervously tapping the soft leather wheel, no doubt making himself look insane.

the drive seemed too long now, having chosen a restaurant out of town in fear of prying eyes that would guarantee he would never see you again.

you’re unconcerned with the food, hanging onto his every word, lapping up the barrage of compliments just dripping off his tongue.

“eddie can’t be that bad, can he?” steve asks, completely naive to the lengths your brother would go to keep him away.

you laugh into your glass mid-sip, flashing him a look that can only be taken as a warning. “you don’t get it,” mocking in the way you shake your head, “he’d eat you alive,” a scathing review of what he was getting himself into.

“i think you’d be worth it darlin’,” flashing his teeth in that trademarked steve harrington grin.

but it works, ducking your head behind your glass though it fails to conceal the crinkle by your eyes. a dead giveaway that his syrupy words were working.

“y’think?” emerging from behind the transparent glass.

“i do.”

steve had an abundance of confidence, maybe too much depending on who you asked. but it didn’t half work in his favour.

you were putty in his hands and he hadn’t even finished his spiel yet.

“you talk a lotta shit, steve harrington,” biting the inside of your cheek.

“but you like it, don’t you?”

your mouth twitches, biting at your bottom lip, reluctant to nod but you do anyway. relinquishing any and all last embers of self-respect you were desperately clinging onto.

-

he’s already eager to get you out of the restaurant and back into the passenger seat of his car.

there had been no doubt in his mind that he would win you over. what was a disgruntled older brother to him anyway?

nothing more than a tiny blip that steve could rather easily ignore. especially when you were the reward.

there’s inconsequential chatter on the journey back, words full of nothingness while all his mind can fathom is the feel of your lips against his.

he pulls into the tiny lot in front of your building, though you don’t get out, stewing in the passenger seat, waiting for him to make a move.

so he does.

steve leans over the console, his forefinger and thumb encasing your chin, tilting your face toward his. you take your lip between your teeth, stopping him before he can smash his lips to yours.

“you have to promise me..” you murmur, gazing into his eyes though they remain on your lips, “eddie can’t ever know.”

he hums in anticipation, almost drooling with excitement, “yeah.. i promise,” before moving in to finally touch you.

your finger jabs into his chest, mere millimetres away from sealing his fate, “i mean it, steve.. never ever.”

“never ever,” he echoes, still waiting for your permission to close the gap.

your head nods slightly, “oka-,” interrupted by his lips mashing with yours, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, adamant to not waste any more precious time.

your hand rests against his heaving chest, barely curling around the fabric, just enough to keep him close.

steve breaks away first, just to look at you with lovesick eyes. he knows that this will inevitably only end one way, but that’s okay. if being with you in the meantime is the prize, then the eventual fallout is negligible.

“shit,” he breathes, keeping the distance small and easily shortened, “you’re so beautiful,” fully meaning it but really only saying it to watch you squirm again.

“stop it,” abashedly hurrying to connect your lips again, noses knocking against one another with your careless action.

you taste like sweet wine and spearmint, delicate with the way your tongue swipes over his bottom lip, a soft murmur escaping your throat when his hand finds your thigh.

a welcoming new addiction, one steve wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to escape. ever.

-

being secretive meant a lot of days holed up in your apartment. unless of course both of you were needed at the ice. that’s when shit got really fun.

every single person on that rink truly believed your eyes were on them but only steve knew who you were actually looking at.

eddie was completely non-the-wiser, ignorant to the fact you and steve arrived just minutes apart, blissfully unaware of the violet markings trailing down your neck.

the thrill of having something to hold over him. no matter how loud he’d scream at steve or how hard he’d knock him down, steve knew that at the end of it all, he was going home with you.

personally, steve thought the tension was

palpable. that every single person in this building could tell that he couldn’t wait to get home to touch you again.

one particular eve, sprawled out next to you in bed, as you had been for days at this point, steve jumps up, grabs the clunky polaroid camera and starts coaxing you out of bed.

“come on,” he orders, wrapping his fingers around yours, “i got an idea.”

tossing his jersey in your direction, just barely catching it before it fallls to the ground again. “take this off,” running his fingers around the hem of your shirt, “and put this on,” he barks, already helping you lift the fabric over your head.

you grab onto his hand, furrowed brows, “what’re you doing?”

“i wanna take a picture,” having already noted the polaroid camera that sat on your shelf. he’d been thinking about it for weeks, only just comfortable enough to ask.

you hesitate but do as he says says anyway, letting the jersey fall around your body while steve watches with his jaw detached.

he nods towards the bed, in quiet amazement as the jersey falls around your bare thighs, riding higher when you move.

you lay back, steve crawling onto the mattress behind you, knees pressed together as he looms above. so perfect, sprawled out on the bed with his jersey on.

he gives no warning before snapping the picture, grinning to himself behind the plastic camera.

“i wasn’t looking,” you frown, grabbing ahold of his wrist before he can take another.

“that was just a practice one,” he coos, looking at you rather than through the viewfinder.

what he truly wanted was a picture that only the two of you would ever see.

