#so if the text looks different no it doesn't

[cream1111]

🍎 weird dream . . .ᐟᅟ

⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀caleb/mc!reader, 1.5k, somno, noncon, fingering, dry humping

it's not uncommon for you to burst into caleb's room without knocking. it was the same no matter where he was, you'd walk straight to his bed, already talking, as if all his attention was yours to command the second you entered his periphery, as if it was your own room. sometimes he'd be by his desk, perking up at the sound of the door being opened and turning to face you, sometimes he's already in bed reading, scooting over to make room as he continues his book, not even having to look at you. you'd snuggle in, making yourself comfortable.

"you know you got your own bed, right?" he'd tease, as if he'd have it any other way.

"yeah, but yours is waaay more comfortable" you'd feign a pout. he never pushes, and you never expect him to.

you'd talk and talk, and he'd listen happily. and sometimes, you'd fall asleep in his bed, never asking, never thinking to. it had always been like this.

even after he moved out for school, summers still gave you the chance to live together once again. you'd seamlessly slip back into the routine, as if no time had passed.

tonight was no different.

you were snuggled up against him, you had been telling him about some gossip from school, some text conversation with a friend. using his outstretched arm as a pillow as you looked up at the ceiling, gesturing at nothing, looking over at him occasionally, catching his eye every time. his eyes never strayed from you. you were used to his gaze, the feeling was constant when he was around.

your story slowed, yawns every few minutes became every few words. until finally a comfortable silence filled the room. he let's out a little laugh. rubbing your shoulder to help ease you into a nice dream.

"must've been really sleepy, huh" he mutters into your hair, petting you, you offer a sleepy groan as a response. he can't help but smile, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as you hum happily. it's not long before your breathing slows into that familiar pattern. your chest rising and falling evenly, you were sound asleep.

"there you go," caleb coos softly, shifting to be behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle. slowly, so slowly, he moves his hand to rub your stomach. small soothing circles, testing the waters. you've never woken up so far, but he doesn't want to push his luck.

his fingers drift lower, silk soft touches along the exposed skin between your slightly shifted top and the hem of your shorts. he could do this forever, feeling you under his hands, in between his arms, against his chest. he loved having you so close like this, he doesn't know if he could go without it. he knows you feel the same, you might not know it entirely, maybe you don't think about it too much, but he sees the way you look at him, the way you blush, the way you tease. you feel it too, you just aren't ready to act on it yet, you wanna keep the charade going. and that's fine, he's a patient man.

for the most part.

his fingers grow restless, sliding under the waistband of your shorts, under your panties, trailing lower and lower, slow and steady. he hovers over your clit, your breathing remains even.

he waits a second, just to be sure.

and he softly presses down. you don't stir at all. he begins to move in easy little circles, just the right amount of pressure. he thinks he's perfected it. he got a bit too eager with you once, and you almost woke up. you like soft touches, he knows that, for now at least.

he uses his arm around your waist to pull you closer, pressing your ass flush against his growing hard on. he has to bite back a moan, letting out a deep breath instead. he wants to grind into you so bad, but this isn't about him, it's all about you. he remains still, cock twitching against the layers that separate your skin.

he knows one day you'll be together. he can wait until then, but in the meantime, he just wants to open you up a bit. get you ready for him. he thinks it's sweet even, he knows you don't have any experience. he doesn't want you to feel embarrassed or scared he won't fit. he'll be able to assure you and mean it, he'll know your body so well already, you'll have nothing to worry about.

his finger against your clit presses harder, just a touch. your thighs shift, pressing into his bulge harder. he slows, not yet stopping. waiting, checking for any tell tale signs of you waking up.

"mm..." you let out a tiny moan, still asleep. caleb can't help but let his eyes flutter closed at the sound. letting his face nuzzle deeper into your hair, peppering encouraging kisses against your head as he breathes in your scent.

"feels good?" he mutters, barely audible. "let's see..." his hand stills, moving lower, dipping between your lips towards your opening. he has to bite his lip again to hold back the low moan that almost escaped.

you're soaked.

he has a habit of giving you what you want. now is no exception, he won't make you wait.

he circles your opening, before slowly inching in. his cock twitches again, head weeping, wanting nothing more than to be buried inside you. he pushes in deeper and deeper.

"nngh⎯" you let out a soft groan, and he freezes. he's unsure if it's discomfort or pleasure. you're tense around him.

"i know, i know, it's why we're opening you up." he whispers in his most reassuring tone, hoping it'll reach you in your dreams and put you at ease. and it seems to work, you relax, sinking deeper into the bed, soft walls welcoming his finger.

"mhm, just like that..." he presses into you, his finger is as deep as it could go. he angles his wrist so the meat of his palm presses into your clit as he slips a second finger in.

"hah," you sigh sweetly. caleb takes a deep breath, trying to keep his desire in check. maybe, maybe you've done this enough times, maybe you can take a little more now. he justifies it to himself as he curls his fingers out just to push it back inside, a little harsher now, causing you to press harder against his needy cock. you tense again, but relax before he even has a chance to comfort you.

he's losing all composure now.

he repeats the motion, harder, grinding against you. and again, and again, falling into a steady rhythm.

"mmph!" the sweet sounds seem to pour out of your lips. he takes them as encouragement, moving his head lower to brush his lips against your neck. your body sways with each thrust from his fingers, pliant and so accepting of everything he's giving.

he's moving you so much he doesn't notice as you shift more against him.

you feel the pleasure bubbling within you first. it pulls you close to waking. you've had this dream before. being fondled and fucked. your eyes squeeze shut tighter, but it starts to sting, it feels real, you feel the pressure of your eyes against your skull. you twitch, and you suddenly become acutely aware of the ache in your core.

your eyes flutter, half lidded as you become aware of your surroundings. caleb, he's behind you, and he's ... his ⎯ you can't think straight. he's still moving. you're moving, he's moving your body along with his.

he's pressed against you, he's huffing in your ear, and his hand is in your panties.you try to keep your breathing in check, you want to pant, you feel so overwhelmed all over, you feel surrounded, filled.

right before you can fully acknowledge what is happening, you feel it, your peak is approaching, fast. it's all too much, all of it, his thrusts, his breath against you, his hard cock grinding on your ass, his fingers so, so deep. you try to stop it, whimpers tumble out, you try to speak, but it comes out as a lewd moan.

"w-wai⎯" but it's too late. it all comes crashing down, you come onto his fingers. he feels it, shoving his fingers deep and then holding them still, letting your walls milk him, fruitlessly.

"fuck, yeah, that's it," he whispers, kissing your neck. he was trembling, "mmm, yes."

as you come down you realize he's stopped moving as well, as he shifts the cold air makes you acutely aware of the damp spot against your ass. he gently removes his hand for your panties, you crack your eye open as he raises it, past your face and out of sight. you hear him behind you, his lips part and he's sucking his fingers. he let's out a soft groan at your taste. you shudder.

"sooo good, you did so good." he murmurs into your hair. moving his arms to surround you again. you feel unsure, maybe, you're still dreaming. it's hard to tell, you feel so sleepy again. you lean further into him. he's so warm. it just feels right. and it's not unlike dreams you've had before. maybe, you liked it more than you're willing to admit.

maybe you could worry about this in the morning.

[mssishipi]

was it casual? - l.hs

PAIRING: heeseung x afab reader ft. sunoo

SYNOPSIS: Let’s play “Casual” by Chappell Roan. How far can you sink for a guy who only sees you as a bed warmer? Somewhere between the silences, you start to wonder. If it’s just casual, why does it feel so real? And if it means nothing, why does it hurt so much?

genre: angst warning: profanities, heeseung is an asshole (his friends also), reader is a sucker for bare minimum :(, smoking, contains 2nd hand smoke too, mention of pregnancy, sad and kinda happy ending (if you squint), lots of crying and self sabotage, explicit content (smut) contains unprotected sex, doggy style, pussy eating, mention of squirting, blowjob, shower sex.

WC:12.3K

A/N: damn 233 followers already? thank you so much! here's some angsty heeseung fanfic for y'all

"Why are you so dumb for crawling back to that man? We all know you're just one of the girls he likes to bang."

The words hit like a slap, burning through your chest, Your fingers clenched around the edge of the table, nails digging into the cheap wood, the pressure grounding you as frustration bubbled in your throat. You shouldn't care. You shouldn't. But fuck, it hurt.

Fuck Lee Heeseung. Fuck everything about him.

You knew his reputation. Everyone did. He was the guy people whispered about in dimly lit hallways, the one whose name was laced with envy and lust.

Lee Heeseung wasn't just wanted—he was craved. His sharp cheekbones, the way his thin upper lip curled when he smirked, the small face that somehow made his presence even more intimidating. And that nose—slightly arched, just perfect enough to make your stomach twist when he looked down at you. He wasn't an academic genius, far from it, but intelligence was never his selling point. It was the way he carried himself, the lazy confidence, the quiet arrogance that made people flock to him like moths to a flame.

And you? You were just another moth.

But no—no, that wasn't true. You were different, weren't you? Heeseung doesn't fuck twice. That was his rule. One time, one night, then you were nothing but a name on his list, a passing memory in his beautifully wrecked life. Yet with you... it wasn't just once. He kept coming back, kept pulling you in with his heated stares, his late-night texts, the way he said your name like it meant something.

And maybe that's why you let yourself believe—just for a moment—that you were special.

But were you? Or were you just another girl foolish enough to think she mattered?

Your breath hitched, throat tightening as the weight of it all pressed down on you. You were exhausted. Exhausted from convincing yourself that he was just "figuring things out." That he was complicated, not careless. That maybe, just maybe, he wanted you the way you wanted him.

But he didn't. He never did.

And you were done.

Fuck him. Fuck his stupid, perfect face.

You were going to leave. You are going to block him, ignore him, and dragged him out of your heart with bloodied hands if you had to. It was what you deserved.

Sike, bitch.

"Heeseung!" You screamed his name, fingers twisting into the sheets as he drove into you from behind, your body arching under the force of his thrusts.

"Fuck, you're always so tight," he groaned, voice wrecked, half-laughing like he knew exactly how weak you were for him.

His grip on your waist tightened, his hips snapping against yours with punishing speed. Every thrust sent a shockwave through your body, pleasure and frustration tangling into something dangerous, something that made you forget why you wanted to leave in the first place.

His hand slid up your back, rough fingers ghosting over your spine before settling around your throat.

He forced you down, pressing your chest into the mattress as he continued to drive into you, deeper, harder, making you feel every inch of him. Your breasts bounced with each movement, and then—fuck—his other hand found your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your legs tremble beneath him.

"You're shaking already?"

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moan threatening to escape, but then he tightened his grip on your throat just enough to make your head spin.

"Hee—fuck—" Your voice broke as the pressure coiled inside you, too much, too fast, overwhelming.

"Come for me," he ordered, his breath hot against your ear.

And you did. Hard.

Your orgasm hit, your body clenching around him as pleasure crashed through you in dizzying waves.

Heeseung groaned, his pace faltering, and then he was spilling inside you, his hips jerking as he buried himself to the hilt. His lips found yours from behind, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, claiming kiss, the kind that made your heart stutter even as you hated yourself for it.

The both of you collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavy, bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.

Heeseung didn't move immediately. Instead, he slid his fingers through your hair, tugging lightly as he kissed the back of your neck—slow, lazy.

Your chest tightened.

Was it casual?

Your brain screamed yes.

But the way your heart fluttered said otherwise.

Fuck Lee Heeseung. Fuck him for making simple things feel intimate.

Fuck him for always making you stay at his place, for the way he hugged you from behind in the morning, lips warm against your neck as he whispered a sleepy "Good morning, baby." Like you were his. Like this was more than just a cycle of fucking and pretending it didn't mean anything.

And fuck him—most of all—for never wearing a condom when it came to you.

Your legs shook as you sat on the edge of the bed, his cum dripping down your thigh. The room still smelled like sweat, sex, and Heeseung—faint cologne mixed with something distinctly him. Your chest rose and fell unevenly, fingers clutching the sheets as you glared at him.

"I told you not to cum inside me," you snapped.

Heeseung, fresh out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips, only grinned as he reached for you, spreading your legs with ease. He looked down, watching the way your swollen cunt twitched, still messy from him.

"I always thought you weren't the type to let that happen," you muttered, frustration bubbling in your chest. "I heard you always wear a condom with other girls."

His smirk deepened. "Maybe you're not like other girls."

Your stomach twisted. You hated how easily his words got to you, how they made your heart stumble, made you want to believe you were different—even when you knew better.

Before you could snap back, Heeseung licked his lips, then slowly, wiped the mess between your legs with a towel.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation, the rough fabric making you flinch. "I told you to take a pill," he murmured, his voice half-amused, half-serious.

Your glare hardened. "Fuck you? You're the one who needs to adjust, bitch. If I get pregnant—"

He cut you off smoothly, not even blinking. "It won't be a problem." He looked at you, eyes dark and unreadable. "I'm ready to be a father, babe."

Your whole body locked up. What?

Your breath hitched, your cheeks flushing as you raised your hand to slap his shoulder. He laughed, dodging easily, catching your wrist in his grip before kissing your knuckles.

"You're so cute when you get mad," he teased, leaning in, his lips barely brushing against yours.

Your heart stupidly skipped a beat. He kissed you again—gentle, slow, as if this wasn't just another night of mistakes. As if he meant it.

"I'll buy you Plan B tomorrow," he murmured against your lips.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling against his chest.

Was it casual?

Fuck him for ghosting you after spending the whole weekend in his bed.

You stared at your phone, fingers tightening around the device like you could crush it, like that would somehow erase the ache in your chest. The message you sent two days ago still sat there, unread. Or maybe it was read, and he just didn't care enough to reply.

And screw you—screw you for being so fucking stupid. For always checking your notifications like some pathetic, desperate girl waiting for scraps of attention. For letting your heart lurch every time your phone vibrated, only to sink when it wasn't him.

"Just get over him already," your friend sighed, sipping her iced coffee as she leaned back against the café booth. "He's not worth it."

How could you?

How could you just get over the way he kissed your forehead in the middle of the night, the way he pulled you closer in his sleep, like he needed you there? How could you forget his sweet smile, his stupid Bambi eyes, the way he looked at you like you were something special—only to turn around and act like you didn't exist?

And screw you—screw you for being a fucking loser.

And that's why you were here, drowning in cheap alcohol, trying to forget him.

"God, I really need a drink." You muttered, rubbing your temple as the bass of the club pulsed through your skull.

Your friend side-eyed you, unimpressed. "It's fucking Wednesday, babe. Middle of the week. Calm your ass down."

You ignored her, slamming back another shot.

"Fuck Lee Heeseung!" you suddenly shouted, voice slurred, drawing a few stares from nearby tables.

Legs swaying, balance unsteady, you barely noticed when someone grabbed your waist, steadying you before you could fall flat on your face.

A familiar grip. A familiar presence.

Your blurry vision focused just enough to make out the sharp jawline, the messy dark hair, the annoyingly pretty face you spent too much time thinking about.

"Ohhh, it's you—Lee Heeseung!" You pointed at him, laughing as if this wasn't a complete fucking disaster. "What ya doin' here?"

His jaw ticked, eyes dark as they scanned over you—messy hair, smudged lipstick, a dress that rode up dangerously high on your thighs.

"I'm here to pick your drunk ass up." His voice was flat, irritated, but his hold on you was soft and steady. He slid your arm over his shoulder, gripping your waist tighter as he started leading you toward the exit.

You let him, but only because walking felt impossible.

Then, with a giggle, you leaned in, breath warm against his skin. "Ohhh, was it casual for you to pick me up at 3 AM because I'm sooo drunk?"

Your voice was teasing, but underneath it—hurt.

His jaw clenched, his grip tightening around your waist for a brief second before loosening again.

"Shut up." His voice was quieter now, almost strained. "Let's go."

"No!" You ripped your arm from his grasp, stumbling back, your vision spinning.

"Why are you always like this, Heeseung?" Your voice cracked, but you didn't care. You jabbed a finger into his chest. "You fuck me on the weekends, make me feel like I actually matter, and then act like I don't exist after? You cuddle me, you kiss me, you hold me like—like I mean something! And then suddenly, you're back to being a complete dick?!"

You let out a bitter laugh, raising both middle fingers at him. "Fuck you! You couldn't even text me. Couldn't even take me out on a proper fucking date. What am I to you, huh?"

Heeseung exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a scoff.

"Is that the reason you got yourself wasted here?" His voice dripped with condescension, his lips curling in amusement like this was all some fucking joke to him. "Because I didn't text you? That's pathetic."

His words stung more than they should have. Your nails dug into your palms.

"Why do you even care about how I act?" he continued, "We're not even together, so you don't get to tell me what to do or what not to do."

You stared at him, breath shaky, chest tight.

"Not together." The words felt like poison in your mouth. "Right. That's your excuse for treating me like shit, huh?"

His eyes flickered with something more, but his face remained impassive, like he wasn't affected at all.

"I never made you any promises. You're not getting attached, are you? I just want to fuck you." he said simply, and somehow, that hurt the most.

Your throat burned. Fucking bastard.

"Right," you whispered, voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. Your nails dug into your palms so hard it hurt. "So I guess I was just some easy fuck to you, then?"

His expression didn't change, not even a flicker of guilt. His gaze swept over you lazily, bored, like he was already done with this conversation.

You could feel your resolve crumbling.

You wanted to slap him, to scream in his face, to put a fucking ax in his head for being such a heartless asshole. But you never did.

