#that they all would truly win. no way! who i think out of these have the biggest chance of winning... maybe panthers or stars

[wordsofelie]

🔭Saturn

part of my observatory event, requested by @stellar-haikyuu <3

kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

summary: you’ve finally found a rival who meets your standards. too bad the man is the most infuriating, stupid and annoying person on earth.

content warnings: high school setting, hurt/comfort, sports / academic rivals, swearing, reader kinda has an inferiority complex

words count: 1.4k

It started as a game. A silly, stupid, little game.

At least, that’s what you told yourself at first.

You’ve always been rather—competitive. Ever since you were a kid, you chased after every first place, every gold medal, every record waiting to be broken. Higher grades, longer races in PE, and everything else that would make you better. And then, you found volleyball—a sport that only fed that hunger, made the desire to win burn even brighter.

But before, no one had ever truly met your standards.

That is, until you met him.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

You became classmates in your first year of high school. You didn’t pay much attention to him on your first day (he seemed like the perfect depiction of a teenage boy—messy-haired, slouched over his desk, probably more interested in making dirty jokes than studying). But when the first chemistry grades came, your jaw dropped—that bastard had a better score than you. Maybe it was chance, you tried to tell yourself at first, but the semester passed, and his grades only improved.

“Need something?” is the first thing he ever asked you.

You didn’t realise you were staring at the paper in his hands until his voice reached your ears.

“I don’t,” you quickly regained your composure, clearing your throat and lifting up your chin.

His mouth turned into a side smirk. Infuriating. “Cause I can tutor you if you want.”

That motherfucker, is the only way you could describe Kuroo at this moment. You gripped your pen like it was his throat. Your hands clenched so hard your nails dug into your palms.

Still, you forced a smile in return, “I’ll pass thanks.”

“Too bad. I’ve got the annals from last year’s exam at home. I could’ve lent them to you. Or maybe they’d be too hard for you to understand.” He rested his chin in his palm calmy, looking almost bored.

Oh, you were going to kill him.

“Don’t bother, I fear I might smash your face with the book.”

His eyes widened in surprise, but his laid-back attitude came back just as fast.

“You can try, but I don’t think you can reach me. I’ve seen you play, I jump higher than you, you know.”

“Wow. Real mature-”

You were convinced the game could have gone on for hours, but unfortunately—or fortunately—the bell rang, and the class got dismissed.

You remember watching him getting up. If you didn’t just get belittled by him maybe you could have given credit to his looks. Tall, athletic, confident. That’s what Kuroo was like in your eyes. If he didn’t have a shitty personality and a stupid hairstyle you think that maybe he could have been less unbearable. But as you got out of the classroom, you only wanted to prove him wrong and dethrone him.

Your first-ever interaction transformed into a declaration of war. And the war lasted all high school.  Because, obviously, Kuroo wasn’t just good in chemistry—maths, physics, PE. Teachers loved him, praised him, classmates laughed with him. He was perfect in everything. And what made your blood boil in your veins was how effortless he made everything look. You sacrificed so much to be where you were, gave so much passion and time into school that you couldn’t stand the sight of him acting like it was easy.

And he played volleyball, which gave you even more reason to compare yourself to him.

It got worse when you both became captains of your team. You started comparing scores and blocks and victories.

At first, you liked the unspoken rule between you—the constant back and forth, the rivalry that kept you both on edge whether it was for school or volleyball.

Then, it became an obsession.

You started waking up earlier to go for a run, going to bed later to study for exams. You did everything you could and still—he was better.

You remember seeing Kuroo once on the sidelines at one of your practice matches, grinning at you with hands on his hips. “You’re looking a little slow today, Captain.”

You shot him a glare.

“Why are you even here Kuroo?” You spat once the game was over. “You’re not gonna get any girls with that haircut, you know.”

“Making fun of my hair again? You’re getting a little repetitive these days.” He chuckled. Gosh, you hated this laugh. “Besides, there’s only one girl I want attention from.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away, but deep down, your heart was pounding fast. You hated how good he was. You hated that he pushed you to be better. And more than anything—you hated how much he could control your emotions, making you sad and angry and frustrated just by being close to you.

The Inter-High qualifications arrived too fast, but you were ready.

Your team had trained relentlessly. You’d pushed yourself harder than ever, and now, it was time to prove that you could do this. That you could win.