“can i?” asking cautiously as his large hand lays on your knee, waiting for that small nod before spreading them apart, closing the space between you.

his hand skirts upward, brushing your thigh until it meets your core, keeping his eyes trained on yours for approval.

“yeah?” steve repeats, the camera still poised in his other hand.

you nod again, chest heaving as you allow him to manoeuvre your body, relinquishing full control over to him.

steve’s thumb traces the lace fabric, grazing your clit and down to your quivering hole. shuddering breath fills the room but you don’t contest it, relaxing into the mattress instead.

his finger hooks around the fabric, yanking it to the side, your soaked cunt waiting below.

“okay?” he reiterates further, dropping the camera onto the bed to pull his boxers, cock aching and starved, leaking with anticipation.

“please,” finally using your voice, a desperate, strangled cry that makes his cock twitch.

steve’s vision is clear, he knows what he wants from this. something that only the two of you will know had happened.

guiding his tip to your eager entrance, gently nudging inside as you wail softly, fingers grabbing at the disheveled blanket underneath.

he scrambles for the discarded camera, wanting to take the picture before completely losing it. the tension is palpable, longing for him to move while he’s adamant on getting the perfect shot.

“a-alright honey,” steve stammers, tugging at the hem of the jersey to cover where your two bodies meet.

the shutter clicks, your two bodies intertwined perfectly and yet completely unknown to anyone that may ever see that picture.

it takes everything in him not to scrap everything and just fuck you into the mattress. a couple more photos and he’d be satisfied.

something about this entire situation was getting him off anyway, your warmth enveloping him, squeezing and trembling as you wait patiently.

“please move,” you beg, a divine temptress with your hooded eyes and wetted lips.

he does so, agonisingly slow, causing your jaw to go slack, pinging perverted thoughts to his fuzzy brain.

his thumb finds your bottom lip, resting on the skin before you get the hint to wrap your lips around it. it’s taking everything for him to not cum right now, his fingers shaking on top of the button, pointed perfectly to capture his thumb between your lips, fingers caressing your warm cheek. cutting off just before the camera meets your eyes, no identifiable features, just in case.

the camera lowers as his hips still roll slowly, your composure slipping away with each gentle thrust. steve thinks that he could’ve asked for anything at this point and you would’ve let him. too drunk, too in-love to really think about it.

but he doesn’t push it, one more picture, just for him.

your cunt, keeping him inside, a picture to be hidden and cherished.

using his fingers to bunch up the soft cotton of his jersey, perfectly framing the meeting point of your two bodies. he fills you to the hilt, drawing a sweet whine from your plump lips.

barely stable enough to snap the picture, hands trembling the entire time before tossing the camera to the side, a flurry of polaroids lay framing your body. to be ignored until after he had made you cum a couple times.

steve thrums his full attention to you, your body even. his fingers still gripping his borrowed jersey, using the fabric for leverage as he thrusts faster, choking on his moans, overcome with the intensity of your cunt squeezing around him.

“so good,” he stresses, further spreading your legs to move closer, staying stood on his knees to watch your expression contort and change with every slam of his hips.

his hand leaves the jersey, disappearing between your soft thighs to find your neglected clit, drawling the sweetest mewl from your lips, eyes squeezing shut with the new found pleasure.

“oh my god steve,” moving your hips against his in slow rhythm.

you’d done something for him and now he was due to repay you fully, thumb circling gently around your sensitive clit, neglecting his own climax to ensure you got there first.

steve thighs burn, the feel of your heels digging into the dimples on his lower back were the only thing keeping him upright.

“c’mon honey,” he coos, ducking his head to watch you wriggle, thighs squeezing together as the sweat begins to pool on your temple.

falling apart at the seams with every nudge of his cock against your sensitive spot, trembling as the waves of your orgasm threaten to spill over.

steve can tell, can feel you tighten around him, desperately clawing the soft blanket beneath.

“that’s it baby,” in a gruff low growl, still teasing your poor clit, “you sound so pretty,” drinking in every delicate whine that left your soft lips.

“shit,” you cry, moving your hips against his in perfect rhythm, your eyes stuck shut as he smirks to himself.

steve’s pace stutters, a mixture of expletives and throaty groans fill the room, moving to clasp onto your hip instead. a mixture of ecstasy and desperation overcome his bones, helplessly rutting into you as you tremble.

“oh.. uhh,” he groans, fingernails leaving tiny crescent moons in the plush skin of your hip, “f-fuck baby, i’m gonna cum,” desperate to unload while you writhe beneath, overstimulated after your own orgasm.

his fist wraps around the base of his cock, leaving your warmth just before he cums, thick ropes of his release paint your stomach, no doubt his jersey too.

it could be cleaned, but seeing you come completely undone in the bright blue shirt again wasn’t guaranteed.

the room is stifling, clammy skin no longer sexy but irritating as he gathers the forgotten polaroids, collapsing breathlessly next to you, sharing one pillow as your sticky bodies mesh.

“oh god,” choking on your words, harshly thrown back into reality, “i don’t think i wanna see those.”

steve tuts, holding the small pile above your faces, “you’re amazing.. i like that one,” flashing the image of your lips wrapped snug around his thumb.