"You know what, Heeseung?" You took a step back, blinking away the sting in your eyes. "I actually thought—fuck, I actually thought you gave a shit about me." You let out a breathless chuckle, shaking your head. "But you don't, do you? You never did."

"God, I was so fucking stupid." You wiped at your face angrily. "Waiting for you to text me back like an idiot, hoping that maybe—maybe this time, it meant something." Your voice wavered, but you kept going. "But nah, right? It's just sex. Just another girl warming your bed. Just another weekend before you move on to the next."

"Fucking say something, Heeseung!" you snapped, stepping closer, shoving his chest. He didn't even budge. He just looked down at you, dark eyes blank.

And then—finally—he spoke.

"What do you want me to say?" His voice was low. "You knew what this was. I never lied to you. Whatever what's happening between us, it's just casual fuck."

Your stomach twisted. Right, casual.

"Fuck you." Your voice cracked.

You turned your back on him, forcing yourself to walk away, each step heavier than the last.

And the worst part? He didn't even follow you.

No "wait." No "don't go." No "I'm sorry."

Just silence.

The street felt too empty, the cold night air biting at your skin, but nothing compared to the hollowness settling deep in your chest. You had thought—no, you had hoped—that maybe Heeseung saw you as more.

But he didn't.

Because Heeseung wasn't the kind of guy to need anyone.

Not the way you needed him.

And you were done.

You were going to free yourself from this. No more late-night texts that made your stomach flip. No more rearranging your plans just to see him. No more pretending that his touches meant something when, in reality, they meant nothing.

You weren't going to be his puppy, following him around, saying yes to every last-minute "come over" text like some desperate loser.

You were leaving.

Right.

...

So why was it so fucking hard?

Why, after days of stubborn silence, after forcing yourself not to check your phone, were you back here again?

Why were you in his fucking passenger seat, his fingers buried inside you, his mouth pressed between your thighs, making you fall apart like the past week never even happened?

And why—why—did it still feel so fucking good?

You hated this. Hated him. Hated yourself more.

"That's it, baby. Moan for me." Heeseung groaned against your soaked folds, his voice low, dripping with hunger. His hands were everywhere—one gripping your thigh, keeping you spread open, the other palming your breast, his thumb lazily flicking over your nipple.

It felt so good, so maddeningly good, and that made you want to fucking cry.

"More—please, please." Your voice came out breathless, a plea wrapped in desperation.

Heeseung let out a low groan against your cunt, the vibration sending another shudder down your spine. "Can't get enough of you," he muttered, voice wrecked, needy—but you knew better than to believe it.

Because Heeseung never needed anyone.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue in slow, teasing strokes before dragging it down, tracing messy patterns over your entrance.

Then—his fingers. His hand slid down, tracing along your slit before thrusting inside suddenly, stretching you open, curling perfectly to hit that spot that made your legs tremble.

"Fuck—Heeseung!" You gasped, hips bucking, your back arching off the seat.

He was too good at this—too good at knowing your body, too good at making you fall apart, too good at breaking you down piece by piece until you forgot why you were mad, why you ever wanted to leave.

Your hands tangled in his hair, your fingers twisting at the roots as your legs shook. Heeseung groaned at the sting of your pull, pushing his fingers deeper, his tongue working faster, dragging you closer to the edge.

"Heeseung," you whined, voice high, breathless. "Getting close—please—"

And this was why you kept coming back. Because he knew you. Knew your body. Knew exactly how to ruin you.

Because the way he touched you—the way he kissed you, the way he fucked you—it felt too real.

Heeseung was right. He never made you any promises. Never gave you any reason to believe this was something more than sex.

You were just a dumb, stupid girl who kept misreading his actions. Who kept thinking she was special. But you weren't.

And yet, despite knowing all of that, despite the anger twisting in your chest, your fucking heart fluttered when he pulled himself up, his lips crashing into yours while his fingers still worked inside you. And you hated it.

Hated how he kissed you so slow, like he was savoring you.

Hated how he moved his fingers just right, drawing out every last wave of pleasure, dragging out your orgasm until you were crying against his mouth.

Hated how he made it feel intimate—

And hated yourself the most. Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how many times he ghosted you, ignored you, acted like you were nothing—

You knew you'd still come back.

Like a fucking idiot.

And you really were stupid. Because after everything—after the nights he spent inside you, after the way he kissed you like he meant it—Heeseung was still the same.

Still cocky. Still stupidly attractive as he leaned against the lockers in the university hallway, a lazy smirk on his lips, talking to some girl. Did it shock you? No. Did it hurt? Absolutely.

The lump in your throat grew heavier, thick with something you refused to name. You forced yourself to walk past him, shoulders stiff, steps quick—like he was nothing to you. Like last night, when he had you moaning his name in his passenger seat, never happened.

But he didn't even look at you. Didn't glance up. Didn't acknowledge you.

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms as you swallowed the sting.

Because that's what you were, right? Nothing.

Not his girlfriend. Not someone he cared about. Just another name on his list, another girl who meant nothing the second he zipped up his jeans.

And yet, you still hated the way your stomach twisted when the girl he was talking to giggled, leaning in closer. Hated the way he smirked, tilting his head like he was already picturing her naked. The same way he did to you.

Your chest ached.

You felt the bed shift, the mattress sinking under his weight. Then, warm hands—his hands—sliding over your waist, fingers pressing against your bare skin.

Soft lips ghosted along your neck.

"Who the fuck let you in?" Your voice was flat, uninterested, even as your grip on your phone tightened. You didn't turn to face him.

"Natty."

You scoffed. "Ha. I doubt it."

"Swear on my life, baby." Heeseung's voice was low, teasing, the way it always was when he wanted something.

You laughed, sarcastic.

"Missed you," he whined, arms tightening around you, his tongue flicking out to lick the sensitive skin just below your ear. That spot he knew drove you crazy.

"What happened to the girl you were talking to yesterday?" you asked, voice dripping in bitterness.  "Couldn't get into her pants?"

Heeseung laughed—laughed—like this was all some joke to him. His hands slipped under your shirt, palms gliding up your stomach, his breath hitching when he realized—

"Fuck, no bra?" He cursed under his breath, squeezing your breast, his thumb rolling over your nipple.

Your body arch, you hated it, but still reacted.

"Nah," he continued, his lips tracing the shell of your ear. "Just... nothing compared to you."

You almost wanted to choke him. But instead, you swallowed the frustration bubbling in your chest and forced your voice to stay steady.

"Your sister told me you should come home this weekend." You changed the topic, ignoring his fingers still lazily squeezing your chest.

Heeseung huffed a quiet laugh against your neck, completely unfazed.

"Huh? You guys always talk." He sounded amused, like this was cute to him.

You rolled your eyes. "Because you're not replying to their messages. Your mom worries about you."

His hands didn't stop. Of course, they didn't. He was still kneading, still playing with you, his thumbs rolling slow, lazy circles over your nipples as if you weren't trying to have a serious conversation.

He hummed in response, shifting slightly to lie back against your bed, tugging you against his chest.

"Hmm, okay." He finally said, completely casual.

You swallowed, your heart thudding stupidly at the way he pulled you in, the way he tucked you against him.

"Want to come with me?"

Your breath hitched.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him over your shoulder. A small smirk tugging at his lips as if he was already expecting your reaction.

Wide eyes. Stupidly hopeful heart. Fucking idiot.

"Why?" Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be.

Heeseung's fingers trailed down your stomach, dipping just under the waistband of your shorts, making your breath hitch.

"What do you mean why?" he murmured, lips brushing against your shoulder. "Wouldn't it be fun?"

You clenched your jaw, fingers curling into the bedsheets.

"Right," you muttered, looking away. "Just fun."

And of course, you still said yes. Because who wouldn't want an instant vacation?

At least, that's what you told yourself. That this was just a trip. Just an escape. Not another excuse to be near Heeseung. Not another way to keep fooling yourself.

So you ignored the nagging in your chest, ignored the way he carried your bag.

Ignored how fucking easy it was to slip into the illusion of being his as both of you stepped into the small, cozy house.

The moment the door swung open, a woman who looked exactly like him rushed forward, eyes bright, a tearful smile on her face.

"I missed you, my boy!" She practically tackled Heeseung, wrapping her arms around him so tightly that even he seemed a little surprised.

He scoffed but hugged her back, his usual lazy smirk softening just a little. "Ma, I told you I was gonna visit soon. Tell Haneul to stop bothering us."

You blinked, shifting awkwardly as the woman—his mother—finally pulled back, wiping at the corner of her eyes before her gaze fell on you.

And before you could react, she hugged you, too.

Your whole body stiffened. What the fuck.

"You must be the girl Haneul keeps talking about," she said warmly, stepping back just enough to study your face. "Is Heeseung treating you right?"

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You had no idea how to respond to that.

Your eyes flickered to Heeseung, who had already dropped both of your bags onto the couch, watching you with a raised brow, completely unbothered.

You swallowed, forcing out a tight, awkward laugh.

"We're not actually together, madam." You admitted, your voice stiff, uncertain.

His mother blinked, the warmth in her eyes faltering just slightly. "Oh."

You could feel Heeseung's eyes on you, but you didn't dare look at him. Your fingers twisted in the hem of your shirt, heart hammering in your chest.

And then, his mother smiled. Soft. Knowing. "I see."

You spent your days with his family wearing a smile, pretending it didn't hurt to exist in this space that wasn't really yours.

His sister, Haneul, was a breath of fresh air—constantly chattering about life, relationships, and the latest dramas, seamlessly pulling you into conversations that felt easy. She told you how glad she was that you were here, that someone like you was easy to talk to, unlike her emotionally constipated brother.

"Heeseung doesn't get it," she had said with a playful eye roll, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "I swear, he's impossible to talk to sometimes. But you... I can tell you actually listen."

Her words made something warm stir in your chest.

His mother, on the other hand, couldn't stop talking about him—stories of him as a child, wild and reckless, stubborn and free.

"You should've seen him," she laughed, eyes twinkling with nostalgia. "Always climbing trees, always getting himself into trouble. One time, he fell and scraped up his entire knee, but do you think he cried? No. He just looked at me and said, 'It doesn't hurt, Ma,' even though his leg was bleeding like crazy."

His father chuckled, shaking his head. "Stupid boy still complains like hell when he stubs his toe, though."

You laughed along, your chest tightening as you glanced at Heeseung, waiting to see how he would react to their teasing. But he only sighed, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

Later, at the sea, you sat on the warm sand, toes buried in the grains, watching the waves crash against the shore. But your eyes weren't on the water. They were on him.

Heeseung was playing with his younger cousins, his laughter echoing through the salty air as he ran across the sand, chasing after them with an easy, boyish grin you had never seen before.

His usual cocky, indifferent mask was gone. No teasing smirks. No smug glances. No careless words designed to keep you at a distance.

You watched as he scooped up one of the kids, tossing them playfully over his shoulder while they shrieked in laughter. Heeseung's eyes crinkled at the corners, his shoulders shaking with amusement as he spun them around before dropping them gently back onto the sand.

He was so different.

This version of him—the one who smiled without arrogance, who laughed without restraint, who looked so effortlessly warm and real—was a version you had never been allowed to see before.

Then, as if feeling your stare, his gaze flicked up to meet yours.

Your breath caught.

His lips curled into a familiar smirk, the mask slipping back into place, and suddenly, he was walking toward you.

Your pulse spiked.

Oh, fuck no.

You scrambled to stand, to put distance between you before he could ruin you any further, but you had barely taken two steps when strong arms wrapped around your waist, yanking you off the ground.

"Heeseung!" you shrieked, kicking your feet as he lifted you effortlessly, his grip firm.

He laughed, breath warm against your ear. "Where do you think you're going, huh?"

Your stomach twisted.

You should be mad—and you were—but the way he held you, the way he pressed his forehead against your temple as he spun you around, made something deep inside you crumble.

"Put me down, you asshole!" You squirmed, trying to sound pissed, trying to ignore the way your heart was slamming against your ribs.

But Heeseung only grinned, holding you tighter.

"Not a chance, baby."

As the days of your so-called vacation slipped by, you found yourself in Heeseung's bed, again, the soft glow of his bedside lamp casting shadows across his face.

Both of you lay tangled in the sheets, talking, laughing—about nothing, about everything.

You stared at the ceiling, heart pounding a little too fast, stomach twisting a little too tight.

Was it casual for the both of you to stay up until 4 AM, talking shit about the people you hated, exchanging knowing glances as you made fun of your professors, the fake smiles of people you both barely tolerated?

Was it casual to hear him laugh—really laugh—not that cocky, arrogant chuckle, but something softer?

Was it casual that he traced lazy patterns on your bare thigh while he talked?

One second, you were talking. The next, his lips were on yours, hungry, as if he couldn't help himself.

What was supposed to be one last fuck before sleep turned into something more, something too much. The way he touched you was different tonight, his fingers coaxing sounds from you you didn't even recognize as your own. The way he fucked you was relentless, teasing, overwhelming, pushing you past your limits until you squirted—until you were too tired to move, too weak to even change the sheets.

So you stayed there. In the mess of it all.

The damp sheets clinging to your skin, the scent of sex still lingering in the air, the weight of him pressed against you.

His arms draped lazily around your waist, pulling you close. His head resting on your chest, his breath warm, steady, as he slept so soundly—like he didn't just ruin you all over again. Like this wasn't killing you inside.

You lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the way his fingers twitched in his sleep, the way his breathing hitched slightly before evening out again.

On the last day of your stay, the two of you sat at Heeseung's childhood hideout—a small, secluded clearing behind his house, nestled between overgrown trees and old memories he never talked about. The sky was dark, the moon barely peeking through the leaves, and the only sounds were the distant hum of cicadas and the soft crackle of burning cigarettes between your fingers.

Heeseung exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his head tilted back.

"I hate my father for always shouting," he muttered, his voice flat, detached.

You watched the cigarette between your fingers, tapping off the ash, not saying anything. Just listening.

"My mother always tolerated him. Always crying, always forcing a smile, pretending he didn't just spit the ugliest words at her."

You nodded, silent, because what the hell were you supposed to say to that?

"She wasn't any better, though." He let out a humorless chuckle, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. "I love her, but I can't fucking stand how she talks about everything I should be doing. Like I'm still some little kid who needs to be told how to live my life."

You took a drag, the bitter taste settling heavy on your tongue.

"That's why I'm not fond of visiting this place."

You hummed, watching the way his fingers twitched slightly as he took another drag, like this conversation was pulling things out of him he wasn't used to sharing.

"Your sister misses you, y'know." You finally spoke, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "She told me she kinda hates you for leaving her alone."

That made him pause. His lips parted slightly, brows furrowing, before he shook his head with a laugh, blowing out another cloud. "God, I forgot you two are close."

You smiled faintly. "We always talk on the phone. She said she found me through some Facebook post where your arms were around me. She probably assumed we were friends and added me. Then the first thing she messaged me was, 'Tell your ugly-ass boyfriend to text me, or I'm disowning him.'"

Heeseung let out a real laugh at that, shaking his head. "She actually called me an ugly dick once."

"She's not wrong." You snickered, inhaling the last of your cigarette before pulling it away. "Shit, that fast?" You huffed, flicking away the short remains.

"Come try mine."

Before you could react, Heeseung took one last drag, then leaned in, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers warm against your skin.

You froze as his face came closer, his lips parting slightly, and then—he exhaled.

The smoke passed between you, warm and heady, sinking into your lungs as your lips hovered inches from his.

His nose bumped yours, eyes dark and lidded, waiting.

Your mouth opened, your lips brushing against his, and then—he kissed you. Tilting his head, as he deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, tasting of smoke.

As you broke the kiss, your fingers ghosted over his, plucking the cigarette from his grasp. You kept your eyes locked on his, refusing to look away.

You took a slow drag, letting the smoke settle in your lungs before exhaling, the faint haze lingering between you.

"I love you, Heeseung."

The words left your mouth like a gunshot.

His smile faltered.

"Not just love that wants to fuck." Your grip on the cigarette tightened. "I want to date you. Take me on a date. Buy me flowers. Be my boyfriend."

Heeseung just stared at you.

"Let's go back." No hesitation, no acknowledgment, like you hadn't just laid your heart out in front of him.

He stood up, grabbing your hand as if nothing had happened, pulling you up without meeting your eyes.

"Heeseung, I love you." Your voice was firmer now, but he walked faster, avoiding it, avoiding you.

Your stomach twisted. Your fingers curled around his wrist, trying to stop him from running away.

"Heeseung, I said I love you." You said it louder this time, forcing him to hear it, forcing him to acknowledge the words that hung between you like a curse.

Heeseung let out a sharp exhale, pushing the house door open.

His parents looked up as you both entered, his mother smiling sweetly.

"Oh, I was just about to cook your favorite—" she started.

"I'm gonna go shower," he cut her off, already heading toward the stairs.

"Okay, come down after," his mother replied, still warm, still gentle, still unaware of the way her son was running from you.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile at them before following him upstairs, your heart pounding against your ribs.

Heeseung entered his room without a word, shrugging off his jacket, then his shirt. You watched as he stripped without hesitation, his toned back flexing before he disappeared into the bathroom.

"Heeseung, say something." Your voice cracked,

He turned on the shower, stepping under the stream of water, not even looking at you as he finally spoke.

"I'm gonna take a bath. It's either you leave—" He finally turned, his dark eyes locking onto yours, voice dropping lower. "—or I'll be fucking you."

Your breath caught.

There it was.

The only thing he could offer you.

Your fingers trembled at your sides. The ache in your chest was unbearable, clawing at your ribs, threatening to break you apart.

You should leave. You should. You should turn around, walk out, let this be the moment you finally let him go.