You made it to the semi-finals. You were so close.

And then—you lost.

You didn't even make it to the finals, let alone Nationals. Your dream shattered in front of you, a cruel joke the universe had played at your expense.

You shook hands with the winning team, congratulated them like a good athlete should. Then you headed to the locker room, collapsing onto the bench; your throat was tight and your eyes burnt.

You didn't hear the door opening.

And a few seconds later, you knew he was here.

You hated him. Kuroo Tetsurou.

You hated him from the bottom of your heart.

And that hatred only grew bigger now that he was standing there, hands in his pockets, ready to make fun of your loss.

“I’m not in the mood for your teasing, Kuroo.”

Silence.

Then, softly: “I’m not here to tease.”

You finally looked up. His usual smirk was nowhere to be found, you almost missed it. Your eyes immediately stared at the floor again. “I just-” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t deserve this.”

You scoffed, bitter. “Yeah? Tell that to the scoreboard.”

Kuroo took a step closer. “I know how much this meant to you.”

Your jaw tightened. You couldn't look at him. If you did, you’d break. And you didn't want to break in front of him.

“Don’t you ever get tired of always winning?”

Kuroo blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You’re always ahead. Always. You beat me in volleyball. You beat me in grades. You beat me at everything. It’s exhausting.” Your voice cracked, and you hated it. “I’ve spent years trying to keep up with you. And now-” You laughed, but it was humourless. “Now, you get to go to Nationals while I sit at home and watch.”

Kuroo frowned. He opened his mouth—you saw it from the corner of your eyes. “I never—”

“You never what?” you snapped. “Never tried to one-up me? Never enjoyed being better than me? Cause I’m way behind you, aren’t I?”

“That’s not-” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I never wanted to beat you.”

“Bullshit. Every time we got a grade, you asked to see mine. You came to every practice game, telling me I could do more. You stayed late after school just to show me how your receives were better than mine. At tournament, you came in the frontline just to see me lose and-”

Kuroo shook his head. “It’s not that-” He hesitated. “You inspire me.”

Your heart stopped beating for a second, or two. “What?”

“You’re the best opponent I’ve ever had,” he admitted. “And yeah, I like pushing you, but not because I want to humiliate you. I just-” He rubbed the back of his neck. For the first time in the three years you had known him, he looked nervous. “I like seeing you play. I like watching you get better.”

You stared at him. This—this wasn't how your conversations usually went. Kuroo was supposed to be smug, sarcastic, insufferable. Not… this.

Not kind.

“I don’t need your pity,” you finally muttered as you looked away.

Kuroo stepped closer again and knelt down in front of you. “It’s not pity.”

“Then what is it?” The words quieted one after the other.

He seemed to be looking for the right words. But then—

“I’m going to miss you.”

You froze and your heart stuttered, and you hated that it did. (Or maybe the feeling wasn’t so bad, maybe you didn’t hate it, maybe you could get used to it.)

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you asked. You tried to sound annoyed instead of breathless, but your voice betrayed you.

Kuroo grinned—soft, for once. “It means I don’t want this to be the end of our game. Even in uni, even when we’re old and can’t play volleyball anymore, I want you to remain my best opponent.”

You stared at him. He was serious.

“You’re an idiot.”

He chuckled. “Maybe.”

A few seconds passed before he spoke again. With his usual smirk and his stupid bed hair, he asked: “Need something?”

And then—because you were exhausted, because you’d lost everything that day, because you didn't have the energy to fight anymore—you let yourself leaned into him, just a little.

His arms were warm as they wrapped around you.

Tears started falling from your eyes, your muscles eased. Everything hurt and softened at the same time.

He was right. Maybe this wasn't the end of the game.

Maybe it was just a new round.

a/n: i had so much fun writing this <33

thank you so so much to @keishuii for beta-reading it, you’re the best!!

[devdozes]

♣ Whatever happened to the Hayloft? (pt.1)

wohooo modern au! anyways uh reader is part of kremnoan national agency and epos is the enemy EDIT: PART TWO IS POSTED!!

The world always had a way of discarding those who had completed their given role, and You learned that lesson the hard way.

You weren’t born in Kremnos, but you had carved a space for yourself in its investigation unit. It wasn’t out of loyalty or duty but because Eurypon had given you something—an offer, that too an undeniable one. You hunted the rot lurking in the shadows, the kind of filth that thrived in places where the law looked away. Because the offer was a mutual win, To absolutely destroy Epos.