“euurgh,” you complain, “you can keep that one.”

his eyes roll back as he flicks through, tracing the outline of where your two bodies meet, “that one’s my favourite,” turning his head to watch your grimacing face.

your fatal flaw was your humility, not wanting to own how earth-shatteringly beautiful you were was really his only issue.

“you can keep that one,” you murmur, coming to face him, “actually, you can keep them all.”

steve ponders for a moment, taking in the soft curve of your lips, the way your eyes seemed to fill with stars when you looked at him.

“thank you for doing that,” completely sincerely, “i’m gonna keep that one in my wallet,” showcasing the one where your two bodies met, entirely undetectable to any poor soul that may open his wallet.

“you’re so gross,” shoving the stack of pictures out of your site, rolling out of the bed as you go, “i’m gonna shower.. you coming or are you just gonna perv at all your weird photos?”

“say less,” steve beams, leaping up, dragging you along towards the bathroom with a chorus of shrieks and giggles.

-

steve shuffles in the soft dawn light, reluctant to leave the warm cocoon of your bed for the icy rink and brutish behaviour of his teammates.

he groans while getting ready, it never getting any easier to leave you comfortable in bed.

the doorbell shrieks from the hall, your eyes meeting in a panic.

fucking eddie.

“eddie,” you frown, leaping out of bed, “he’s early,” scowling at the clock, “he wasn’t supposed to be here until seven,” gritting your teeth as you pull discarded clothes back onto your body.

steve looks at the window, a little far down to throw himself out of it before his eyes dart back to the bed, wondering if he could shove himself underneath.

you spin as the door pings again, shoving steve to the other side of your room, “just stay in here and don’t say anything, okay?” rushing out as your bedroom door slams shut.

the door opens and eddie waltz in, shoving the last of his bagel into his mouth as he makes his way into your apartment.

“you’re early,” you scold, worriedly looking around the messy room, praying your brother wouldn’t notice.

“was getting breakfast.. thought you’d be ready,” he mumbles through chews, eyes leaving yours to also glide around the room, at the clues of there being another person in this apartment. “is someone else here?” eddie asks, finding steve’s sneakers left neatly by the door.

“no,” you rush, furrowing your brow, “i’m the only one that lives here eddie,” only half-a-lie. steve hadn’t moved in officially, but it was pretty damn close.

eddie smirks, noting the two mugs sat in the sink waiting to be washed, “no? are you sure about that?”

“what’re you even talking about? i’m not in the mood for this,” sighing heavily.

“i don’t care if you’re dating someone,” he laughs, “you can tell me, you know?”

“i’m not.. you’re just, you’re being stupid,” standing with your arms across your chest, disapproving of his early morning nonsense.

“alright.. alright,” shaking his head, “whatever. if you don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine.”

you think fast, tempted to pull the fire alarm just he’d have to get the fuck out.

“i’m not coming today, i don’t feel great so.. you should go,” eager to usher him out of the door and far, far away from all of the shit you’d mistakenly left out.

he does as you ask, walking towards the door but not before stopping right before steve’s shoes, “nice shoes,” unable to keep his snarky remark to himself of course.

your eyes fall down to the large pair of sneakers sat by the door, obvious that they weren’t ever meant for you, “they’re.. they’re.. can you just leave please?” pushing him through the door, dismayed by his lack of care for your embarrassing time.

“see ya tomorrow?”

“yeah yeah tomorrow.. bye,” abruptly closing the door in his smug face, relieved to not have witnessed your brother beat your boyfriend to death just yet.

steve breathes a silent sigh of relief at the door clicking shut, unsticking himself from the wall to make his way to your bedroom door, only waiting for your signal to come out.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you exclaim, barrelling into the room, “too close,” steve’s hands catch your frantic shoulders, slowing down the panic in your eye.

“i know..” he affirms, keeping you steady, “but he’s gone, okay? it’s fine.. he doesn’t know and now next time we’ll just.. we’ll be more careful, yeah?”

your breathing slows, nodding along with his calming words, “okay.. okay,” leaning into his palm as his hand caresses your cheek, “you should go, i don’t want you to be late.”

what did that matter if you weren’t okay? hockey would come and go but he was intending to keep you forever.

“you gonna be okay? i’ll be back as soon as we’re done,” thumb tracing the indents by your mouth, wishing he could just bundle you along with him.

“yeah.. i’m okay, go,” breaking free of his clasp though your palm stays atop of his hand, nodding encouragingly.

so reluctantly he does, leaving you for a frosty morning on the ice. a couple of hours of really testing his ability not to pummel your brother into the ground.

“why’re you late?” eddie spits, damn near slobbers, standing from the bench to approach steve, without an ounce of intimidation in his body.

steve just scoffs, “two minutes.. you’ll survive,” ignoring the stiff man to shove his bag into his locker, slamming the door shut to find eddie’s stoic face just inches from his.