Your vision blurred. You felt the hot sting of tears slipping down your cheeks before you could stop them.

Fuck it.

Before you could think, before you could let the pain settle, you reached for the hem of your shirt, tearing it over your head. Then your shorts, your underwear—every piece of clothing stripped away, tossed carelessly onto the floor.

When you looked up, Heeseung was staring.

The steam from the shower curled around him, water sliding down his bare chest, dripping from his hair. His lips parted slightly, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of you.

You stepped forward, your skin meeting the warmth of the bathroom air, your bare feet silent against the tile. Heeseung didn't move, didn't pull away as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his.

His skin was hot, wet from the water, his breath shaky as your lips brushed against his.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers slipping into his damp hair as you tugged him down, your lips brushing over his—soft at first, then deeper, needier.

Your toes curled against the cool tile, your body tilting, stretching to reach him, but he was too fucking tall.

He let out a quiet chuckle at your struggle, hands sliding down to your waist, gripping tight as he adjusted, leaning lower to meet you, kissing you back.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his tongue tangled with yours, deep and slow, tasting of heat. Your body burned as his hands roamed freely.

His fingers slid up, trailing to your breasts, squeezing, kneading, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. You let out a soft moan into his mouth, arching against him.

Your hand slipped between your bodies, wrapping around his hardened cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly.

Heeseung groaned, his grip on your breast tightening for a moment before his head dropped against your shoulder, breath heavy, unsteady.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice wrecked, his hips twitching slightly into your touch.

Your lips curled, satisfied, pressing kisses along his jawline, teasing nips along his skin. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath your lips, the way his breathing hitched as you kissed your way lower, lower.

Until you were kneeling in front of him.

Face to face with his cock, thick and throbbing, precum already dripping from the flushed tip.

His hand curled into your hair, you look at him with your eyes before slowly putting his tip on your mouth. Then—slowly—you parted your lips, letting the flushed tip press against your tongue before taking him into your mouth.

Heeseung groaned, his grip tightening, his hips giving a slight, involuntary jerk forward as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper. The warm water from the shower dripped over both of you, rivulets sliding down his abs, over the flex of his thighs.

Your tongue dragged along his shaft, tracing every ridge, every vein, before pressing flat against the underside as you swallowed him further. His breath came out in a shudder, his jaw clenched as he watched you—watched the way your lips stretched around him, the way you let him slide deeper, let him use your mouth the way he wanted.

His hips began to move, slow at first, then rougher.

"Fuck—" He sucked in a sharp breath, his voice wrecked as you took all of him, his cock hitting the back of your throat. You choked, eyes watering, but you didn’t pull away.

One of your hands slipped between your own legs, fingers pressing against your aching cunt, rubbing slow circles over your clit as you lost yourself in the mix of pain and pleasure.

Heeseung’s gaze flickered down, and the sight of you touching yourself while sucking his cock had his restraint snapping.

"Shit, you’re too good for me." His voice was nothing but a rough whisper, barely audible over the sound of the water hitting tile.

His thrusts grew rougher, deeper, forcing you to take all of him, tears spilling at the corners of your eyes. He stopped suddenly, backing away. 

You gasped for air, lips swollen, throat raw. But before you could process the loss, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet.

Your back hit the cold, slippery wall as he spun you around, his chest pressing flush against you, trapping you there.

The heat between you was suffocating.

You moaned as his cock slid between your thighs, not inside you yet—just teasing, just rubbing against your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness. He moved slow, dragging himself along your entrance, letting you feel every inch before he pushed in. 

You gasped, your nails scraping against the wet tile as he filled you completely, stretching you, stealing the air from your lungs. His hands gripped your waist tightly, holding you still as he buried himself inside you to the hilt.

"Fuck—" Heeseung panted against your shoulder, his breath hot, ragged, his body shuddering at the feeling of you wrapped around him.

He started slow—savoring it, dragging it out, rolling his hips in deep, deliberate strokes that had you clenching around him, your legs trembling.

His pace quickened, his thrusts growing harder, needier, the sound of skin against skin mixing with your ragged moans. Your knees buckled, your body going weak, but his arm wrapped around you before you could collapse, pulling you closer.

Then, without warning, he hooked one arm under your thigh, lifting your leg, changing the angle.

You cried out his name, your head falling back against his shoulder as he slammed into you deeper, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

"You sound so good moaning my name—fuck—but keep quiet for me, baby, hmm?" Heeseung whispered against your ear.

You tried—tried to muffle your moans, biting your lip so hard you nearly drew blood.

But when his hand slid up, fingers tweaking your nipple, and his other hand dipped lower to rub slow, cruel circles over your clit, you couldn’t hold back.

"C-close," you choked out, pressing your forehead against the wall, your body tightening around him. "Can I? Please, please—"

His fingers moved faster, his thrusts turning relentless, dragging you to the edge.

"Shh," he hushed, his free hand moving from your breast to cover your mouth, muffling the desperate sounds spilling from your lips.

Your orgasm ripped through you, your body trembling violently as pleasure crashed over you in waves, your walls fluttering around him as you came hard, legs shaking.

But Heeseung didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

He spun you around effortlessly, lifting you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he slammed you against the wall, thrusting up into you with reckless abandon.

You were whimpering, your body too sensitive, too raw—but the way his cock hit all the right spots had you falling apart all over again.

"Fuck, take it," Heeseung groaned, his grip on your hips bruising.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but feel.

Your hands slid into his wet hair, fingers tangling in the damp strands as you pushed it back, forcing yourself to look at him—really look at him.

His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched, his lips parted as he moaned your name.

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, forcing his gaze onto you.

So close. So yours.

Then, with a sharp gasp, his hips stuttered, his cock twitching deep inside you.

And as your walls tightened around him once more, dragging him over the edge, his mouth met yours in a desperate, messy kiss, swallowing each other’s moans as he spilled inside you.

His grip on you tightened, his thrusts faltering, his body shuddering as he rode out his high.

You stayed close for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling in sync.

Heeseung let out a soft exhale before slowly lowering your feet to the ground, his hands slipping from your body.

You blinked up at him, searching for something—anything—in his face. But he was already turning away, reaching for the soap, brushing his hands over his own body as if nothing had just happened.

A pang of disappointment settled deep in your chest.

Your thighs trembled, his release still dripping out of you, and without thinking, you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. Holding onto him like he wouldn’t slip away. 

But he froze.

And then—slowly, carefully, deliberately—he peeled your arms off of him.

Your throat tightened.

Heeseung didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at you. Instead, he grabbed the soap again, rubbing it between his palms before sliding his hands over your body—cleaning you.

You wanted to say something. Wanted to break through whatever invisible wall had gone up between you.

But the only sound was the running water, washing everything away.

That night, you sat beside Haneul at dinner, forcing a smile, forcing yourself to act normal even though everything inside you was crumbling.

Heeseung didn’t look at you. Instead, he shoveled rice into his mouth, nodding along as his parents talked.

You forced yourself to eat, each bite turning to sawdust in your mouth. Forced yourself to laugh at his father’s jokes. Forced yourself to swallow the bitterness burning in your throat.

And when it was time to leave, Haneul hugged you tightly, her shoulders shaking as she clung to you.

"I’m gonna miss you so much," she sniffled, pressing her face into your shoulder.

You hugged her back, blinking rapidly, trying not to cry too.

You felt so loved in this house—by everyone except the one person you wanted it from the most.

The train ride back was worse.

Heeseung sat beside you, but he never looked at you. Never spoke.

It was like you were nothing more than a stranger sitting next to him.

You swallowed the ache in your chest and slowly lifted your hand, brushing your fingers over his, searching for something—anything.

His eyes flickered down, annoyance flashing across his face as he pulled his hand away like your touch burned him.

You felt your stomach drop. You turned your head, staring out the window, your fingers curling into your lap as you fought the stupid tears stinging the back of your eyes.

But at least you confessed, right? At least you let your feelings slip through the cracks. As long as Heeseung kept coming back to you, it had to mean something.

Right?

The following days were harder.

Because you were the one who kept coming back.

You were the one who kept bothering him, knocking on his door late at night, spreading your legs for him just so he would let you stay.

You were the one whispering soft "I love yous" against his skin, hoping—praying—he’d say it back.

But he never did. And every time you tried to reach for him—tried to hold him, tried to kiss him just because, not just when he was fucking you—he would sigh, irritated, pulling away with that same tired look in his eyes.

"Go bother someone else."

But you still stayed. Because you told yourself that this was enough. That loving him, even like this, was enough. That if you gave him more time, if you loved him hard enough, he would eventually love you back.

But then—why did it feel so awful?

So fucking awful knowing that he was only good to you when he wanted something?

So fucking awful when you reached for him, only to be pushed away?

So fucking awful when he sighed every time you whispered "I love you," like you had ruined the moment?

You kept crying at night.

At first, it was quiet—silent tears soaking into your pillow, muffled sobs that you convinced yourself were just temporary. But the more the days stretched on, the worse it got. The exhaustion, the emptiness, the way everything felt so fucking heavy.

You were barely sleeping. Barely eating.

By the time you dragged yourself to class, you were nothing more than a walking corpse—a ghost of yourself, barely functioning, barely holding it together.

Julie and Natty tried to pull you out of it. They dragged you to cafés, talked about mindless things, gossiped about the latest drama, hoping it would distract you.

But nothing worked. Your mind was always somewhere else. On him.

And when that didn’t help, when you couldn’t sit still in a crowded café pretending you weren’t falling apart, you found yourself outside. Leaning against a streetlamp, standing in the corner of an alley, a cigarette dangling from your lips as you smoked, staring blankly at the city around you.

You had never been much of a smoker before. But now, it was routine. Now, it was something to do when you didn’t know what else to do.

Because Heeseung wasn’t in his dorm. Because Heeseung wasn’t texting you back.

You stared at your phone, debating whether or not to message him again—just one more time, just to see where he was, just to make sure he wasn’t with someone else.

But you already knew the answer. Sunghoon told you he had been partying. Of course, he was.

Drinking, dancing, probably fucking someone else—living his best fucking life while you were here, wasting away in your own misery.

You were miserable, weren’t you? Pathetic.

In love with a guy who never gave a shit about you, who only saw you as another body count—another name in his phone.

Fuck him.

"You need to get over this, babe," Julie said, dragging you into the mall, her fingers gripping your wrist like you might try to run.

"Stop acting like your whole life revolves around some asshole." Natty huffed, shoving a pile of clothes into your arms. "Try something new. Get a haircut. Get a piercing. Do something instead of moping around like this."

So you did.

You let them drag you from store to store, let them pick out outfits you barely looked at. You even sat through a piercing appointment, letting them stab metal into your skin—a new helix, a capital piercing, even one in your septum.

But none of it helped. Not really.

You still looked like someone who had stopped caring.

Your hair had grown wavier, messier, tangled from nights spent tossing and turning in a bed that still smelled like him. Your makeup was smudged from crying too much, sleeping too little.

And now—here you were. Sitting in a restroom stall, your fingers fumbling with another cigarette, the cold metal of your piercings pressing against your skin as you exhaled shakily, trying not to break down again.

But the tears came anyway.

You curled over yourself, palm covering your face, inhaling deep, shaky breaths as the nicotine burned down your throat. Why him? Why did you let yourself get so lost in someone who only reached for you when it was convenient?

Why did you still miss him—even now?

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to push the thoughts away—

"Okay, okay, I'll send you the links we need to order. Stop being stupid and listen to me! It’s a birthday party, okay? Not a damn Halloween—God."

Your head snapped up. A voice that is sharp and masculine.

Wait—

Did you just walk into the men’s restroom?

"Agh, what the fuck, it reeks of cigarettes in here."

Your stomach dropped.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to put out the cigarette as quickly as possible, waving away the lingering smoke. The last thing you needed was some random guy judging you for being an emotional wreck in the bathroom.

You waited. Listening.

When silence stretched, you assumed he was gone.

But the second you stepped out of the stall— You froze.

And so did he.

Standing at the sink, washing his hands, was a guy you had never seen before. His dark hair was down, strands still damp from the rain outside. His skin was pale, almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. His nose was sharp, lips plump and pink, his hooded eyes watching you with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then, his gaze flickered to the restroom sign by the door.

Then back to you.

He grabbed a napkin, drying his hands before picking up his phone, ending the call mid-conversation.

"Are you a trans man?"

Your face burned.

"No!" You blurted out quickly, biting your lip in embarrassment. "I—I’m sorry, I thought this was the female restroom, and—uh—sorry about the smell."

The guy in front of you let out a small, amused hum, his lips twitching, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he dug through his bag, fingers searching for something until he finally pulled out a small candy, offering it to you with an outstretched palm.

"Here. Eat this."

You blinked, staring at him.

"Not judging or anything," he continued, shrugging, "but cigarettes smell disgusting in your mouth. What if there’s an emergency and you need to kiss someone?"

A small, breathless laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.

"There’s no someone," you muttered, taking the candy from his hand. The moment it touched your tongue, the sharp sweetness cut through the bitter taste of nicotine.

The guy tilted his head, watching you with a slight smirk before rummaging through his bag again. A second later, he held out a small travel-sized bottle.

"You need perfume?"

You frowned. "Do I smell that bad?"

"Hey, I’m just offering," he said, grinning.

You sighed but took it anyway, spraying a little on your wrist before rubbing it against your neck. The light, citrusy scent replaced the stale stench of smoke.

Both of you walked out of the restroom together, passing by an older man who had been about to step inside. The second he saw you, his eyes widened in horror, and he muttered something under his breath while making the sign of the cross.

"God forgive these teens," the old man whispered, shaking his head as he entered the restroom.

The guy beside you rolled his eyes. "Drama queen."

You laughed, and he turned his head slightly, studying your face.

"See you later," he muttered before walking away, but then he hesitated for just a second, throwing a look over his shoulder. "Oh, and don’t smoke."

Soon enough, you were right back where you always were.

In his dorm. In his bed. In his arms, like nothing had changed.

The second you saw Heeseung, you collapsed onto his bed, clinging to him, hugging him tight like you hadn’t been falling apart for the past few days.

"Where have you been?" you asked, burying your face into his chest.

You felt his body shift slightly as he looked down at you, eyes scanning your face.

"What happened to you?" His voice was unreadable.

His gaze flickered to the piercings on your ears, your new septum, the slight dark circles beneath your eyes that no amount of concealer could fully hide.

Suddenly, you felt exposed.

"O-oh," you stammered, reaching up to tug at your hair. "I got piercings… out of boredom. Do they look good?"

Then, Heeseung’s eyes dropped back to his phone, completely ignoring your question.

The air shifted. Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to swallow it down.

So, instead, you talked. Told him about the past few days, about nothing and everything, about all the things you wished he had cared enough to ask.

And just like always—it ended the same way.

Him, thrusting into you like he needed you to break.

Your nails, clawing at his back like you needed to hold on.

Your legs, wrapped around his waist like you were scared he would disappear if you let go.

Your body, begging for something your heart already knew you would never have.

"I love you," you whispered into his ear, voice trembling, breath shaky.

Heeseung’s movements slowed for half a second.

You held onto that second like it meant something.

"You know it’s not just casual for me," you whispered again, pressing your lips to his shoulder, desperate for him to understand. "I feel it. I know you do too."

And then—he slipped his hand away from your body. The loss of warmth was instant, suffocating, unbearable.

"Fuck, here we go again," Heeseung muttered under his breath, exhaling sharply.

You swallowed, suddenly cold, suddenly empty.

"Did you really not feel anything?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "How do you keep coming back if it’s nothing?"

He ran a hand over his face, groaning in frustration.

"God, because your pussy is good!" His voice snapped, sharp and cruel, piercing straight through you. "You’re being so fucking clingy, it’s pathetic! I don’t want a fucking romantic relationship with you! I just want to fuck! How long are you gonna make me repeat that?!"

"What about the times we cuddle?" Your voice cracked. "The way you take care of me after? You even invited me to meet your family! Was that all just—casual? Just fucking?! How long are you going to deny this?!"

Heeseung’s eyes flashed.

"Deny?!" He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Do you think any of that was special? I was just treating you with basic fucking human decency! Stop being so fucking delusional!"

The words hit harder than a slap. This was dumb love. This was pathetic love.

This was you, being fucking stupid.

Because even after all this, even after every horrible thing he had just said—you still loved him.

And he still treated you the same.

"Fuck, I miss those days that you were feisty and wild, not this annoying bitch who cry about everything."

Your vision blurred. You barely felt yourself move as you ripped yourself from his bed, scrambling to collect your clothes, your hands shaking so violently you could barely pull your shirt over your head.

You just needed to leave. Needed to breathe.

By the time you reached the door, your entire body was numb.

The only sound was the sharp echo of your footsteps against the floor as you stormed out of his dorm, not daring to look back.

Sunghoon was in the kitchen when you passed, leaning against the counter, a drink in his hand. His head lifted slightly at the sight of you—disheveled, eyes red, breathing uneven.

You ran. Ran until your lungs burned, until the cold air stung your skin, until the only thing you could hear was the echo of your own footsteps against the empty streets.

And then you screamed. Loud. Raw.

Kicking a nearby trash can with all your strength, watching as it toppled over, spilling its contents onto the pavement.

You wanted to rip yourself apart. Wanted to tear out the part of you that still loved him.

By the time you stumbled into a small convenience store, your body was trembling—anger, exhaustion, heartbreak—it all blurred into one.

You didn’t even look at the shelves. Your hands reached straight for the pack of cigarettes, slamming it onto the counter.

"Not getting anything else, ma’am?"