Your last mission should have been a victory. You eliminated the threat, wiped out the infection before it could spread further. You expected gratitude, recognition—at the very least, acknowledgment that you had done the right thing.

Instead, you were met with silence. Then, whispers. Then, a sudden decision was handed down as if it were carved in stone: your removal from the unit, the same unit to which Eurypon himself added you in. And then, you were removed by your superiors, and that same decision was approved by that bastard Eurypos himself.

They told you it was protocol, that your methods were reckless, that you had overstepped. But you weren’t stupid. The target you eliminated had been a benefactor, slipping money into the right hands to stay untouchable. The same hands that had signed off on your expulsion.

Disgrace. That’s what they called it. An exile disguised as procedure. You weren’t arrested, weren’t silenced permanently—just thrown out like something inconvenient.

Your badge was taken. Your access revoked. The work you dedicated yourself to, gone in an instant.

No goodbyes. No allies. Just you, standing at the threshold of a city that no longer wanted you.

The mission played over and over in your mind. "Observe the enemy's intentions and eliminate them." That had been your directive. You did exactly that.

You spent weeks following him, watching him slip through the cracks of Kremnos’ justice system, paying his way out of every accusation, every crime. You watched him destroy lives, snuffing out the weak like they were nothing more than pawns in his personal game. And yet, no one ever stopped him. No one ever tried. He wasn’t just another criminal—he was protected. A necessary evil, they called him. Essential to the city’s survival.

You knew better.

The night of the mission still clung to you, vivid in every detail. The air had been thick with rain, your coat heavy with moisture as you pressed into the shadows of the alley. The target had been cornered, his options dwindling with every step you took forward.

"You don’t want to do this," he had said, voice shaking but still laced with arrogance. "You think you’re doing something noble? I keep the wheels turning. Without me, this city crumbles."

You hesitated—not out of doubt, but out of anger. Did he truly believe that? That he was untouchable, that he could buy his way out even now? That the rules didn’t apply to him?

Your grip on your weapon had been steady, your mind clear. "Then let it crumble."

A single shot. A clean execution.

The silence that followed had been deafening. The city continued on, indifferent. No sirens, no rush of justice arriving too late. Just the sound of rain washing away the blood.

You had fulfilled your mission. You had done what you were told.

And yet, they cast you aside like you had betrayed them.

Confusion twisted in your gut, warring with the certainty that you had done the right thing. Hadn’t you? Or had you simply played the role of executioner while the real enemies remained seated in their offices, drinking their fine liquor, counting their bloodstained money?

As the weight of their betrayal settled in, there was no regret.

But the anger remained, burning beneath your skin.

You had done the right thing.

Even if no one else would admit it. They were all money-hungry cowards.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!". You threw a pillow at the screen with a frustrated groan. The TV show had been a mindless distraction, something to drown out the thoughts clawing at the back of your mind, but now it was just fueling your frustration. The female lead—who had spent the entire season developing chemistry with the actually interesting, funny, and devastatingly handsome second lead—had just thrown it all away for the blandest, most insufferably boring male lead imaginable.

"Oh, sure! Pick the emotionally constipated guy with all the personality of an unseasoned mashed potato! That makes so much sense!" You snatched the remote, furiously hitting the rewind button just to glare at the scene again. "This man wrote you poetry, He made you laugh! Meanwhile, your so-called true love hasn’t smiled once in twelve episodes and the ONLY thing he did was to accept you and give you flowers, which is the bare fucking MINIMUM!"

You slumped back against your pillows, glaring at the ceiling. Maybe it was the betrayal, the unfairness of it all—both in the show and in your own life—that made your blood boil. The second lead had done everything right. He had been there, had supported her, had actually put in the effort. Your fingers curled into the blanket, irritation and something heavier twisting in your gut. The familiar weight of injustice, of being discarded despite doing exactly what was asked of you.

"Ridiculous," you muttered, reaching for the half-empty bag of chips beside you and stuffing a handful into your mouth. "I swear, if they make him attend her wedding in the finale, I’m going to go batshit insane."

And then the finale aired.

The second lead sat in the audience, watching with a wistful smile as the female lead exchanged vows with the brick wall of a main character.

You stared at the screen, jaw tightening. The remote was in your hand, the power button just within reach.