“you’re always fuckin’ late,” his eyes falling slowly to the floor, a disconcerting expression overcomes his features.

through gritted teeth eddie bites, “fucking asshole,” grabbing steve by the scruff of the neck and subsequently throwing him violently back into the lockers. his spine and head, colliding loudly with the metal, a groan escaping his lips at the sudden searing ache.

“what the fuck?”

“stay the fuck away from her!” bellowing into steve’s face, completely unnecessary for the distance between them.

the bridges connect in his head, albeit slowly. realising that ‘her’ was in fact you.

his shoes.

he’d kicked them off by the door last night like he always did, without much thought about the consequence of your brother spotting them.

steve shoves him backwards, unpinning himself from the lockers, letting his anger take over.

“so fucking what?” pushing him further back, “you gonna punch me because i’m dating your sister?” using the opportunity to gain an advantage over eddie, towering above with his brows furrowed.

“no,” eddie growls, “i’ll fucking kill you for dating my sister,” already lunging towards steve, fingertips scraping his shirt as he’s tugged backwards by a both very impressed and yet very frightful jason.

“calm the fuck down!” jason hollers, though his pleas fall on deaf ears as eddie scrambles through his hold, reaching out for steve’s static body.

holy fuck.

you’d told him it’d be bad, and yeah, maybe he had expected a black eye or a bloodied lip but he hadn’t prepared himself for this.

a rage so deep, so visceral that even tommy was ushering steve out of the locker room, a fearful glint to his eye that steve had never seen.

“fuck man,” tommy exasperates, holding his jacket between his fingers, “didn’t think you had it in ya..” amazement rippling through his voice, “you should definitely go though.. give it a couple days and.. he’ll be alright.”

steve wasn’t sure that was true.

a couple of days surely wasn’t enough for that anger to subside. he wouldn’t put it past eddie to creep through the window and strangle him in his sleep.

but he goes nonetheless, a slow, contemplative drive back to your apartment. wondering if this was even the best place to go. you’d be wondering, confused why he didn’t come back. you at least deserved to know.

the door cracks open almost instantaneously, revealing your tear stained face accompanied by your wobbling lip, appalled at the sheer sight of him, “what did you do? steve? what the fuck did you do?”

[19burstraat]

ketterdam dashboard simulator 2 (electric boogaloo)

(first one here)

❌ urkerchfaveisproblematic follow

Who submitted Kaz Brekker. don't take the piss he's literally wanted every other Wednesday

🍃 squallertales follow

Wait what did Brekker do

🌊 boekcanaling

Girl what DIDN'T he do

🦁 dimelionsofficial follow

Ghezen's Day Piss Up starts TONIGHT at the Kaelish Prince! Come down before four bells and get ten kruge off your first drinks purchase and an extra spin on Makker's Wheel!

👤 dregsofficial

545.06.7.9

🦁 dimelionsofficial follow

HOW DID YOU GET PAST THE FUCKING VPN. FUCK YOU KAZ BREKKER. FUCK YOU SO MUCH. YOU DO THIS EVERY TIME. WE'RE NOT EVEN DOING ANYTHING TO YOU. WE'RE ALL JUST PEOPLE WITH JOBS. TRYING TO GET BY. MOST OF US NEVER EVEN SPOKE TO ROLLINS. THIS IS SO TWISTED. YOUR ACTUALLY WRONG IN THE HEAD. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. I ACTUALLY CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS ANYMORE. I'M SICK.

👤 dregsofficial

*you're

❓lidandstavessuggestions

#234: build mickey's dick smasher between east and west stave

🍷dregsconfessions

So I've been a dregs member for a long time (I'm in my 30s now) and back when I was a new grunt I was especially trolleyed at the Crow Club, and I ended up spilling like half my pint on the head of one of Haskell's feral little runners, yk one of the little kids?? I just kind of mopped him with my sleeve and said sorry and figured that it was the end of it... however it has occurred to me lately that it actually might have been Kaz. Honestly I never could tell the difference between all the kids, and I didn't look properly at him, but now I've been waking up in a cold sweat several times a week thinking about it. Is it time for me to retire from the gang life

#submisson #admin comment: lately all of these have just been ppl embarrassing themselves in front of kaz

🧇 stroopwafels

There's definitely blogs on here that are undercover advertising for the Dregs btw. I accuse that one that thirstposts abt Dirtyhands

🧤 dirtyhandsy follow

:( no I'm a Razorgull actually

🧇 stroopwafels

WHAT???????