The voice made you freeze. Your gaze lifted, meeting a pair of soft, knowing eyes behind the register.

Oh.

The same guy from before. The one who had given you candy in the restroom.

Your eyes flickered to his name tag.

Sunoo.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, careful, like he could see right through you.

You swallowed, your throat dry. "You told me not to smoke, but here I am buying." You forced a smile, but it felt fake, hollow—like you were trying to convince yourself that you weren’t falling apart.

Sunoo didn’t look judgmental. He just tilted his head slightly, watching you.

"It’s okay." He shrugged. "It’s not healthy, but if that’s what you need to cope, then let yourself be. I just said that before because, well… I don’t think smoking is good for you."

You let out a small breath, setting the pack aside. "Well, what do you suggest?"

Sunoo hummed, tapping his chin in thought. "Maybe cutting your hair? Adding another piercing? Listening to music, crocheting, doing your makeup, reading books, watching movies—there’s a lot you could do instead."

You blinked.

"You really think cutting my hair is gonna fix this mess?" You gestured vaguely at yourself.

"No," he said, grinning. "But it’s a start."

You laughed. It was small. Short. You reached for a pack of bubble gum instead, placing it on the counter. "I’ll take note of that. Just punch this in instead."

Sunoo smiled, ringing up your item. "I’m Sunoo, by the way. If you ever need someone to talk to, I can give you my number."

You hesitated. And then—you pulled out your phone. Because God knows you needed it.

Turns out, Sunoo was one year younger than you—a sophomore at your university, but an irregular student, which explained why you had never crossed paths before.

And somehow, in the span of a few weeks, he became the one person you could be completely honest with. You told him everything. Everything about Heeseung.

How you loved him stupidly, blindly, recklessly. How he used you, broke you, ignored you—but you still kept coming back.

Sunoo never judged. Never told you you were dumb for loving the wrong person. He just listened. And when you cried, he let you.

Sometimes, he would visit your dorm just to sit with you, listening as you let it all out.

You tried not to feel guilty about dumping all your burdens on him, but every time you apologized, he just waved you off.

"It’s fine," he said, "I’d rather listen than see you destroy yourself over someone who doesn’t deserve you."

And maybe that’s what finally pushed you forward. What finally gave you the courage to do what you should’ve done a long time ago.

You blocked Heeseung’s number.

At first, it made your chest feel tight, like you had just slammed a door shut on something that had been part of you for too long.

But as the days passed, the feeling of relief started to outweigh the ache.

You even made a bigger decision.

You moved. Packed up your things and transferred to a new dorm—closer to Sunoo, further from Heeseung.

When you told Natty, she cried, whining dramatically about how you were replacing her.

But deep down, she understood. She understood that if you stayed, if you kept yourself in the same routine, the same dorm, the same hallways that led you back to him, you’d never really escape.

So she helped you pack, helped you move, hugged you so tightly before you left, whispering, "You deserve better."

You changed. Not overnight. Not all at once.

But slowly, little by little, you found yourself again.

The clothes you used to think weren’t your style? You started to love them.

Sunoo helped you with your hair, trimming it, dyeing it a new color every week just because you could.

"New hair, new era," he declared, dragging you into the bathroom with a towel around your shoulders. "We’re bleaching this shit."

You let him. Because why the fuck not? It was just hair. It would grow back, just like you would.

You started going out more. Not to drown yourself in cigarettes or alcohol, not to forget, but to exist again.

You filled your days with movies, books, stupid little hobbies that made you feel something.

And little by little—you learned how to breathe again.

"Are you ready?"

"No."

"Too late, babe."

Sunoo laughed, gripping your hand as you sat in the piercing studio, white-knuckled and nervous as hell.

"I swear to God, if I pass out, you better not record me."

"Mmm… no promises." He smirked, already holding up his phone, camera locked on you.

You groaned, gripping his hand like you were giving birth as the piercer prepped the needle.

Your heart pounded. You had watched so many videos of girls fainting from navel piercings. It was supposed to hurt like hell, right?

"Okay, deep breath in," the piercer said.

You inhaled. And then you felt the pain, the sharp stabbing pain.

"FUCK, IT HURTS!" You screamed, throwing your head against Sunoo’s chest.

He cackled, arms wrapping around you dramatically, rocking you back and forth. "You’re doing amazing, sweetie."

His other hand? Filming.

The needle went through. Your stomach tightened.

The world spun around you and just like that, you fainted. 

When you woke up, the first thing you heard was Sunoo’s wheezing laughter.

"Dude." He was crying, clutching his stomach, shoving his phone in your face. "I got the whole thing. You looked like you died for a second."

You groaned, pushing him away, only to catch sight of your new silver barbell piercing your navel.

…Holy shit.

You sat up, poking at it carefully. "Fuck, that was traumatic," you muttered.

"But look at you now," Sunoo grinned, helping you stand. "A hot, bad bitch. I mean, you already were, but now you’ve got a belly ring to prove it."

You rolled your eyes. "This better not get infected, or I’m haunting your ass."

Sunoo winked, linking his arm through yours. "Worth it, babe."

People stared. Everywhere you and Sunoo went, heads turned.

And who could blame them?

Sunoo? A walking crayon, decked out in loud colors, funky sunglasses, and accessories layered on top of accessories. 

And then there was you. A full-on emo resurrection—black on black on black, nails painted, piercings gleaming, boots stomping against the pavement.

The two of you together?

You looked like complete opposites, but somehow, it worked. Sunoo owned the rainbow, and you owned the night.

"People are staring." You whispered as another group of girls side-eyed you both, whispering amongst themselves.

"Good." Sunoo grinned. "Let them stare. They wish they were us."

Healing cost a lot. Like, a lot. You hadn’t realized how expensive self-care actually was.

But fuck, it felt good. Manicures. Hair dye. Jewelry. Perfume. Clothes you never thought you’d wear.

You spent shamelessly, like you were trying to buy yourself back, piece by piece.

And maybe you were.

Because with every little change, every small act of putting yourself first, you started feeling lighter.

The wind tugged at your short bangs as you sat on the bench, silver headphones snug over your ears, blocking out the world.

Your fingers moved over your notebook, writing something important—or maybe not important at all—but either way, it kept your hands busy. Kept your mind quiet.

"Holy shit."

The words were barely a whisper, but the sound of your name following after made your stomach drop. Your brow furrowed, fingers tensing against the page. With a sigh, you slid your headphones to the side, glancing up.

And that’s when you saw them.

Sunghoon. Jake. Some other guy you didn’t care about.

And behind them, standing slightly apart—

Heeseung.

Your throat went dry.

"Is that you?! Holy fuck." Sunghoon gasped, eyes wide, his gaze flickering over your appearance like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

You swallowed, feeling uncomfortably exposed under their stares.

"Long time no see," Jake chimed in, taking a seat beside you without invitation. "You’re not attending parties anymore."

"You look quite different," he added, voice slow, dragging his gaze over you—your ears, your nose, your shirt—lingering a little too long on the details.

"She became an emo, bro!" One of them laughed, the word emo rolling off their tongue like an insult.

"Yeah, but she looks totally hot." Jake grinned, elbowing Sunghoon with a chuckle.

You clenched your jaw. The way they were talking about you like you weren’t even here.

The way his eyes hadn’t left you since the moment you looked up.

You hadn’t looked at him once. But you felt him.

"You moved dorms."

You finally looked at him. And regretted it immediately.

Heeseung stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, staring straight at you.

His gaze was unreadable, but his jaw was tight, his eyes dark, scanning you in a way that made something deep in your chest twist. Fuck this.

You pulled your headphones back on, drowning him out as you started shoving your things into your bag.

"Man, she’s back to being feisty. Heeseung’s gonna like her again."

The words were casual, amused, careless, but they made your blood fucking boil. Like you were some challenge. Some toy for Heeseung to get bored of, then chase again once you pulled away.

Fuck them for thinking you’d ever let yourself go through that again. Your movements were sharp as you snapped your notebook shut, yanking your bag over your shoulder.

You stood up. Didn’t look at them. Didn’t say anything. You just turned on your heel, ready to leave.

But before you could take a step, a hand wrapped around your wrist.

"Why the fuck did you move dorm? Why the fuck did you block me?"

His voice was sharp, tinged with anger and frustration.

You ripped your arm away, glaring at him like his touch had burned you. Heeseung felt his chest tighten at the way you looked at him.

"Our last conversation answered that." You huffed, slinging your bag over your shoulder, walking away without looking back.

But of course, he followed. Ignoring the way his friends laughed behind him.

"Playing hard to get." One of them snickered. You didn’t even hesitate—you turned, raised your middle finger, and kept walking.

Heeseung’s jaw tightened.

"Fuck, that alone made you switch dorms?" His voice was sharper now, almost accusing. "Where are you staying? Why didn’t you tell me?"

You snapped.

"I don’t want any fucking contact with you anymore, Heeseung. Go to hell."

His steps faltered, eyes flickering across your face.

You had never talked to him like this before. Not when he ignored you. Not when he ghosted you. Not even when he broke you.

His fingers twitched.

Then—he moved faster.

Easily catching up, stepping in front of you, blocking your way.

"You told me you loved me, and now you’re acting like this?" You scoffed.

"And you have the fucking audacity to throw that in my face—when all you ever did was make me feel like shit?" Your laugh was bitter, broken, a sharp edge of something cruel underneath it.

"Yeah, Heeseung. I loved you." You spat the words like they disgusted you. His chest tightened.

"I loved you—so fucking much. Even when you treated me like I was nothing. Even when you acted like I didn’t exist until you were hard and lonely."

His lips parted. But you weren’t done.

"But I’m done. I’m fucking tired of this casual bullshit. I’m tired of pretending like this didn’t fucking break me. I don’t want you, I don’t need you, so do us both a favor—leave me the fuck alone and go find some other pussy to bury your dick in."

The words hit Heeseung like a gut punch, knocking the breath from his lungs before he could even process them. But the sting of your voice—sharp, raw, final—was nothing compared to what you did next.

You spat at his face.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

The warm, wet impact landed just below his cheekbone, sliding down his jaw, and Heeseung stood there, frozen in place, feeling the slow, humiliating trickle of it. It should’ve pissed him off. He should’ve been angry, should’ve sneered at you, should’ve thrown some cruel words back in your face just to get the last hit in.

But he couldn’t.

Because you didn’t stay long enough to see him break. Didn’t look back to see the way his entire world fucking shifted.

Didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter, didn’t do any of the things he was used to. No regret, no second guessing, no lingering in the space between leaving and staying—just walking away.

That’s when he saw another man.

Heeseung watched, breath stuck in his throat, as the man approached you, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, like it was natural, like he had been doing it all along. Then, before Heeseung could even begin to comprehend what was happening, the man pulled you in and pressed his lips to yours. Right in front of him.

Heeseung’s stomach twisted into a tight, ugly knot. His vision blurred at the edges, not from tears, fuck that, but from something far worse—a feeling he didn’t want to name. His hands clenched at his sides, nails pressing deep into his palms as he tried, really fucking tried, to convince himself that he didn’t care.

And what made it worse—what made his entire body fucking ache—was the way you let that man touch you, let him kiss you, let him hold you. 

Like you weren’t thinking about Heeseung at all.

You looked happy.

Not forced. Not pretending. Not putting on some fake smile to get through the moment. Genuinely happy. Like you had been set free. Like the months you spent wrapped up in his sheets, tangled in his arms, breaking apart at his hands had been nothing more than a phase—a mistake you had already wiped clean from your memory.

Sunoo turned slightly, just enough for his gaze to land on Heeseung.

The look in his eyes wasn’t smug. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t the expression of a man who had stolen something from someone else. 

Heeseung hated him for it.

His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, but he forced his body to stay still, forced himself not to move, not to react, not to pull you away like he so desperately wanted to. He had no fucking right to do that. You had made your choice, and for the first time in his entire life, Heeseung was the one being left behind.

This wasn’t some game anymore.

This wasn’t like all the times before, when you would tell him you were done, but then come crawling back the second he called. This wasn’t like the fights in his dorm, when you would cry and yell and break your own fucking heart, only to kiss him breathless later that night.

This was real. You had actually left.

And the worst part was, you weren’t hurting.

You weren’t looking over your shoulder, weren’t hesitating at the door, weren’t giving him a single chance to fix this. You were just gone.

And Heeseung had never felt so fucking lost. He told himself it didn’t matter.

You were just another girl.

He could go out tomorrow, find someone new, wipe you from his body the same way he had done with every other girl before you. This was nothing. You were nothing.

Then why—

Why the fuck did his chest feel so tight?

Why did he feel like he had just been ripped open from the inside out?

He lifted a hand to wipe his face, expecting to feel the lingering wetness from where you had spit on him, but instead—he felt something else.

A single tear, slipping down his cheek.

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head at the memory—at all the things he told you, the rules he set, the lines he swore he’d never cross.

Was it ever really casual?

perm taglist: @won4me @ikaw-at-ikaw, @kristynaaah, @fancypeacepersona @tunafishyfishylike @vvenusoncasual

[lets-try-some-writing]

A reminder for myself and other writers in the form of a Q&A style response:

My writing sucks

No it doesn't. Perhaps it is untrained, but it is never worthy of being degraded. The words you weave are a gift that you can cultivate. Never forget that.

What if people don't like my work?

Some people won't like it, and that is the way of things. But that is no reason to be afraid to make the lovely things you have in that marvelous brain of yours. No one else thinks like you do, and no one will ever make the thing you want the same way you could. There is no harm in making something, even if it is not received well. Perhaps someday someone will find themselves changed because of what you have brought into being.

Is it even worth it?

You decide if it has worth or not. Does it bring you joy? Does it increase your skill? Does it challenge you? Does it make you see the world in different ways? Are there people who are touched by it? You decide what makes your work worthwhile. Your life is your own, and no one can choose what should matter most to you. But with that said, every word you write is one step closer to mastery. Never give up because of a lack of engagement.

Are my ideas too crazy/niche?

You'll find your audience, regardless of what you create. There is a place for everyone, and while it is quite likely that farther thrown concepts won't find much ground in bigger fandoms or audiences, there will always be a few who appreciate it. Cherish those people.

I'm worried about my writing style/formatting.

Everyone has their own unique way of going about things. No two writers will ever be the same and that's fine. So long as your work fits into the grammar rules of whatever language you are writing in and doesn't look like a huge text block or otherwise makes no sense paragraph wise, it's probably fine. Most of the smaller issues can be hashed out through a quick chat with a beta reader or even a google search or two. Your style though? That's something you shouldn't stress. It will change as you do and readers will love or hate you for it. Tolkien and C.S Lewis had totally different ways of going about their work and both are beloved. Remember that you can be different too.

I should be writing an original work, not fanfic.

Writing an original work is a draining and monumental effort. Folks make it sound easy, but it isn't. Not usually. And you know what? That's perfectly fine. You don't have to get into writing and instantly whip up the next Harry Potter. In fact, most young writers who do get into things and try to go nuts end up burning out because they lose interest or are not quite skilled enough to bring their vision to life. Fanfiction is a brilliant training ground, a place to test new things, explore your interests through the use of premade templates and worlds, and otherwise begin to develop your style. There is no shame in learning through templates and prompt lists. Besides, if you get good enough at what you do, all your fanfic writing may bear fruit later down the line.

Have some faith in yourself writers. And do be sure to hydrate and take care of yourselves.

[hyuny-bunny]

seasons // series

part vii

summary: Minho is determined to be the one to win your heart.

warnings: sweat (?), panic attack symptoms (hyperventilating)

part vi • masterlist

"Hey, look at me," Jisung says as he grabs your face. You were beginning to hyperventilate after seeing the look on Minho's face.

"Jisung I-"

"Stop, just breathe, okay, close your eyes," He held your face as you focused on every breath count.

Why did the idea of these two crossing paths make you so anxious and uncomfortable? Minho had been around your ex's before, even going as far as trying to befriend them for your sake. So, why was this any different? After your heart rate began to level, Jisung pulled you into a hug rubbing your back soothingly as he called someone. It was only a few moments after, you picked up you head to see the puppy faced boy who was the 2nd person closest to you.

Seungmin took the seat on your on the side of you before ruffling your hair.

"What's wrong?" He asked sympathetically. Even his voice was enough to ground you in something.

You gave him the run down of saturday morning's argument with Minho, then going out and meeting Hyunjin, going home with Hyunjin, to now sitting outside the dance studio where the two have crossed paths.

Seungmin doesn't shame you or even scold you but he does lightly bump his fist to your head making you let out a strained laugh.

"Why are you so worried about this? Is Hyunjin a bad guy?"

"No... he's actually a really sweet guy, even for an alpha.."

"Okay, and how is this situation any different then when you were dating someone else?"

You stop for a moment thinking with pursed lips.

"I guess it's... not? I just... you didn't see the look on Minho's face, he looked like I had just murdered his cat."

"That's a bit extreme," Seungmin says with a chuckle as he fixes a strand of hair from your face. "Either way, who you sleep with or don't sleep, whether he knows or doesn't, is your choice and only you for you to judge. If you say he's a good guy, then trust yourself."

He was right. Why should you be so afraid of what Minho thought? As much as you valued his opinion as a friend, it was just as much you're right to sleep with whoever and whenever as you were single, not tied down to anyone. You lay your head on Seungmins shoulder for a moment.

"I should've told you everything yesterday but I knew you were busy with-"

"I am never too busy for you, okay? Call, text, send Jisung to my door with a message from you- actually don't do that I don't want him at my place," Seungmin says as his face scrunches in disgust at Jisung who sits next to you about to protest.