🧤 dirtyhandsy follow

I have eyes :/

🧇 stroopwafels

You won't for much longer if your boss finds out omfg

🃏 makkerswheelies follow

you guys are cowards for not wanting to fuck Brekker. Out of my way ghezenboy I'm bout to get it

🃏 makkerswheelies follow

My wallet is Gone

💀 dregsundrained follow

Kaz Brekker isn't violent. Dirtyhands is. Get it right

🏵️ cillasfryup

Gonna rob a bank tomorrow and when the stadwatch come I'm gonna tell them it was my alter ego Countess Boochie Flagrante

🙏🏻 thumbofghezen follow

sooooo sick of seeing people say that the council of tides shouldn't have complete control over kerch shipping. they stop the island from sinking??? every day?? have some respect

⛲ sanktvladimirs

idk about you guys but I'd be popping the BIGGEST bottles if kerch started sinking

🏵️ cillasfryup

me and the girls when kerch starts sinking

🌊 boekcanaling

staff please let me reblog ads please please please please

💪🏻 lionsroar12 follow

guys you have 24 hours to unfollow sanktvladimirs not only are they impersonating and mocking real etherealki and real saints (they are NOT a member of the second army) they're a dregs member, and I bet they're a fucking ka/nej too

⛲ sanktvladimirs

@ dregsofficial

💪🏻 lionsroar12 follow

I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT

💪🏻 lionsroar12 follow

WHO SENT ME AN ANON ASK WITH MY ADDRESS

🍷dregsundrained

guys I was looking at the wiki contributions who the fuck added a jesper fahey page to the dregs wiki... from inside the stadhall???

🥳 pearlhandledrevolvers

you know what. don't even worry about it

liked by dregsofficial

🍃 squallertales follow

the wraith was only seventeen when she started hunting slavers???? she should have been at the club

#DON'T crawl out of the woodwork and say 'oh the crow club-' #the REAL CLUB. for FUN

🎨 dekappelfan follow

🎨 dekappelfan follow

it's so nice to know no one agrees on this

[tteokdoroki]

Hi aali!, Happy Valentine's Day~ I saw your bumble date, swipe right event and would like to participate :D I put forward gojo satoru as my fav, red bottomed heels as my ideal valentine's gift and for my date to be sweet. Please and thank you in advance /^w^/

⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — SATORU GOJO. swipe sweet: red bottom heels.

about. it’s a match! whilst dolling yourself up to spend valentines day with your husband — satoru gojo reminds you of how much he loves you with a very expensive and reminiscent gift ( 1K ).

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, reader and gojo are married + have kids, reader is wearing a dress, afab!reader.

・:〃⤥ bumble date, swipe right event !

“are the kids in bed?” you ask your husband satoru as you scrutinise the line of red on your lips in the mirror. his large palms smooth over the curves of your frame, hugged by your pretty and powder blue dress, before stopping just above your navel. 

the gesture is sweet, with no ulterior motives, you’ve learned over the years that your husband values proximity and closeness. he likes to hold you close like you might disappear and touch you as though to make sure that you’re real. tonight, he gets lost in the way you feel underneath his explorative fingertips, entranced by how beautiful you look tonight (or any other night). 

cooing, you capture his attention — brilliant colbalt eyes finding yours in the mirror.  “satoru,” 

“you look good in this dress, baby. is it new?” he quips, head of silvering hair coming to rest at the junction between your neck and shoulder as you finish perfecting your lip. “sorry, yes honey. the rugrats are sleepin’.” 

you squirm happily in your man’s hold, relishing the way that he loves up on you with kisses to your neck and his warm hands rubbing up had dabi’s your sides. “what about the sitters? did you pay them?”

“you mean fushiguro? we practically raised him, a bit of free labour never hurt anybody —“ when you cough unhappily, glaring at your long-time lover and father of your children in the mirror, satoru pouts into the kisses he’s fitted along your bare shoulder. “— fine, i’ll leave him a tip.” 

the man is rewarded with one of your dazzling smiles, the type that has his heart bursting through his chest and his brain a mess. no matter how many dates you go on, how many times you celebrate valentine’s day together…satoru gojo finds himself falling in love with you all over again. each and every time. 

“satoru baby, did you—?” 

“yes, sweetie, i called the uber. it’ll be here in five. yes, i called the restaurant and had them push back by thirty and yes, you look beautiful. you always do. you’re just as beautiful as the day i met you,” years of marriage has taught satoru gojo to be prepared for anything. your fluttering mind, your worry for your children, the fact that you always take a little too long to get ready for the simplest of outings. these little habits and ticks of yours are things that he cherishes, things he wouldn’t change for the world. satoru has grown a lot since he first met you, and has grown in all the right ways to make sure that you’re loved. 

spinning you in his bulking arms, satoru backs you up against your bathroom sink — caging you against it with his arms either side of your hips while he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “now, i know we like to be fashionably late to things, being the hottest couple in the world and all, but i really do think we should get going,” he scolds you playfully, but doesn’t make an effort to draw away from you. “i can’t push this table back anymore,” 

you smile, blowing a kiss up at him so that you don’t smudge your lipstick. “don’t let megumi hear you say that, you know that he thinks we’re cringe.” 

“he can think what he wants, nothing will stop me from showing off the most beautiful woman in the world,” when the white haired man finally steps back, your fingers remain linked — wedding bands clinking against one another. “let me get your shoes, gorgeous, the car’ll be here soon.”

as your husband retreats ( leaving you a love stricken mess in the bathroom ), you resort to packing a clutch with the essentials for tonight — debating on which lip gloss to bring with you until he comes back. 