The two banter back and forth for a moment making you laugh, feeling lighter about everything. They keep you company until the others emerge from their dance class.

-

Jeongin yapped Hyunjin's ear off in those 10 minutes they had for a break as Felix shielded his face in hands. He could feel Minhos eyes throwing daggers at Hyunjin's head.

Hyunjin had learned in those 10 minutes that Minho and you had been friends since childhood, with Minho having had a crush on you long before you presented as an omega and him as an alpha. He couldn't help but wonder why the two of you didn't ever get together. As far as he could tell, the two of you seemed a likely match. While he did know Minho well enough to pass judgement, it was clear the Alpha had an affinity for taking care of the people around him, even if it was as simple as helping someone get a dance move down correctly or making sure no one was too worn down.

Even the bite in the way he joked was so similar to you, it was playful and harmless but could be taken very different if aimed at the right person. There was no denying how good looking he was either. From his build and stature despite not being very tall, there was an energy about him that asserted that dominance intentional or not.

Hyunjin had decided it was best to not let Minho on any further information about the nature of your relationship. If Minho wanted to know anything then he would have to ask you.

The class continued on for another hour, if Minho went back to his cool and collect facade for the remainder of class. Felix watched every movement for Minho waiting for the moment he snapped but he never did. Once the class was over, students trickled out slowly until it was just Jeongin, Hyunjin, Minho and Felix.

As much as it hurt Minho to do this, he couldn't deny the talent that Hyunjin had. The two exchanged numbers so they could work on a possible separate choreography to film. Hyunjin kept his cool so long as Minho did. As the four of them began to make their way to the door, Minho's stomach turned at the idea of facing you.

When he saw you sitting on that bench beside Jisung and Seungmin, it seemed to all melt away. You held out an electrolyte bottle to Minho who gleefully took it. Hyunjin trotted behind him with a smile on his face.

"I'd hug you but I'm soaked in sweat," Hyunjin said as he stood in front of you.

"Oh it's fine don't worry about it! So, uh, I'm guessing I don't have to introduce you two to each other?" You ask looking between Minho and Hyunjin.

"We're pretty well acquainted now," Minho says a bit stiff but Hyunjin just laughs. You attempt to change the topic.

"How come you didn't tell me you were a dance major?" You asked nervously looking between Minho and him.

"You never asked," Hyunjin shrugs as he drinks his water, "I'm not a dance major though."

Minho, Felix and Jeongin cock their head in confusion. He laughs at their reactions before speaking again, "I'm an illustratrative art major, painting is more my forte but dancing is my outlet."

Felix chimes in, "Was that tattoo your design then?"

"What tattoo?" You ask confused but Hyunjin just lets out a soft laugh as he nods to answer Felix's question.

Hyunjin puts his bag down to peel his shirt up revealing the rose tattoo the starts between his shoulder blades and trails down further beneath the fabric in vines and thorns. Unconsciously you reach out to touch it which makes Hyunjin shiver and takes everything in Minho to not rip your hand away.

"I didn't see this before," You murmur in awe of the space it takes up on his back.

"Kinda hard to with when you were preoccupied with other things," Hyunjin says with a wolfish grin as he pulls his shirt back on as he watches the flush creep onto your cheeks and watching you awkwardly laugh.

Minho clears his throat grabbing your wrist abruptly, "We should get going, have somewhere to be in a few but we'll see you guys on wednesday."

"Minho, we don't have anything-"

"Yes, we do, remember." He says through clenched teeth before continuing to drag you away from the group.

"Still on for Friday?" Hyunjin's calls out as he watches the Alphas drag you away.

"Yes!" You shout from over your shoulder as Minho throws his arm around your shoulder to keep you from looking back.

Hyunjin watches feeling satisfied by successfully getting under Minho's skin. He bids his goodbye to the others but before he does Felix runs up to him asking to exchange numbers, you know, incase co-captain things come up. Hyunjin is more than happy to exchange numbers with the pretty blonde omega as he bids goodbye for the last time.

-

"This is the urgent business you were talking about?" You ask sarcastically as you sit in the quiet boba shop booth with Minho across from you.

It was your normal hangout spot but it was also ritual for the two of you to come here every 1st day back of the new semester. It was a cat themed boba shop and it was truthfully one of Minho's favorite places to be, especially with you.

"Yes, they close at 8pm, I didn't want us to miss our chance... how were your classes today?" He asks looking up at you attempting to change the topic from his insistent ways of getting you as far away from Hyunjin as possible.

"Good, my professors are pretty nice. I'm writing my first novel this semester too."

"Will you read it to me when you're ready?" He asks.

"Of course, who else will I read it to?" He internally responds with a scowl at the thoughts of you reading it to Hyunjin.

The two of sit in a comfortable silence listening to the sounds of the people chattering around you.

"What are you doing with Hyunjin on Friday?" Minho is the first to speak up. Likely plotting how to disrupt those plans.

"Not too sure yet... How did you like him?" diverting the question back to Minho.

"Seems nice." He says shortly, unable to meet your gaze. He wouldn't admit that despite his flirty advances towards you, he liked him enough to consider him someone worth getting to know. You hum in acknowledgment. "The lunch you made me was good, thank you."

"You're welcome, nothing compares to your cooking but I try," You say as you stretch up in your seat feeling the exhaustion of the day wearing on you. Minho takes the signal and grabs both your belongings ready to head out.

The warm feeling that spread through your chest as you can't help feeling thankful how easy Minho picks up on your body language, almost better than you can. The drive to your apartment is quiet as the two of you talk about the coming day of other classes tomorrow.

"Oh that reminds me, Saturday night, are you free?" You perk up in your seat.

"I should be, something you want to do?"

"I promised Seungmin that we'd go to his nerdy film marathon, please come with me?" You ask jutting out your bottom lip, while giving him your best puppy eyes.

"Mmmmm what's in it for me?" Minho would say yes regardless but he wanted to see what you would say.

"I'll make your favorite cookies but... i'll make them into little cats." You say with a straight face.

"Deal." He mimics your face until he sees that smile on your face making his heart do a flip.

"Perfect, I'll see you tomorrow," You say quickly climb out of his car before he got a chance to say anything else.

He watches as walk off into your building waving back at him, meeting Hyunjin was like setting a fire under him. He was more determined than ever to get you to see him as someone who could be there for, love you, to be your mate. He would stop at nothing now to be the one that puts that smile on your face.

[fanatical4creation]

Hope and Despair.

It was suppose to be just a funny doodle, but I got too excited 😭

Althought I don't like how Jokublog was trying to make clear that Nightmare Isn't Nightmare because Nightmare is evil and Nightmare is good.. you get my point.

Just showing how these look like, speacially Despair, not nightmare, Despair, I like to call this corruption a different name so I don't call Nightmare Passive!Nightmare 💀 (who tf came up with this name).

That's also why Hope is called Hope and not Dream, I think it doesn't make any sense to make them have the same name even thought they're cleary a different person.........

Oh yeah and Dream from DreamFate is now a Papyrus... since..... october of last year..... forgor to tell you guys.

Dreamtale (c) Jokublog

Version with no text:

[cheshireliam]

Kagari Amagase 1st Birthday Campaign: Story

His POV Story

"I Want The Princess"

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

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I stood on the battlefield, washed off the blood and headed to my secondary residence.  

…

The instant I stepped inside, I collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

Like always, I felt lightheaded and couldn’t think straight.

However, the book laying on my desk caught my eye.

The cover of the book was decorated with a rose motif, a flower rare in Kogyoku. 

I crawled closer to the book and reached for it.

When I opened the cover, a piece of paper with text written in the Princess’ penmanship fell out and landed on my face.  

Those were various detailed annotations about the book’s contents. 

A pure desire to enjoy the book came right to me.

(My birthday…)

(It was my first time.)

…

Nobleman: Happy birthday, Prince Kagari. I wish you a joyful and prosperous year ahead.

Kagari: Oh. 

This year too, there was a snaking line of people outside the castle for my birthday. 

I received countless birthday greetings, but I didn't know the appropriate response to them. 

(Everything is different from when I was still part of the royal family. There are so many things I don’t understand.)

Back in the day, my birthdays were simple, ending with a congratulatory speech from the King. 

My older brother had countless people celebrating his birthday and even had a banquet held for him, but that wasn't the case for me — his younger brother. 

No one ever doubted it because the difference between me and my older brother, who possessed remarkable capabilities that made everyone around have high expectations for him, was like night and day.

(But… thinking about it now, I wish I’d at least gotten one dorayaki.)

(... Hm?)

At the very end of the line — a familiar figure was standing under a cherry blossom tree in the distance. 

My body moved on its own before I even realised it. 

Kagari: You’re wide open, Princess. 

The Princess reacted exaggeratingly in surprise. I put a hand over her mouth and dragged her into the shade.

Emma: Mmph…! 

I pinned her struggling body against a tree trunk before closing the distance between us to avoid drawing the attention of the people nearby.

(She’s still as weak as ever, like she could die any moment.) 

Kagari: Do you promise to behave?

I took my hand off her mouth and she nodded.

Emma: … What are you doing here, Prince Kagari?

Kagari: I saw you.

Emma: So you came to see me?

Kagari: You called me here.

(Maybe.)

Her fidgeting near the line must mean she wants to see me, right? 

Kagari: If you were planning to join the line, don’t bother.

Kagari: It won’t end until nightfall.

Emma: That long…?

Kagari: There’s a banquet tonight. That’ll go on till dawn. 

Kagari: So, why are you here?

The Princess’ eyes darted around awkwardly.

It was suspicious behaviour, she looked very uneasy, as though she was hiding something she wanted to say.

Emma: … Um… there were so many people gathered, and I got curious…

She hid the bag she was holding behind her back.

Given today’s occasion and the Princess’ personality, the answer is obvious.

(She’s hesitant to celebrate my birthday.) 

(Is this really something to agonise about?)

(... I don’t really get it, but this is fine.)

(It doesn't matter whether I receive birthday greetings or not…)

(But spending my birthday with her might actually be more enjoyable.)

(I’ll take her along for the customary inspection.)

…

Dressed as one of the Yasha’s subordinates, the Princess pointed an imitation sword at the assassins. 

I couldn’t help but be secretly impressed as I watched from atop a roof.

(She’s gotten more used to things compared to when she first arrived in Kogyoku.)

(Even though it’s only an imitation sword, she’s learnt how to point one at others.) 

(With that amount of guts, she’ll have no problem surviving in Kogyoku. Full marks for her.) 

(Also… the clothes my subordinates wear really suit her.)

I stared absentmindedly at her exposed nape, where her hair was tied up in a single knot.)

(I remember Matias saying something about this before.)

(“The nape, usually hidden by her hair, is the most valuable”.)

At that time, I thought he was purely spouting weird nonsense, but I understand now. 

(It’s so slender, I feel like biting it— wait, what? Why do I want to bite it?

(No idea. I’ll ask Matias next time.)

(If this is something that requires some brains, I’ll ask Azel.) 

While I was lost in thought, the assassin placed their hands on the hilt of their swords. 

Before they could unsheath their swords ever so slightly, I jumped down and swung my sheathed sword. 

The impact was solid, and all the assassins’ eyes rolled back as they fell unconscious. 

Had I drawn my sword, their heads would have flown off their shoulders. 

(Weak.)

Kagari: That was easy. I hoped they’d at least be good enough for me to draw my sword.

As I turned around feeling disappointed, the Princess was in the midst of sheathing the imitation sword.

Before the blade fully went into the scabbard, I moved closer and held her slender hand. 

Kagari: Princess, you need to adjust the angle of your stance. 

Emma: I see…

Kagari: Also, never hunch your back on a battlefield.

Emma: I never noticed I was doing that.

Kagari: Exactly. Even though you’re dressed like one of my subordinates, you’re weak.

Emma: … I’m sorry. 

Cat: Nyaa… 

While I was guiding her for future use, I heard a meowing sound coming from next to my feet. 

It was the stray cat I had an undesirable, yet inseparable relationship with. 

Kagari: Ah, give me a minute.

I folded a piece of paper with instructions on how to deal with the men lying on the ground and handed it to the cat. 

It gave a delighted meow as it took the paper in its mouth and scurried off. 

Emma: What was that…?

Kagari: Calico No.1.

Kagari: It often roams the streets. So if you ever need to contact me, you can count on it for that.

Emma: So instead of a carrier pigeon… you have a carrier cat.

Kagari: Yeah. 

(This guy’s more temperamental than a pigeon, though.)

Emma: About the piece of paper you gave it earlier on…

Kagari: I summoned my subordinates. It’s a hassle to clean up this mess. 

I stood up and looked down at the amateurish assassins lying on the ground. 

The Princess looked eager for an explanation, almost to the point she was getting restless. 

(They’re no more significant than random passersby, but…) 

Kagari: This is a “gift” I receive on my birthday every year, amidst the celebrations. 

Kagari: I was looking forward to a more challenging opponent, but I got disappointed this year too.

The Princess frowned at my blunt response.

(Is she angry?)

(Weird. It doesn't even concern her.)

(Maybe this is something “strange” to the Princess?)

(When you come from a different place, what’s common and what’s not changes. That's interesting.)

(What’s common knowledge to me, might not be so common to her.) 

…

Night fell as usual, and it was time for the banquet.

Savouring the enjoyable time we had together, I parted ways with the Princess. 

Soon after, the ever so hardworking Calico No.1 came with a letter in its mouth.

…

I went to the cherry blossom tree where I sometimes admired the flowers with the Princess, and the sender of that letter looked clearly pleased to see me. 

Feeling comforted by her reaction, I sat down next to her under the tree. 

Emma: Has the banquet ended?

Kagari: Not yet.

Emma: You managed to slip away.

Kagari: Your summon is more important.

Cat: Nyaa 

(Is it asking for a reward?)

I gently petted the cat that had been nuzzling itself against my leg and it left like it was never there. 

Heartless cat. 

(Right now, the Princess is more important than Calico No.1.)

Kagari: You changed your clothes.

Emma: Yes, I wanted to meet you as my usual self.

Emma: If I’m going to celebrate your birthday, I want to do it as the version of me you met in Kogyoku.  

Kagari: … 

(Is this what she meant when she said she “wanted some of my time after the banquet”?)

Emma: Happy birthday, Prince Kagari.

The Princess, who had been hesitant about wishing me a happy birthday this morning, presented me with a cherry blossom-patterned package.

I accepted the package, unwrapped it, and took out what was insides

Kagari: A book? 

Emma: It’s a storybook from Rhodolite. 

(It’s my first time receiving a book as a birthday gift. I’m feeling uneasy.)

Kogyoku’s Yasha was thought by others to only wield swords and never read books. 

But in truth, I don’t dislike reading. 

Emma: You’ve taught me many wonderful things about Kogyoku. 

Emma: It’s thrilling to discover new things about the world that I’ve never known before, so…

Emma: I chose this book because I want you to experience that thrill too. It’s one of my favourites. 

Emma: … And, if possible, I thought it might help convey Rhodolite’s charm too…

Kagari: The book is set in Rhodolite?

Emma: That’s right! It’s a collection of heartwarming short stories.

Emma: It’s the perfect remedy for when you’re feeling worn out.

Kagari: I almost forgot you’re a book merchant.

(I thought it’s just like any other book, but this one’s carefully chosen by the Princess.)

Knowing the amount of thought put into the gift made it much more significant. 

Kagari: You’re probably the only one who’d think of giving me a book. 

(I’ve decided. I’ll make this a family heirloom.)

I stared at the cover, flipped through the pages, and briefly scanned through the text. 

It doesn't seem like I’ll be running into any trouble if I end up with too much free time for a while. 

Emma: … I’m relieved I could properly celebrate your birthday. 

I looked up when she suddenly spoke.

The Princess heaved a sigh of relief, like she had been holding her breath for a while. 

Kagari: You’re overthinking it. I’d never find it bothersome to be celebrated. 

Emma: But your detached reaction to all the greetings and gifts made me rather worried that you would. 

Kagari: … Did I come off that way?

(I didn't realise. No wonder the Princess hesitated.)

I closed the book and lowered my gaze. 

Kagari: It’s not that I dislike being celebrated, or that I’m uninterested in birthdays.

Kagari: It’s just… I still don’t know what I should be feeling when I’m being celebrated.

Kagari: It’s been a recent problem for me.

Never had I ever imagined that not having extravagant birthday celebrations like my older brother did would someday become a source of my troubles. 

(Receiving a celebration particularly from her is complicated.)

(... I feel restless, and it’s hard to even look her in the eyes.)

(Is this the correct feeling I should be getting? What kind of emotion is this?) 

As I sat there in silence, full of uncertainty, a gentle breeze blew. 

Petals from the cherry blossom tree that was in bloom all year round danced in the air and fluttered down. 

The Princess, whose attention had been constantly focused on the Yasha until now, suddenly turned her gaze toward the cherry blossoms.

Emma: It’s beautiful. 

(…)

The restlessness turned into something murky. 

(... Not going to look at me anymore?)

(You’re so heartless.)

I grabbed a fistful of the Princess’ skirt. 

It was a spontaneous gesture. 

Emma: Prince Kagari?

(Why must I lose her to some cherry blossoms?)

Kagari: You’ve been thinking about my birthday all day long, and now you’re completely mesmerised by cherry blossoms? 

Emma: Of course I’m still thinking about your birthday. 

Emma: I just think that it looks as though the cherry blossoms are celebrating too… 

Kagari: Just you celebrating it is enough. Don’t look away. 

For some reason, the Princess reacted to my vent with a gentle smile. 

Kagari: … What are you smiling about?

Emma: It’s nothing. 