“remember these?” satoru questions you softly once he re-enters the bathroom — sinking to his knees despite the tight fitting black tux that he wears. your eyes drift over his handsomely aged face, firm and muscled form, down to the pair of heels he holds in his grasp. their white leather and red bottom sole are all too familiar to you. a pair of christian louboutin heels fresh from the box. 

setting the pair of shoes down, satoru gently takes one of your ankles in his hold and positions it perfectly to slip your foot into the heel. “you wore them to our wedding, way back when. i remember that you spent hours deliberating between the kate model and the hot chick model. even still, i always loved how they looked on you,” he reminisces, lips ghosting over your thigh and thumbs smoothing up your calves once your foot is secured in its shoe.  “how they make your legs look.” 

he wiggles his eyebrows up at you then, making you snort under the dim lighting in your bathroom like two teenagers struggling to get out of their clothes after a night out. “satoru!” you squeal, pushing at his shoulder with your bare foot. “focus, we’ve got to leave soon,” your husband nods, working your other heel on while you reminisce. “i thought i lost the original pair in one of the boxes when we moved to the bigger house for the baby.” 

blue eyes shoot up to meet yours, holding so much love and adoration for you. “not too tight, right?” gojo whispers, rubbing at the back of your foot to make sure the leather material isn’t hurting you. you shake your head, earning yourself a kiss to the knee. “you did. lose them. i remember how upset you were, so i figured i’d get you a replacement pair. they might be a little different but—“ 

“but they’re perfect, thank you baby,” even after all this time, satoru remains the most thoughtful partner you’ve ever had. you swear to yourself that you’ll cherish him always, look after him always. even after life and even in death. “i love them.”

“i love you.” gojo says tenderly, taking a stand and offering you his hand all in one swift movement. “now cinderella, i do believe our carriage awaits. our Uber driver has just set a timer and i’ll be damned if he drives away with my damn money.” 

with that, you let your husband whisk you away for a romantic dinner — expensive and cherished red bottom heels clicking against the pavement while the wind carries your joint laughter as you run like fools for your uber (much to megumi’s dismay). 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[moonstruckme]

Hey!! I’ve spent most of my day catching up on my reading goal for the year, on your blog. I love your writing!! I wanted to know if you could write something poly!marauders where the reader comes home from work early due to chronic pain (winter weather sucks sometimes), and the boys take care of them? Pls add your own spin however you see fit! Hope your day is going well! :)

And happy holidays!

Thanks so much lovely, you're too sweet <3

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Breathe, angel,” James reminds you, eyeing you worriedly as he sinks into downward dog. “Deep breaths.” 

“I’m breathing,” you sigh, following him down. The movement, the stress it puts on your legs and back, aches, but you feel better than you had when you’d come home. 

You weren’t expecting James to be here (he typically likes to get out of the house on his days off, too energetic and cabin-fever-prone to stay in) but he hasn’t let you have even a moment of peace since you’d come in the door, unannounced and several hours from the end of your workday. He’d first tried to get you to go on a walk, but the frigid weather outside is what had doomed you in the first place so he’d settled for pulling up a short, low-intensity yoga video on his laptop. 

A small part of you resents him for it, just a little. The smarter part of you is grateful. 

“Just a bit longer,” James says, likely sensing your growing discontent. “After this we can get you a warm bath. Or a massage, if you like.” 

You hum a weary thanks. Either of those sound great, but a nap would be spectacular. You want to evanesce. Sink into a sleep beyond pain. 

The serene voice on James’ laptop guides you into a cat-cow pose, but you’re only starting your first cat when you hear the click of the door opening. You turn to James in confusion. He won’t quite look at you. 

You recognize the loud clunking sound of Sirius kicking off his shoes a moment before he comes into view. 

“Ooh, yoga.” He’s smiling, but there’s a watchful quality to his gaze as he drapes himself across the sofa. “Mind an audience?” 

You shoot James an accusatory look. “Why’d you call him?” 

“Excuse me,” Sirius says, reclaiming your attention. “Do you not want me here?” 

You give up on the yoga, sitting on your mat. “I don’t want you to have to leave work,” you say quietly. 

Sirius tsks, sliding off the couch and moving closer to you. “I couldn’t have been productive while I was worried about you anyways. Figured I’d save my boss the money.” His smile slips, a tiny pucker appearing between his brows. “You alright for a hug?” 

You answer by opening your arms, and he gathers you up. He doesn’t squeeze the way he normally might, hands careful on your back, but it’s still nice. 

“How bad is it?” he asks, turning his face to mush the words lovingly into the side of your head. 

“Not bad,” you murmur. 

“I’d say it’s pretty bad,” James contends gently, “if you had to come home from work.” 

You turn your head to look at him, offering a sheepish shrug. “The yoga helped some.” 

James’ smile is lopsided, eyes flickering with relief behind his glasses. Sirius isn’t so easily convinced, loosening his grip on you so he can see your face. Despite how used to it you should be, it’s still an effort not to shrink under that gaze. You’re not sure what he’s looking for, if he finds it or he doesn’t, but a few moments later Sirius’ hands slide up to your face. He kisses the skin next to your nose lightly. 

“Let me make you some tea, sweet girl,” he says, standing. “You’ve had pain meds already, yeah?” 

You hum that you have, and James says after him, “Not the chamomile, it’ll just make her sleepy.” 

You try not to sulk as Sirius calls back, “I’m not new here, Potter.” 

James is trying to get you back into the yoga when the door opens a second time. If you hadn’t gotten there by process of elimination, the soft, considerate footfalls would have let you know who it was. 

“Oh, hi,” Remus says when he finds you and James already waiting for him. Pity softens his expression as his eyes fall on you. “How are you, dove? Is the yoga helping?”

“It was,” James grouses, though his little smile lets you both know he’s only teasing. He extends his arms out in front of him, beckoning with his hands. “Come here, give us a hug. She got to go first last time.” 

Remus doesn’t put up any argument. James stands as he comes forward, weaving one arm over Remus’ shoulders and the other under. 

“I am ailing,” you point out. When Remus angles his head on James’ shoulder to give you a concerned look, you add softly, “Not terribly, though.” 

Remus chuckles, pushing a spindly hand slowly up and down James’ spine. The other cups the back of his boyfriend’s head, sinking into his plush nap of curls. “I think you’ve worried him down to the bone,” he observes. 

There’s a noncommittal hum, followed by a muffled smacking sound as James kisses Remus’ shoulder. 

“Have you considered that I’m just soaking up all the hug I can get?” 

“Nefarious,” Remus murmurs lovingly. 

“I leave the room for two seconds, and of course a lovefest commences.” Sirius strides in with a steaming cup of tea. “It should be outlawed. I feel swindled and scorned.” 

“You got to go first,” James argues, but Remus extricates himself from his hold anyway, folding a leg under himself to sit on the couch. 

“Irrelevant.” Sirius sets your tea down on the coffee tables, using his free hand to wave James off. “Do either of you want tea?” 

“No thank you,” Remus says while James shakes his head. “You didn’t give her chamomile, did you? Because that will only—”

“No,” you all say, you rather mopily. 

You scoot towards the table and reach for your tea. Sirius settles into the couch, leaning his back against Remus’ side. 

“Alright,” James relents, shutting his laptop, “we can call it quits on the yoga. We were basically at the end of the video anyway.” His big hand lands on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “Want one of us to get a bath ready for you, lovie?” 

A whole new ache starts up, right in the center of your chest. You set your tea back on the coffee table, too hot to drink, and lean your head on James’ shoulder. Your throat clogs slightly. So, so sweet to you. A bath does sound nice, but you’re not sure you can commit to it. That’s at least a half hour between you and sleep. 

“Thank you,” you say, making sure he hears the sincerity in the words, “but I think I just want to go to bed.” 

James’ sigh is so soft you think you’re not meant to hear it. “It’s a bit early for that yet,” he says, thumb swiping back and forth on your shoulder. “How about a massage?” 

“I’m tired,” you complain, and you try not to whine but a bit of it comes through anyway.  

“I know, love,” Remus says, leaning his elbows onto his knees so that his face is nearly level with yours, “but if you nap now you won’t be able to sleep tonight, and then you’ll be tired all over again tomorrow.” He reaches across the coffee table, the tips of his fingers brushing yours. “This is to help you, I promise.” 

You let your little sigh fan cool air over your tea, raising it again to your lips as you nod. 

“Go for the massage,” Sirius says. He raises his eyebrows at you, grinning like he’s letting you in on some sort of secret. “Trust me, babe. Jamie missed his calling with that one. Hands of an angel.”

You look over, and James is grinning so hugely you wonder if his ears pop. “Alright, fine.” He shrugs, feigning reluctance. “After I’m done with her, you can have next turn.”

[shuenkio]

Juno | Lhs.

Paring: Heeseung X M!reader | Genre: Fluff.

Synopsis: Thought he'd be disgusted by your love letter however who knows what he actually feels toward you? When your friend accidentally puts that for fun note in your gift that you're about to give him?

Cw: Nothing.

Non proof read | Eng is not my 1st lang.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

A@N: Christmas's laterally 3 more months away but who cares, I wanna make a change 💪 plus Juno are on repeating, so why not make an inspiration fic about it?

The Earth's spinning, people are living their lives in their own way, especially with their loved ones. You wonder, to the point of this age, should you just grow old as an old bachelor or find someone? Well, looking at yourself in the mirror already answers all your questions; you find yourself didn't match your satisfaction.

Insecure about your look wasn't enough; another thing is you've been hopeless romantic all of your life. Deep down, you wanted to have someone stay by your side, holding your hand while looking at the sky when it's sunset, cuddle when it's rain, compliment all the sweet things you've ever needed every day, and last but not least, you wanted someone to love you.

It's a silly daydreaming; however, every single day you can't go a day without thinking about anyone randomly popping out, riding their white horse, kneeling in front of you, and asking you, Would you be their partner? That's kind of crazy. Ever since then, brushed it all off as if it's nothing.

Continue to work hard for your bill in this messy industry. Surprisingly, God always has his own plan; he won't let you die alone... Right? Apparently, there's someone just moving in next to your apartment, and it's a man. Oh my. No, you can't be thrill just because he's a man; M/N, behave yourself.