(I’m curious… but this doesn't feel so bad.)

I felt my facial expression soften, and the Princess turned her gaze to the cherry blossoms once again.

My grip on the fabric of her skirt tightened. 

Emma: … I planned to only give you your gift, but we ended up talking for quite a while.

Emma: Shouldn’t you return to the banquet soon, Prince Kagari?

Kagari: …

(I don't want to.)

(I want her to celebrate my birthday, more than the banquet.) 

(But somehow, even though they’re all celebrations, something feels different.)

I retraced the day’s events, recalling each and every one of the Princess’ words and trying to pinpoint the cause of my restlessness. 

(If there is a difference… it’d be that everyone else’s celebrations are nothing more than mere formalities.)

(You could say they have ulterior motives, wanting to gain the Yasha’s favour and protection.)

(But the Princess’ celebration doesn't have any of that.) 

(... This is the first time I’m receiving a sincere birthday celebration.)

Kagari: Princess, don’t you want to keep the Yasha all to yourself?

Emma: I think I’ve already monopolised you enough. 

(It’s not enough.)

(... I want more)

Kagari: … Stay here.

Emma: Then… I’ll take you up on the offer.

Emma: Can I continue celebrating your birthday for a little while longer? 

Kagari: Yeah. 

Hearing the word “celebrate” from her lips made me restless again. 

(Could this restless feeling be… bashfulness?) 

(... Am I actually feeling bashful because she’s celebrating my birthday?) 

(That’s a first. I learned something new today.)

Kagari: If you want to celebrate, do it. I can’t guarantee I’ll make it to my next birthday.

Emma: … I don't like such jokes.

Kagari: I’m not joking. But rest assured that I want you to celebrate my birthday over and over again.

(It’d be nice if there’ll be a “next”.) 

(... I want to feel bashful again. I want to experience this feeling even more.)

(I want to get to know this restlessness better.)

(When I’m with her… my emotions come alive.)

…

When I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by darkness.

(... Did I fall asleep?)

As I regained consciousness, I realised I was holding a book in my arms.

I heard a faint sound of gentle breathing coming from next to me.

I shifted my gaze in its direction to see Calico No.1 laying there with its belly facing up, looking completely defenseless.

(It's getting better at hiding its presence and becoming more shameless too.)

(Who exactly does that remind me of?)

Careful not to wake Calico No.1, I picked up the book and opened it while laying down. 

Even though I had already finished it and remembered its contents, my eyes didn't stop following the text.

The stories were set in a peaceful country called Rhodolite. 

The Princess, born in that kind of country, was honest, straightforward, and her existence dazzling bright. 

(That makes sense.)

On my birthday — when I received those empty, soulless birthday greetings from the crowd, the Princess looked like she couldn't stand it any longer and took my hand.

Under the cherry blossom tree, her smile was like a flower in full bloom and she celebrated the Yasha’s birthday genuinely from the heart.

(She has a beautiful heart.)

(And yet, she unhesitatingly held these hands of mine that have been stained with blood of the people I’ve killed and even gave me her blessings.)

(Ah…)

(... I want the Princess).

(But I don't understand why I want her.)

(Will I understand it if she becomes mine, just like this book?)

I sat up and closed the book.

Although the battle was over and my body was supposedly back to its usual state, my head started feeling fuzzy again. 

That sensation worsened when an image of the Princess’ face emerged in my mind. 

Despite knowing my symptoms were worsening, my hands refused to let go of the book. 

I couldn’t peel my eyes off it.

It was as though I was clinging onto it.

(I want to see her.)

(I want to see the Princess.)

[lsunstreakerl]

using this hellsite for its intended purpose (posting smut on main)

this is technically two ficlets, but I'll be posting the second one later. for now, I gift u all 1.7k words of omegaverse, and it's actually max and esteban, omega/omega (I cannot believe I'm writing these words I am going to hell). hi yes hello mature content here. not violent just horny.

This is not any less embarrassing than Max had expected it to be, standing at Esteban's door at five in the morning. He hadn't even sent a heads up text, he'd just shown up.

He's not even sure if Ocon's in the country.

He hopes he's in the country- Max is kind of fucked otherwise, because then he's just standing in front of the door for nothing, and he's pretty sure this is preheat, but he doesn't fucking know.

His heat crisis at the airport hadn't been sexual at all. His cresting heat in his own flat in Monaco had been brutal, but tame compared to what's to come, and Max doesn't exactly have other omegas to ask.

It's not that he's scared, he just-

Well.

There's footsteps on the other side of the door, and then quiet for a moment- Esteban must be checking to see who it is.

Sure enough, the door swings open a few seconds later.

"Verstappen, what the fuck- oh shit."

Esteban smells good, is one of the things Max notes as he's being dragging inside, door shut behind him. He has a big fluffy nest on the floor of his living room, and there's an action movie paused on the screen, and-

Max is pretty sure he's talking to him.

"-aaaaaax. Hey, earth to Verstappen-"

Max blinks rapidly, and then he tips forward and buries his nose in Esteban's neck, pressed right against his scent gland.

"Ah!"

Esteban yanks him back by the collar of his shirt, and Max whines, because he smelled good and he wants more, and it's making him feel better being next to it.

"Why did you do this. Why the fuck- why did you come to me, how long have you even been an omega, what the fuck-"

Max feels a whine building in his chest, because that's a thing omegas do, and he's rapidly realizing he's going to need to get comfortable with a lot of uncomfortable things about his designation soon.

"Christ, okay- okay, come on."

Esteban is leading him into the living room, and Max hopes they're going to the nest, because Esteban's looks so good, better than anything Max has ever been able to build.

Esteban bats at his hands, gently nudging the side of Max's foot.

"Shoes, please."

Max toes them off, and then Esteban tugs him down into the nest, and it's so soft, soft and perfect, and Esteban's got this omega thing on lock.

Max immediately shifts towards Esteban, because he wants snuggles, wants the warm heat of someone else, and Esteban's scent is so nice, even if he smells concerned and bewildered at the moment.

"Right, preheat, okay. Maybe the Dutch do it differently."

Max almost wants to laugh. He has no idea how Dutch omegas nest or heat. He's never been allowed near other omegas.

Esteban sighs, and there's a begrudging type of fondness in his eyes for a moment.

"I'm doing this because I'm a good person, Max, so remember that next time you want to shove me, yes? Good. Come on, shirt off."

Esteban tugs his own shirt over his head, and Max's brain isn't quite moving at its normal pace, but he's compliant as Esteban bats at his hands, pulling Max's shirt off over his arms and shoulders before tossing it to the side somewhere.

Max just wants to snuggle.

Esteban pulls him in, letting Max settle his nose right above his scent gland, chest to chest in the nest as he pulls a blanket over them.

"You have no idea what you're doing."

Max makes a weak whimper, distracted by pressing his nose in until his brain is just a looping mantra of Esteban, Esteban, Esteban-

"Right."

Esteban kicks up a purr, and Max melts on top of him, loose muscles and head fuzzy. His throat hitches, but he can't quite make it go- still doesn't know how.

There's a nose in Max's hair, and one of Esteban's hands comes up by his neck, long fingers running down the side.

Max feels like there's a weighted blanket on his brain, making everything slow and syrupy.

He loses track of time- he's pretty sure Esteban starts his movie back up, based on the explosion noises.

Max barely even registers that he's softly grinding his hips over Esteban's thigh, only notices because Esteban's scent sweetens under his nose, and his purr gets louder.

"Max."

It's gentle, and Max makes a responding hum. His eyes are half open, not really seeing anything.

"Max, you are supposed to heat partner with an alpha."

Duh. Max would've done that, if he was out and trusted any of the alphas to handle him right- his first choice was Daniel, but he's out of the country with Scotty, and Max didn't want to interrupt their trip.

He can't exactly go to Seb.

Asking any of the garage members violates probably a million FIA policies and also the law in a few countries. Lando and George are omegas, but they're new and Max doesn't know either of them, which leaves him with Esteban. He'd shown up on a whim, even though he isn't part of the pack, because he knows he can't handle it alone.

An older, more experienced omega was the logical choice.

He doesn't realize he's whining until Esteban noses at his hair, scent wrapping around him.

"Okay, you don't have to tell me- it is okay, Max. I will help you."

Esteban hitches his thigh up and Max gasps, lightning bolts going through him at the change in angle. Long fingers run down the side of his neck before pressing down on his scent gland, and Max ruts forward, nose back in Esteban's neck. It feels good, and it smells good, and if things could stay slow and hot and nice just like this, Max might be okay with heats.

Esteban breaks that fantasy.

"Go on Max, get a good one in before your heat really hits."

Max whines softly, and Esteban sighs, hand slipping down Max's spine to settle on his lower back, helping him with the drag and slide of it all, the push-pull. Max's brain is liquid, a soft loop of sensation and feeling good.

It's not a rough orgasm by any means- it's gentle compared to others Max has had, washes through him in a way that's slow and overwhelming, leaves him collapsed against Esteban's chest, slick cooling between his thighs.

Esteban noses at him again- he's scenting him, gently pushing the side of their heads together. Max hasn't been scented by a member of the pack before- Daniel scented him regularly before he left, and Nico had done it frequently as well, but they're both gone now, and it's been a minute since anyone outside of Redbull bothered.

"You are okay with fingers? Toys? Mouth?"

Max's hips jerk again at the thought, face heating up. He nods against Esteban's neck, keeping his face hidden.

"Okay. Max, I am not set up for a heat at the moment- I need my alpha to come by with groceries, is that going to be alright?"

Esteban has an alpha? That can't be right- Max has his nose on top of Esteban's scent gland right now, there's definitely no mark here.

He noses at it pointedly, enjoying the spike is Esteban's scent at the sensation, his soft gasp.

"Don't be archaic Verstappen. I can have an alpha without having a bite. I have two, thank you very much."

Okay- Max knows the alphas of the pack significantly outnumber the omegas, but two is just greedy. His scent must change, because Esteban snorts.

"I didn't think you wanted Pierre or Charles, but if you want to share for your heat we can do that."

Max pauses for a moment. He's... actually not sure. He hasn't been with an alpha before, but if Esteban is here- if they listen to him-

Max isn't stupid. He knows his first proper heat is going to be bad, that's his consequence for being on suppressants for so long. Toys aren't going to cut it. They'll keep him from Red Heating, sure, but that's about where that ends.

He's going to be begging Esteban for something he can't give him.

Pierre isn't terrible. He's not close with the rest of the garage, and Max is pretty sure he's somehow managed to entirely miss the memo that Max is the pack omega- probably hasn't picked up on Redbull being a pack at all.

In his defense, there hasn't been a garage pack on the grid since before Max was born.

Charles- Max isn't sure how desperate a heat is going to make him, but if he ends up begging Charles to fuck him he's going to jump out the window when it's over.

Weird cresting heat induced insanity aside, Max has not once wanted anything to do with Charles. He's annoying and entitled, and Max still doesn't believe that he's actually an alpha.

He seems like the kind of guy to want to be a gentleman to an omega, which-

Charles has not once ever been gentle to Max, it's practically the foundation of their relationship, and Max isn't sure if he's going to want kindness and consideration for his heat.

He's not freaking out about it, he just-

He doesn't know.

He's whining into Esteban's neck again, a slow need starting to build deep inside of him. He wants them, he doesn't want them, he cares, he doesn't care- everything is so difficult.

Esteban rattles out another purr, scent heavy in the room. Max settles, nose full of fresh snow and eucalyptus.

He nods his head, a tiny shift, and Esteban's scent takes on a pleased note, sweet and satisfied.

"They will be good, I promise. I'll kick them out if they aren't."

Max is fairly confident that's not how that works, but maybe the French are different. Esteban slides one hand to tap at his phone as the other shifts from Max's back to the front of his hips.

"Okay?"

Max nods, and he's sure his own scent is all over the place, canting his hips up for Esteban to slide his hand down under his waistband, long fingers cool against his overheated skin.

His scent spikes again and Esteban purrs, nosing gently at him.

"It's okay, Max. It's alright, you're okay."

Everything is-

It's a lot.

Max is whining, a soft noise as Esteban works his fingers inside of him, and they're so different from Max's, feel alien inside him, but they feel good too, and Max-

Max wants to be good, wants to show Esteban that he knows how to be an omega, a good omega, even if the pack doesn't want him.

He knows it's not his strongest area- he's poured all his time and effort into racing, doesn't know what to do with himself outside of it, but this- Esteban's fingers inside him, Max's nose pressed into his neck, a slow build- this feels good. It feels right.

[keisenthusiast]

- [tsukishima kei headcanon] crush.. edition? pls keep in mind that this is only a headcanon. i only do this for fun lol

☆ what he would do;

> observe from a distance - he won't stare, but he'll definitely notice things. how they tie their shoelaces, the way they tap their pen when thinking, the little habits they have.

> subtle acts of service - if they forget a worksheet? oh wow, look at that, an extra copy just happens to be on their desk. dropped something? kei's already picking it up before muttering, "be more careful."

> remembers small details - mentioned they like a certain song? he'll have it in his playlist. favorite snack? he won't offer, but he might casually have an extra one in his bag.

> mocks them, but not too harshly - a teasing comment here and there, just enough to get a reaction. but never anything genuinely mean.

> reacts differently when they tease him – if his friends tease him, it’s an eye roll and a scoff. if they tease him? oh, now he’s actually paying attention.

☆ what he would NOT do;

> outright confess – nope. sorry but i think kei would rather die than put himself in a vulnerable position like that lol.

> be overly nice – kei is not suddenly going to turn into mr. sunshine just because he has a crush (obviously...) the most he’ll do is probably being slightly less sarcasm. probably.

> get jealous in an obvious way – instead of pouting or sulking or giving silent treatment, he’ll just make a sharp comment like, "wow, you sure talk about him a lot."

> text first (usually) – unless there’s a real reason, kei isn’t the type to randomly start conversations. but if they text him first? no, he doesn't respond immediately. he ignored their texts for 5 mins cause he refuses to look desperate.

> get touchy - physical contact? rare. but if he does initiate it, it's just going to be a shoulder tap. it means nothing.

um, alright that's all. this is my first time using this app btw. IM SO SO SORRY for any mischaracterization 😔 anyways yuuns out.

[coyotelip]

au, where pandora and regulus became best friends only after his death.

(including some jegulus and pandalily. this is like a fic concept, but I don't feel like writing anything, so I just want to share this idea with you. enjoy!)

Pandora comes from a family of modern witches and because of this, almost no one wants to have anything to do with her. She is a strange student who wears maxi skirts made of ten different pieces of clothing, carries a trail of herbs and jingles every amulet she wears.

of course, Regulus, as the mayor's son, did not want to get close to her during his lifetime. when he died, it turned out that Pandora was the only one who could see his disembodied spirit, which remained wandering the earth.

It's a friendship that shouldn't have happened, but with a little bit of effort, all the barriers between them disappear. finally, there's someone to whom Pandora can tell about her crush on Lily Evans.

she spends hours and hours experimenting to determine the limits of Regulus' existence here on earth. can he leave the city? can he touch things, feel heat or cold? can the rest of her family see him?

she digs into his story so much to understand what exactly keeps him here, why his spirit cannot rest?

In the process, he reveals his biggest secret - his crash in James Potter. Pandora is delighted, and she doesn't let him get away from the topic until she convinces him to write him a letter. Pandora writes by herself, because of course Regulus cannot hold a pen the way he did when he was alive. he gives her a dry and emotionless text with reluctance, but she adds color to it and paints it much more emotionally.

Regulus can't stop her when Pandora puts the letter in James' locker. in fact, deep down, he doesn't want to. Regulus boldly uses his power to be there when James finds the letter, but he doesn't read it right away, hiding it and taking it home. the remnants of his morals prevent Regulus from following it and breaking into James' room, no matter how much he wants to be there.

the first letter is followed by the second and third.

the situation takes an interesting turn when Sirius suddenly approaches Pandora. he is clearly unhappy and asks her in private, rather aggressively, what she wants. he has noticed her sneaking letters to James and intends to stop her because he is not interested in her.

Sirius' hot blood gets the better of him and he touches Pandora. not firmly, just puts his hand on her shoulder and tries to corner her. but this is enough to anger Regulus, and without realizing it, he shouts out an angry "don't touch her" and tries to push Sirius away.

Sirius' head jerked up and he... looked straight at Regulus without seeing him. his brow furrowed and he looked confused, but after a moment he looked back at Pandora, "What did you do?". Pandora just stares at him in confusion and gasps for air, not knowing how to explain it. Sirius quickly disappears without waiting for her.

seeing how their little game of writing notes for James has taken such a heated and unpleasant turn, Regulus finally recognizes how pointless it is. so instead, he promises Pandora he'll find a way to get her with Lily.

but to their surprise, Sirius comes back. he follows Pandora, but he doesn't look angry, rather concerned. he comes and asks not to play with him - it's cruel to play tricks on his brain using his dead brother.

and so Pandora is determined to find a way for Sirius and Regulus to talk for the first time in years. she is certain that this is what is keeping him stuck to the earth. honestly, at first she thought it must be his hidden crush and letters to James would help.

but now Pandora is sure that brotherly love is sometimes worth much more than romantic feelings.

[werew0lfhours]

So, a certain someone has decided to rebrand, but before that, she was working on a script for a new video.

(Before I get to far into this, I don't want this to become a blog about her this is my safe side of the internet, I just feel insulted by this.)

Now, here's what she said;

(For those that can't read the fuck ass text; I apologize for everything I've said about Natalie Wynn, Jessica Routhier, Nate Stevenson, Patricia Taxxon, Jessie Earl, Rebecca Sugar, and Abigail Thorne. And if I said something unkind to you and I forgot your name, pop it into the comments and you'll get one personally.)

.... Interesting right?

She apologizes to creators who probably have forgotten about her existence, if they ever knew about her in the first place. And she ends it in a way that says she wants to be reminded of who else she may have hurt. Don't worry hun, I got you.

Crimson Ender; Trans man you have dehumanized and called a pedophile for having a differing opinion and poking fun at you. He's also native, and trying to keep his culture alive. Unlike you.

Sai Scribbles; A lesbian you have dehumanized and happly let be doxxed until it looked bad on you. All for correcting you on a show made for children, and being a bit catty about it. Not to mention, false flagging her content.

Anthony Gragmulia; A bisexual man you have dehumanized, denied his experience with surviving abuse, have been homophobic to, and claimed to have been fired for being a misogynist, which could have gotten him blacklisted from his industry, if it wasn't total horseshit. He also got false flagged by you. All for correcting you on Pokémon lore, a game made for children.

Blake; A person you sexually harassed and tried to get them to admit they were attracted to you, which is still, sexual harassment.

Britt; A woman you sexually harrassed when you were presenting as a cis man. She's a lesbian. You had Tara try and talk her into sleeping with you. That is harassment.

Josh; A man who you were friends with, alleged he faked being in the American Armed Forces, said he was a pedophile (when you had previously tried to get him to date a much younger woman who was a minor at the time), and continue to bring up even though he has moved on.

InkRose; A woman you tried to pressure into dating an older man when she wasn't even legal, and then had your fans draw art of her sona with women, even though she is straight and uncomfortable with that artwork.

KP; A friend you threw away when she wanted some answers. A friend you have doxxed. A friend who wanted to believe you. But you ran like a coward.

Lizzy; You're ex who you dehumanized and have continually said horrible things about unprompted when she hasn't done a goddamn thing. She never said anything about you until you started talking shit. You dragged her name so far through the mud, she doesn't feel safe on Tumblr anymore. You threatened to release the nudes she thought you had deleted. You stole one of her beloved oc's, which is so fucking awful to do. Not to mention: You stole her goddamn last name.

Ginger; A minor you didn't discourage to not draw NSFW of your avatar, when they were very open about being a minor. You then proceeded to have some kind of a relationship with them when they were hardly legal.

Carousel; Another person you had a romantic relationship with that you treated badly after they broke up with you. You also stole an oc from them.

Ren; Another fan you seemed to have a strange relationship with. They're married, and live in Russia. I'm assuming their spouse wouldn't be happy if they knew the full truth, no?

Opal; A fan of yours who you drew a version of your puppet in their style that you got so enraged at because she gave you some weight and curves. She isn't on the internet anymore... Weird, huh?

Lolo; A friend turned fan who you have snapped at as if she is an unruly dog and never seemed to apologize for your outburst after the fact.

Levi; A minor fan who alleges they had a weird interaction/relationship with. Who has screenshots they are too scared to share. Strange.

Mikaila; Your wife. Your wife, who was a fan. Your wife, who has had a very hard life, and sees you as her ray of sunshine. Your wife, who you expect to draw, you whatever art you want without payment. Your wife, who you have trained like a fucking dog. Your wife, who would make noises you didn't like so you cried, instead of talking to her like an adult. Your wife, who you horny posted about when her cat died, and she needed your comfort. Your wife, who you snapped at when her chair creaked, the same fucking day she found out her mother had been stealing from her. Your wife, who left the call after that. Your wife, who you didn't notice she left until a few minutes later, because you were flirting with another woman. Your wife, you chastised for letting dinner burn because you were playing a video game and couldn't get off your ass to check on it yourself. Your wife, who you have dehumanized, and very recently, made it seem like you only value her because she has "holes you can penetrate". Your wife, who doesn't live with you.

Courtney; You know what you did. I don't need to say it.

And to top it off; the countless people you told to kill themselves in very uncreative ways.

But you apologize to people with more power. The one that stands out who doesn't fit in is Patricia Taxxon. You know, a trans woman who has e-flashed her fan base, some of them being minors, has allegedly masturbated in a discord call with minors as well, and posts on her public Tumblr about wanting to fuck her biological father. Actually "fuck" is the incorrect verbage; she wants to be re-victimized by him for her sexual pleasure. She also talks about having pedophilic thoughts in a way she doesn't seem too bothered about. And, don't get me started on Buyer's Market.

And while I'm thinking about it; Why don't you apologize for associating with someone who might actually be a white supremacist. You know who. Your brother.

Cameron. Cameron, who molested your sister and shared a room with you. Cameron, who had other children in your neighborhood, alleged he did the same to him that he did to Courtney. Cameron, who was dishonorably discharged for assaulting several fellow officers. That's public info, you know. Cameron, who deadnames, misgenders, and refuses to acknowledge your identity and your wife's identity. Cameron, who you, for years, said was a piece of shit until recently. Cameron, who is a Trump cocksucker and has made fun of children dying in mass shootings. Cameron, who is the exact person you say we should bash his brains in with a rock, but he's your dearest relative? Your beloved brother?

So, nice try at an apology. But, it isn't true, is it? But nevermind that, we both know that apologizes mean nothing if you don't fucking change your behavior. And you never change. Do you? So, take your apology, because it's worthless here.

Ps. If you were planning your rebrand, why did you still sign your most recent script with your old name, "Casey"? It seems a bit fishy to me, but how would I know? I'm a jackass on the internet :)

(Final line reads; I'm Lily, thanks for watching.)

[tillichan]

𓇼 ˚.⋆ [Fluffy Valentine] for @frostfall-matches ⋆.˚ 𓇼

Rose — What makes them realize that they're in love with you?

Rafayel fell in love with you all over again. Again and again, in different universes. He fell in love with you many years ago in Lemuria, the time when you suggested him elope with you for the first time. And the two of you spent the whole day together, having fun at the festival, running away from the guardians and admiring the sunset. He fell in love with you many years later in Linkon, the time when you unexpectedly showed up at his place. And he literally fell on you with surprise. And looking into your ethereal eyes, the eyes Rafayel loved the way too much, he felt he can breathe, and live, and love again. And then you teased him a little in your usual manner, and Rafayel thought that, ah, he was head over heels.

Aster — Courting/flirting headcanons. How would they act around their crush?

The first thing Rafayel does to win you over, he does his best to spent as much time with you as he can. He suddenly appears before you in unexpected places, claiming that this's a meeting of fate. And no, he was walking here only to find the inspiration, absolutely not because your mission is here too. All this led to the spontaneous dates and unforgettable memories. Rafayel is the embodiment of bark but no bite during the crush phase. He's unbelievably good at his words, showering you with compliments and praise. But when it comes to a physical affection. Well, he is more or less fine when it's him who initiates the touches, but when you touch him to tease him, catching him off the guard, Rafayel can't help but gets embarrassed and a little bit awkward. He may or may not switch to a very confident and playful behavior though. Finally, Rafayel loves you, he is not ashamed of that and he shows you this in a variety of ways. Be it the exhilarating dates, the thoughtful gifts, sweet words of his celestial love or gentle touches, all his behavior shows how much Rafayel is in love with you.

Daisy — How easy is it to embarrass them? What can you do to fluster them and make them melt?

Rafayel gets flustered easier than he'd like. Especially during the crush phase and in the beginning of your relationship. He acts cool and smooth, he is also good with the words, but his ears turn red every time you touch him, even if your face just close to his. Please, send help, this cute fishcake can't control his ears for his own good. But there's nothing Rafayel can do about this problem. He's in love, all his senses are heightened around you. You, your presence, your touches, everything in you is so precious to him. And he can't help, but feels too flustered with you. Tease him about it and Rafayel will be pouting, lying on the sofa and turning his back on you.

Rafayel: All right, all right, leave me alone now. Rafayel: Why are you still here? Hurry up and find boyfriend with the normal ears! Kiss or bite his ear, and you get fried fish, who turned into an absolute blushing mess.

Slowly but surely, Rafayel got used to your physical affection, since you love to tease him so much. You still catch him off guard pretty often though. Especially the time you shower him with your love, kissing his moles and whispering playfully how much you love him. Oh, dear, he melts into a puddle and his ears, his cheeks are red. The difference is, Rafayel got the hang of teasing you back, and now, it's your time to become flustered, because, well, we're talking about Rafayel here. He knows how to make you melt~

Carnations — How much do they miss you when you're apart? How long can they handle it before they text or call you?

It depends on situation, but Rafayel misses you very much. He feels empty when you aren't with him, he doesn't like this feeling. Not to mention that this's kinda dangerous to leave Rafayel alone for a long time, since he tends to get too carried away with painting and forget to eat, stay hydrated and have enough sleep. Rafayel prefers to have some personal space and time too, so he can handle a few hours without you, but then, oh, he slowly starts getting nervous and unmotivated to do something. He wants you to be with him, exchanging playful teasing, showering each other with affection, he just needs you. Texts and calls can't satisfy him enough, so don't be surprised if you meet Rafayel during your visiting mission, who just has some business there we know your business, Rafayel and meets you quite by accident. Keep on your mind that Rafayel absolutely hates waiting, so if somehow your business trip is delayed and he can't come to meet you, be ready that he starts to go crazy. Poor Thomas...

Thomas: What are you doing, Rafayel? Rafayel: I'm doing a portrait of her made of the fish bones. Thomas: What about your new painting? Rafayel: I've no inspiration. But more importantly... *monologue for over an hour about you, how he misses you, and how wrong you were when you leaved him alone* Thomas: Oh, please, come back soon... I can't handle this anymore...

Think in advice of a way to make Rafayel feel better as soon as you get back~

Morning glory — Are they very affectionate? Are they touch starved? How do they ask you for affection?

Veeery affectionate! Rafayel adores every single scrap of love you give him, he became addicted. And of course he wants to give you back as much love, even more love, than you give him. His hand always finds the way to yours, whenever the two of you hang out together, or warps around your waist gently. He loves to cuddle you, whispering sweet nothing in your ears. He likes to pillow his head on your lap, looking at you with the moon eyes. He just loves you and the sweet moments the two of you share every day.

Rafayel isn't touch starved, but when it comes to your touches. Oh, dear, he cannot get enough. He lives for love, for your love, he is greedy for your affection and want you to shower him with a lot, lot of your love. It makes him a little, or not so little, clingy, especially when it's just you two.

Since Rafayel feels more confident when it's him who initiates an affection, he feels free to initiate this every time he wants you to spoil him with your love. Sometimes to this is added some of the complaints that you're not paying attention to him, your the most beloved and amazing boyfriend in the whole universe. And be sure that he won't stop until you give your attention to him.

Sunflower — Hugs/cuddles headcanons. Do they like to cuddle? What’s their favorite position to cuddle in?

Rafayel absolutely adores cuddles like any other affection you give him. Especially he loves face-to-face hugs and cuddles, so he can look into your beautiful eyes, showering your pretty face with kisses now and then. His hugs are gentle, as if you made of glass, but also tight, as if he's afraid of loosing you. Playful too. Rafayel likes to scare you by the sudden embracement, that often catch you off the guard. Even though Rafayel is more reserved in public, because he finds the hugs you share too intimate to show others, he won't hesitate to hug you if he'd like though, but when it's just you two, he turns into a koala who clings to you and refuses to let you go.

Mistletoe — Kisses headcanons. What kisses do they like to give? What kisses do they like to recieve?

Rafayel gives you the softest, but also the most passionate kisses. His lips are very soft and full, it feels so nice on yours that you cannot get enough. Rafayel loves to kiss your lips the most, cupping your face in his hands, be it the long and thoughtful kisses, filled with love, or short and playful ones. But he also likes kiss your hand playfully or give you gentle forehead and elbow kisses, when he feels too overwhelmed by the love he has for you.

When it comes to receiving, Rafayel melts every time you kiss his moles, especially since he has a lot. Even though your kisses are more playful, it's always full of love. The way you shower his face with kisses, leaves Rafayel in an absolute mess, but still wanting for more.

Marigold — Do they like it when you play with their hair? Do they like to play with your hair too?

Loves, loves, loves your hair! Rafayel supports you whenever you dye your hair in a new color, but he still loves your natural color the most. This's you after all, and you're perfect the way you are. Especially Rafayel likes when your hair grows back, so he can braid it. He finds this so intimate to braid your hair. Sometimes he twines flowers or beautiful hairpins made of shells and pearls in your hair. And be sure, his taste is amazing, so it's never pretentious and always suits you. Rafayel also enjoys helping you to dry your hair or play with your hair, running his fingers over your strands, while the two of you are cuddling.

You playing with his hair is the best way to calm Rafayel down, whenever he gets moody or feels tired. Even though he doesn't like cats, he has a lot in common with these cute creatures. He almost purrs, while you're playing with his hair. And if you stop doing this to tease him or just to check your phone out, Rafayel puts your hand on his head again, silently asking for affection. He just feels too good and relaxed to say something. But if you keep ignoring him, Rafayel starts whining and complaining, until you give up.

Poppy — How do they sleep with you? What's it like to share a bed with them?

His sleep schedule is awful because he often spends the nights by painting and sleeps just when he has time for this. But now you're with him, so his sleep schedule slowly started getting better. The favorite part of his day is the time when the two of you begin to get ready for bed. Firstly, the two of you take a bath together, helping each other with skincare routine, and then go to bed. Rafayel loves to cuddle you, lying face-to-face, because he wants you to be the last thing he sees before he falls asleep and the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. Rafayel always falls asleep after you, because he just can't stop himself from admiring your features. Your sleeping face is so precious, even if you're drooling or talking in your sleep, it's just so cute to Rafayel. He gently brushes your hair back over your ear, kisses your face and whispers to you sweet nothing. On these nights Rafayel feels that everything that has happened between you two was just a beautiful dream. And if he closes his eyes now, you'll disappear. On these nights when he's scared too much, Rafayel draws something. But if he finally falls asleep, Rafayel tends to hold you too tight. Sometimes you roll into him though and end up sleeping on the top of him, because Rafayel caught you.

Hydrangea — Dates headcanons. What kind of dates would they take you on? What is their favorite type of dates?

Beach dates. Rafayel truly loves spending time at the beach, especially when you're with him. He doesn't like too crowded places, when it comes to beach, preferring to be with you only. There are a lot of things you can do together! If the two of you have more playful mood, you goof around, playing in the water, building sandcastles and bickering whose is best after, drawing something in the sand and getting upset if the waves wash it out. But if you spend date night on the beach, it's much more romantic. The two of you walk on the beach, stealing kisses from each other time and again. Rafayel holds your hand, interlacing your fingers, and softly whispers you the old stories about Lemuria, sometimes it's funny ones, sometimes he opens his heart and shares with you the things that left the deep wounds in his soul. Rafayel ends up holding you after this, just to feel that you're here, with him, and you won't disappear again.

Lazy home dates. Rafayel spends a lot of time at home, since his painting studio is there too. There are a lot of things you can do without leaving home, whenever the two of you feel too lazy to do something. Painting together. Rafayel is more than happy that you enjoy painting. He finds it so romantic, when he holds your hand gently, guiding the bush in your hand. He definitely would like to do collaboration. And be sure that it absolutely doesn't matter what the two of you create, this will make a big splash. Taking a bath together. If Rafayel doesn't paint something, he takes a bath. And if you join him, he is over the moon. It's bubble bath salt, scented candles and the two of you, relaxing together. Rafayel loves helping you to wash your hair and would like you to help him too, because he finds this so intimate. He'd sing you softly, while he gently washes your hair to help you to relax after a hard day.

Traveling together. Since the two of you like traveling and adventures, you go looking for adventures, the new colors and inspiration for Rafayel's paintings very often, leaving all duties to crying Thomas. Rafayel is usually very hyped and positive at the start of your journey. But be careful, because he tends to get moody, whenever he's tired or feels unwell. Be patient with him, and Rafayel returns to normal pretty quickly. And if you feel unwell, he always stays positive and does his best to cheer you up, since your happiness is his priority. It's very fun to travel with Rafayel. He has been to many places and knows a lot, so Rafayel shows you a lot of new and beautiful things that only he knows.

[lilithschosen]

194. “you can take it like a good girl/boy, right?” (I love good boy Rio so I added that option into the prompt 👀)

listen i love good girl/good boy Rio AND good girl/good boy Agatha. they're both special to me. gender is fucky who cares eyyyy

Rio didn't need to head into work today, Chief Jones told her it was wasting funds to staff her when there was nothing to do. Not like she minded, she got paid to flirt with Agatha and steal Norm's food from the break room.

However the days she and Agatha don't work together are the ones where Agatha comes home practically vibrating from anger. It was a burden at the start but over time Agatha started to understand to leave her work stress at work and enjoy her time with Rio.

Tonight wasn't any different except for a text she got ten minutes before Agatha walked in the door.

"Be on your knees for me."

Nothing else.

They talked about it a while ago, Rio welcoming Agatha home with sex in whatever way she wanted. All she needed to do was text her to let her know what the game plan was.

When Agatha walked into the house to see Rio kneeling in the living room, her heart jumped to her throat.

"Look at you," Agatha shrugs her coat off, throwing the scarf along with it. "Such a good listener, aren't you?"

Agatha's hand brushes the stray strands of hair out of Rio's face, cupping her cheek in her palm. She smiles, standing up from her crouched spot with Rio kneeling in front of her.

With her eyes on Rio, she pulls her belt buckle open. Rio's eyes break from hers, watching her hands undo the button to her pants and drag the zipper down.

"Do you know what I need from you right now?"