That's how thirsty you are; later on, you thought you're the problem and started to behave yourself to be less attracted to a stranger, especially a man. On one holiday night, while back from work as you were unlocking your door, it was a coincidence when the new guy came out at the same time. Both of you never get the chance to greet each other because you're such workaholics. He greets you with a warm smile on his face, offering a handshake, as you hesitated to but still did.

He then introduces himself as 'Heeseung' called 'Evan' for short. He also said he never gets the opportunity to meet someone, mostly who are his neighbors since they are always out of the house just like you. For now, Evan wanted to invite you for a coffee. Oh. Spare a glance at his towering figure up and down; you realize he's positive; no bad energy from him; yes, you happily agree. A day turns into a week, a week turns into a month.

Trying all your hardest not to fall in love with Evan, who likes to do all those weird gestures that make your stomach fill with butterflies every damn time. Maybe you lack affection, sort of. He looks cool, is an ACE in everything, at least he can cook ramen, is a green flag in your perspective, is gentle and respectful of the boundaries, but one thing that made you stop midway was he can't be gay.

Evan is probably a straight guy that you mistake with his clingy behavior. Sigh, a lesson of life learned as a homosexual person. It's not right to force him to like you back, isn't it? Not even right to confess your true heart when he's so straight code, or he's not? Or is it worth pouring away all the heavy weight in your chest? The TV play in the living room, an announcement that today is going to be snow on this special day too, a Christmas day.

Brainstorming to seek out his favorite thing as you pop out an idea by gifting him a logo set; he loves it too much you couldn't understand why. As you were preparing the gift with all your friends together in a room before going out to celebrate in the city, you suddenly wanted to write a confession note for fun—write everything that had been living in your heart for a long time that has been hurting—a poem, to be honest, well, a little freaky, because you know you'd throw them away anyway.

"You make me want to make me fall in love."

"Wanted you to adore me back, hold me like you always did, and always joke, telling me I'm your only friend."

"Sorry, I like you, but I can't help it."  "Liking you was the best experience in my life, and I hope for nothing but still us to be friends."

Out of the blue, coincidentally, once you finish the note, your friend happens to pull you for a group photo. While you were busy posing, one of your other friends had nothing to do, so they went to wrap all the gifts of all of them. Usually, at every Christmas festival, they are in charge of who does the wrapping. The group united is over; after they're all stepping foot in the city, they've all vanished. Holding your gift like a lost child, looking at the crowd of people who's busy with their own business.

The snow keeps falling down from the blurry sky nonstop, so cold yet it fits the vibe you were going for. Snuggle your hands inside of your pocket; you leave the scenes as you drag your feet to somewhere quiet, your favorite park that used to be lively but now it's a field of snow. Taking a hot breath under the cold temperature, a shadow cast towering upon you, looking up to see, it was actually your greatest neighbors, Evan.

"What are you doing here, Fox?"

"Me? Oh, just chilling; I don't like crowds anyway." response, the tip of your nose turns pink, which makes Evan find it adorable.

"Why? It's Christmas; you should go enjoy yourself!" Taking about Christmas alarms your mind; you take out the wrapped gift and hand it to him. He caught off guard to the gift you have for him. Everyone would give him gifts during this festival; never make him flinch but you, a different story.

"Ugh, don't get the wrong idea; you're my neighbors after all; neighbors gift neighbors, isn't that normal? Take it, unbox it," take a hold of his palm, and give him the gift while waiting patiently for his expression. Hearing you say those, he did as told. Unveil all the tie, tearing all of the paper. Evan sees a cartoon Lego set inside with a small scratchy note that is about to be trash. The corner of Evan's lip, tight into a cocky smile as he takes out the small note, and hands up to the light street nearby. Maybe he didn't laugh at the Lego set but something else.

Seeing a note that you did not put in there and a confession note too, your eye wide open. The heart inside of your chest is pounding and racing far from the beat. You were nervous and panicking. How can it flow in there? Oh, wait, don't tell your friend to put it in there; naur, screw you. Quickly get up from your seat. I wanted to grab that note away; however, who are you kidding, he was 180 cm while you? A tiny little person.

"Evan, give that back; it's not; it's not the right note. My friend mistakenly put them there. DON'T READ IT." jumping up and down, up and down to snatch the piece of paper away, which is no use. All you got was to exhaust yourself.

"Oh, let me see, hmm, mistaken? But I see your name under here from me, M-N. How is that a mistake?" Realizing Evan already read it, you stop there frozen; the outcome would be something you are not going to like. Same goes for Evan too. You thought he'd be all serious and disgusted by your love note yet replaced by giggles. Um what?

"You, M/N, why have you not told me sooner?"

"Because... You look straight, i guess. Sorry to assume, but you did look like it."

"Oh, come on, why should I be straight when you're alive?"

"I beg pardon??"

"The word 'I like you' is out trending, so I'd say I. Adore. You, my M/N. My gift for you is

'i love you too'

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️ Crd to all the room rightful owner: [divider Alanitalenia]

🗣️ ps: I was dead ass sick writing this, but still cooked anyway 🫂.