Rio shakes her head, still staring as Agatha's hand dips beneath her pants. She catches the sight of black straps over her boxers and her mouth begins to water.

"I want you," Agatha starts, easing silicone out from the cloth confines it was stuck under. "To suck me off."

Rio takes her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down sharply. The purple toy stands at attention just in front of her face, but she doesn't move for it. Not yet.

"Go ahead, baby."

Rio reaches forward, one hand against Agatha's clothed thigh and the other at the base of the harness. She holds it steady, breathing in deep before she wraps her plush lips around the tip.

Agatha melts, imagining how good Rio's mouth would feel around her cock if it were real. Her fingers wind into Rio's hair, palm against the back of her head as she guides the toy further into her mouth.

Rio holds back, the toy not yet fully in her throat yet like she's used to. Agatha tuts, looking down at her.

"You can take it like a good boy, right?"

Rio's eyes flutter, lightheaded at the new term. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks the rest of the toy into her mouth and bobs back and forth on the length. Agatha groans, the phantom limb sending bolts of lightning to her clit each time she watches the purple disappear between Rio's lips fully.

"That's it," Agatha moans out, fingernails pushing into her scalp, "My good boy, Rio. Such a good boy."

[rosesonbreeze]

"I'm sweet as honey, but if someone gets in my way... I sting." It sounds more aggressive than it should. But Anna's are alight with something driven and competitive. A side often hidden behind all her good nature and sweetness. In the same way Aiden's soft underbelly is a shown to a privileged few. So, too, is Anna's cutting ambition and honesty. Except... Well, he'd see it anyway. Aiden sees her so clearly, it would be startling if it didn't make the hairs in the back of her neck raise with a tremble.

"Just none of that cocoa chia pudding crap." The go-to of many a model dietitian, quoted to be comparable to chocolate mousse. Anna crinkles her nose, the texture alone haunts her still. Luckily, "Though I'm lucky. Your old bachelor pad--" Because he's a bachelor no longer, right? Not with hand towels with daisies and lavender candles, it's not. "Wasn't some exercise in weird, fit bro health foods." Sure there's protein powders and granola bars. But at least there wasn't an entire freeze of chicken breast and brocolli.

She pushes her recliner back, steady against her seat as it transforms into a lay flat bed. Maybe she could ask the attendant to get the sheets, too, but frankly Anna's never been fussed about it. Once the lights go off, she will too. "Christopher." She tests out, and she wonders why she never found it in his file. "Like from Winnie the Pooh?" Anna doesn't know, of course, but if it's not in his file, then it has to mean something. And anyway, "Whatever the name, I'm crazy about the guy behind it." Simple as that, really.

"I know, babe. I promise." She says, not impatiently. But with a sigh that shows she hears him, loud and clear. It's in her nature to do anything for him, just like it's in his to never ask for anything. The combination of the two works in their favor this time. "But," she lifts her head. "It won't stop me from trying to do things for you, if I think it's good for you--" Case and point, her team ready to descend upon his London flat with one swoop.

"Two hours. Just enough time to clean your flat." It's a joke, obviously. AIden's place couldn't be any cleaner. Nary a sullied white glove, should an inspector look for any evidence. "Hmm..." She's not thinking about his request. Rather... "Sweet potato." She decides. "Yeah. That can be our safe word. Text me that, and I'll call Petra up. Tell her to back down." She trusts her team, of course. But just in case. "I'll be home at 1? Maybe midnight?" Or, if the captain's latest statement is to go by, just in time to see the end of the party. But she doesn't dangle the carrot. Instead;

"And I'll be here anyway I can." Outstretched on the chair, close to snoozing. But alert enough to see him enter the flat, and smile. A resounding thought in her head; I love talking to you, I love thinking about you... Shaking away the tigthening of her heart, she sighs. "I can't wait to see you all gussied up. You're going to look amazing." Not better, because it's impossible. But amazing in a different way.

“Is that the kinda ‘strong’ you wanna be? Ready to whoop ass the next time an Angel swings her wings at you?” Even without the training, he’d be Team Anna through and through. “I can do that.” Exercise comes down to simple science, and where his cooking hits its limitations, the access to top-tier private chefs can fill in. The sweets part is a different matter. If there’s one thing that he’s learned about discipline, it’s about identifying the way that it fits into an individual’s capacities and preferences. “Lotta options we can look at, to still incorporate sweets into your training regimen in a way that doesn’t make you feel deprived. Like— you know. Substitutions that don’t feel like them.”

He knows that’s not the most promising way to describe it, but he promises he’s got some ideas running around in there. Forgive him for focusing on the steps toward the flat. He takes them like he does whenever he’s alone, two at a time and with easy swiftness. Once he’s back in the safety of their entryway, he closes the door and tells her,

“It’s ‘Christopher,’ by the way.” Aiden Christopher Fitzgerald. There are very few things that he knows about his mother, but among those is her veneration of the Cross. The name and its significance— these are both details that he’s always kept to himself, in the same way that children carry memories that growing up overshadows, and how adults cling to details that life whittles away. Precious. Even now, sharing a tidbit that he's kept from all, including his employers.

"I know you'd never push me anywhere." Except for that one time when he refused to sleep, too busy stressing over player and scouting reports. But it doesn't count when Anna's only pushing him toward what his body needs— and it definitely doesn't count when she's pulling him toward the next discovery. "I'm fine with that," he nods back, putting away the last of their clothing. "—But A," he raises the phone back to that 'serious business' angle. "Promise me you won't do anything just for my sake? Take the job 'cause you want to take it." He doesn't think it's a big issue these days, but just in case. "They can't twist my arm about everything."

Tonight's party is one case of successful twisting. Compared to a couple hours earlier, however, he's feeling more optimistic.

"You got an ETA for their arrival? I'll forward you this month's guest code, in case they gotta park." He's not expecting an entire party bus full of glam, but... Well, maybe. If there's one thing he's starting to learn from the stream of boxes beginning to fill the guest room, you can never be too sure with Anna Ricci. "Can I..." He suddenly feels shy about asking. His voice softens some. "I don't wanna bother you too much about all of this, but is it all right if I still text?" And then he considers, "Can I have a safe word?" Just in case.

[billysjoel]

we were supposed to be just friends you don't live in my part of town, but maybe i'll see you out some weekend depending on what kind of mood and situation-ship i'm in and what's in my system i think there’s been a glitch (x)

[hyuny-bunny]

seasons // series

part v

summary: when the real threat of losing you to someone else becomes reality, what will minho do?

warnings: mentions of sex, female masturbation

part iv • masterlist

Seeing him sit outside your door, almost as disheveled as you was the last thing you expected. He was wearing those godforsaken grey sweats again with a t shirt and flannel. The way his eyes raked up your body taking in your appearance made you feel small, seeing he was already dissecting every inch of you to figure out where exactly you had been.

"You weren't answering your phone... I figured if I sat out here you'd come out eventually..." He trails off, the question about where you were hangs off his tongue.

There's a brief pause as you hold his gaze trying to decide if you should answer with an explanation or another question. Silence follows as you move to your apartment door, opening it for both of you to step inside. If he wanted answers, he would have to work for it.

"... where.... where were you?" He said looking at you still trying to decipher what's happening at this very moment.

"I... I stayed the night with a guy I met last night."

The tension was thick as you swallowed, meeting his gaze. His face remained stoic, any hint of disapproval or disgust or anger was undetectable. He just nodded once as if to say he understood that was enough to answer his question.

"I'm sorry.. for not calling or texting to let you know I was fine... I'm also sorry for exploding on you yesterday. I know you didn't mean to be hurtful."

He nods softly looking down before speaking up.

"I'm really sorry for what I said... I just want you to be safe.. and happy most of all... Since, you seem fine, I'll head home."

He turns his back to you heading for the door.

"Minho.." He stops in his tracks looking up at you, keeping that stoic face. "You don't have to go... so soon..."

He sighs before walking over to you, he brings you in for a small hug before patting your shoulder.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

It's all he gives you as he walks out leaving you standing in the middle of your apartment, somehow feeling guilty. His lack of a reaction felt jilting.

-

Minho went straight home, changing into gym clothes. He grabbed his bag, heading straight to the place he knew he could get out his frustrations in a safe way.

Throwing punch after punch into the body bag that swings from the ceiling. It isn't until Chan intervenes that he stops, the older warning him he needs to stop before he breaks his hand. Out of breath and sweaty, he reluctantly sits on the nearby bench where Chan watches as he takes off the glove revealing a very irritated hand, skin littered with popped blood vessels that would turn into bruises soon.

"What's up with you?" Chan knew him all too well, he could always tell the difference between Minho coming to work out to get a work out in versus the beaten down version of Minho that sat in front of him.

"She... She went out yesterday and this morning when I went by her apartment, she was coming back from staying the night at someone's place...."

Chan was fully aware of the longstanding feelings Minho had for you. He had known for years. Watching him get into a few relationships hoping to fill the void of not being able to have you as a romantic partner. Or whenever you got into a relationship and Minho would sulk like a battered cat. Chan sighs as he looks ahead.

"Okay, let me ask you this, why is it any different now then when she was dating someone?"

Minho can't meet his gaze.

"You know her better then anyone else, it was a fling, a one night stand that probably meant nothing-"

"She never stays the night." Minho's voice cuts him off.

"What?"

"She never stays the night, she always gone home after. So she either she liked it enough... or liked him enough... to stay until the morning."

"That doesn't mean anything, she could've been too tired to go home or.." Chan stops himself realizing whatever rational explanation he gave him wouldn't console his pouty friend.

"I just want her to see me... see me as someone who can be there to take care of her... Someone who could actually love her the way she deserves..." Minho trails off looking down.

"You can't keep sulking like this every time there's a slight chance that she either gets a boyfriend, which I am not implying that this is what this is, or starts to find interest in someone else... Either fess up or live with this reality."

Minho stares at his hands as bruises bloom over his knuckles. He huffs before standing up heading to the showers.

-

You stir the sauce around in the pot as the smell of sage & butter waft through the place. You can't help how easily you find Minho's scent pushing through even as you cook, it was almost nauseating. You place a headphone in your as you continue talking to Hyunjin on the phone. He was busy tonight and well... your body needed time to recover.

"I have a question and you can't make fun of me or laugh," You say as you take a clean spoon tasting the sauce before moving to put your gnocchi into the pan with the sauce."

"Okay, what's your question?" He asks hearing you stir the pasta around through phone, he imagines what you're wearing as you cook.

"When you asked me about the last time I had sex..." You say hesitantly waiting for him to laugh.

"Yeah, what about it?" He says matter of factly as he recalls the event.

"How... How did you know that I hadn't... in a while? Is that some sort of Alpha instinct that's kept secret?"

He stifles his laugh at the 2nd question not wanting to break the promise he agreed to.

"No, not necessarily... It's the same as when you kiss someone who's never kissed anyone before. You just kinda... feel it?"

"Are you say I was bad in bed?" You ask teasingly.

"God, no! It's just... I could sense... it had been a while and... I never thought of myself as someone who was stellar at sex but at minimum I know how to pleasure my partner," he pauses for a moment before continuing, "So with you, I thought you were either just really sensitive or... it had been a while... so when I asked it wasn't because I knew but just needed to reaffirm my initial... assumption."

"I don't know if I should feel offended or not.." You joke trying to come off as reassuring him that you were prodding for answers.

He didn't come off as some typical macho Alpha who thought of himself as a sex god but it was reassuring to know he knew himself well enough to be able to pleasure his partners.

The two of you continued to talk as you had your dinner with a small glass of wine to unwind a bit.

"I should probably let you go, have to prepare for my stuff for my classes tomorrow." You say with a sigh feeling a bit warm from the wine that made your cheeks tinge with a warmth that felt like the sun beaming down on you.

"When can I see you again?" He asks with a stupid grin that you can hear through the phone.

"Hmm... How about Friday night?" You ask in a flirty voice.

"Killing me here, I don't think I can wait that long..."

"First week back is always a bit chaotic so you'll just have to survive!" You tease as you stretch from your seat at the dinner table. He laughs warmly before reluctantly agreeing.

After letting him go from the call you clean up the mess from your dinner packing it away for a lunch for you and Minho tomorrow, an olive branch lunch that's packed with the a blueberry muffin you made for the morning. Food and gift giving was a mutual language between the two of you, that often meant gifting each other lunch or sweets.

You finally make your way to bed staring up at the ceiling as you try to get comfortable. You scroll through instagram for a bit swiping through peoples stories before you're forced to do a double- no, triple take at Chan's story. Chan was a friend of Minho and Jisung that you hung around often when you had group outings or house parties for 3Racha's demo releases. You had grown a bit closer to him with every time you saw him, he was another Alpha who had an understanding for your frustrations for other alphas of the male population.

The video was Minho boxing, repeatedly hitting a body bag... wearing was quite possibly the sluttiest thing a man could wear to the gym. It was a black compression shirt that the gave the perfect outline of his tits pecs in the shirt. There were very few occasions you had seen true anger or frustration from Minho, but it was obvious he was heated as he took repeated swings to the body bag that swung from the ceiling with the force of every hit.

Would it be wrong to admit how incredibly turned on it made you to see every muscle in his arms engaged making his pec's move and his stature seem so much bigger?

Either way it didn't stop you from you from watching it over and over until you felt the familar wetness pool in your underwear. Forcing you to reach beneath the fabric as you turned over rubbing your clit while imagine what it'd be like for him to fuck you with same aggression he took out on that body bag. Even as you orgasmed you couldn't help choking out his name in a whimper muffled by the pillow.

-

The next morning Minho came by to pick you up, driving you both to campus as you had worked out your schedules to work out so that you two would either start at the same time and likely end your days at the same time. He waited down stairs outside of his jeep waiting for you to come out, he always parked and stepped out to be the one to open your car door.

He watched you emerge with your shoulder brown satchel bag on and a bag of what looked like food. His eyes took in the way your hair perfect fell around your face, the perfectly slouched light wash of jeans and white buttoned blouse.

"Good Morning, Min, ready to deal with the nightmare of parking on the first day back?" You ask teasingly as you walk up to his side. He gives you a soft smirk rolling his eyes as he opens the door for you letting you climb in to the car waiting for you to settle before closing it and getting into the driver seat.

He wore his typical, light wash of jeans with an oversized grey hoodie that always looked so much cozier on him then anything else. It was typical for him as he didn't always want to wear sweats despite being a dancer needing the free flow of the material.

"The only thing I'm looking forward to is finally being able to choose good songs for the choreographies this year." He says as he starts the car.

Minho had recently stepped up into the role as captian of their dance crew this year. He was nominated by the last captain and most of his juniors, surpassing some of the seniors in which it would've been their last year to lead as captain. He had been the youngest member to get the position in the last 10 years.

"Oh that's right! What time are you supposed to meet today?" You ask as you open the bag of food you had brought.

"3:30pm, I'll be going over the rules and expectations then getting the new dancers settled in. I'm a bit nervous about getting them to see me as a leader of the group now.." He grips the steering wheel a bit tensely.

"It'll come with time but I'm sure you got it. And if they don't, then they're free to go else where if they don't like it." You say offering him words of encouragement. He glances over giving you a soft smile thanking you.

The car is filled with chatter and laughter, an easy feeling, a stark contrast to what yesterday felt like. A mutual unspoken understanding between the two of you to move forward. He finds parking in a building near your class as, before getting out you hand him the lunch you made him.

"Here, your lunch and a blueberry muffin of apology..." You say a bit quieter than you meant.

"Apology? For what?" He tilts his head taking the food staring at you with those endearing brown eyes.

"I don't know.. I just felt guilty about how worried I made you..." You say looking at him a bit solemnly.

"You don't need to apologize for anything, I was an asshole... However, I still will be devouring this muffin with or without an unnecessary apology." He says gleefully as he takes a bite moaning dramatically as the taste hits his mouth, making you laugh as he makes a mess of himself.

He couldn't help but feel simultaneously guilty and warm at the idea that you felt so bad that you needed to bake him a muffin for him to feel remedied. His dramatic eating of the muffin made the unease you felt from the day before lighter.

The two of you walked towards the english building, light chatting as he threw an arm around your shoulder pulling you close to him. Minho enjoyed the feel of you close against him knowing once you pulled away, the scent would be all over him for the rest of the day. The sweet smell of dark cherries and almond bitters that made him feel like he just walked into a bakery. He kisses the top of your head before parting ways, it was something he did often but this time it made your heart do a flip.

Moving through your classes with much ease, it's around 4pm you finish the last. You walk through the campus, taking in the breeze that blows through the shaded areas as the sun sits still high in the sky. You find the arts building, sitting on an empty bench with a book as you decided to wait for Minho to finish his dance class. You glanced through the window looking to see Minho at the head of the class leading, he looked like he was starting to go through the choreo he had made a few weeks ago to start the class on. You can see Felix's blonde hair bobbing around making you laugh as you see his half ponytail flopping around with every move.

Your laughing is cut short as you gasp for air seeing Hyunjin's reflection in the mirror dancing beside Minho. His body moving fluidly as he follows Minho's instructions, you duck down beneath the window contemplating on running away. It's too late for decision to be made as Jisung begins to approach about to yell your name in typical Jisung fashion. Abandoning your belongings on the bench as he begins to pass approach the open door that leads directly into the dance room, as you approach Jisung at a desperate speed to clamp your hand over his mouth, it's too late as he utters the first letters forcing you turn just in time to become in line of sight of Minho and Hyunjin who glance in your direction. They both wave with a smile on their face before the realization hits that their eyes are on the same person.

part vi

[bonicedemandarina]

Hiiiii *puts mizisua in these popular album covers and runs away*