Click.

The TV screen went black.

Without hesitation, you tossed the remote onto the couch, grabbed your bike keys, and swung on your jacket. Enough of this nonsense. You needed something to cool your frustration before you did something drastic—like throwing your TV out the window.

"I am not dealing with this bullshit anymore, isn't tv supposed to calm you down? why is increasing my already high blood pressure"

You quickly stomp out the door, put on your shoes, and run down the stairs quickly, and jump on your bike. from rage or excitement idk

The ice cream shop was nearly empty when you arrived, save for the cashier—a familiar silver-haired young man with a bright grin that immediately screamed trouble. Caelus.

"Well, well, well! If it isn’t my favorite brooding customer!" Caelus leaned dramatically over the counter, resting his chin on his hands. "What’ll it be tonight? Let me guess—something bitter, to match the look on your face?" that zesty bitch

Before you could retort, the door swung open violently, and a blur of motion tackled you from behind. "[Name]!" Stelle practically jumped on you, clinging to your shoulders like an overgrown koala. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she stuck her tongue out at Caelus. "Beat you to them first!"

Caelus gasped in mock horror. "Betrayal! I was just about to offer them a special ‘overdramatic protagonist’ discount!"

You groaned, trying to pry Stelle off. "I just wanted ice cream, not sibling chaos."

"Too late!" Stelle grinned. "We come as a package deal!" Caelus scoffed, dramatically flipping an imaginary cape over his shoulder. "Excuse you, I am the main event. You’re just the annoying sidekick."

"Excuse you," Stelle shot back, finally releasing you only to jab a finger into Caelus’s chest. "I am the superior sibling here. I was born first."

"You both are twins." You say with the most tired expression on your face while rubbing your temples.

"And yet I’m still more mature," Caelus countered clearly ignoring your words, flashing a smug grin.

"You literally tried to eat a rock yesterday!"

"It looked edible!"

"It was glowing blue!"

You sighed, rubbing your temples as they continued bickering like children fighting over the last cookie. "Can I please just order my ice cream before you two kill each other?"

Caelus instantly straightened, clearing his throat and putting on his best ‘professional’ expression—though the effect was ruined by Stelle making faces behind his back.

"Of course! What can I get you, dear customer?" He batted his long-ass eyelashes exaggeratedly, voice dripping with fake sweetness.

Before you could respond, Stelle leaned in. "They’ll have the saddest, most depressing flavor you’ve got. Something that really screams ‘I got kicked out of a corrupt government unit and now I’m having an existential crisis over fictional characters.’"

Caelus nodded solemnly, stroking his chin. "Ah, yes. That’s a classic order. I recommend the ‘Betrayal Blackberry’ or the ‘Melancholy Mint.’"

"Or," Stelle added, grinning, "we could go for full self-pity mode and get the ‘Cold and Alone Cookie Dough.’"

You glared at both of them. "You two are the absolute worst."

"Yeah, yeah, we know," Caelus said cheerfully. "So, which depressing flavor will it be?"

"...Cold and Alone Cookie Dough."

They high-fived.

"You guys suck," you muttered, grabbing your ice cream and biting the waffle cone and ice cream with unnecessary force.

"Oh, don’t be like that," Stelle cooed, flopping into the chair across from you and stealing a bite of your ice cream before you could stop her.

Caelus leaned on the counter, watching with the grin of someone who lived purely to be a menace. "So, tell us—was it a TV show or real life that caused this spiral into frozen dairy despair?"

You debated throwing your ice cream at his face.

As you stepped out of the shop, the cool night air wrapped around you, the taste of cookie dough and vanilla lingering on your tongue. The ridiculous bickering between Stelle and Caelus still echoed behind you, but for once, instead of irritation, it left a small smile on your face.

"Try not to get arrested!" Caelus called after you with a cheeky wave.

"And don’t die!" Stelle added, throwing in a thumbs-up.

"You guys act like I can’t handle myself," you scoffed, waving lazily over your shoulder as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

The moment lasted exactly three seconds before someone slammed into you.

Your grip on the ice cream loosened, the cone slipping from your fingers in slow motion, the pale brown-dotted biege scoop tumbling unceremoniously onto the pavement.

You barely registered the loss of your dessert because the person who bumped into you—a hooded stranger—was already darting away, their head ducked low. A second later, shouts erupted from down the street.

"Hey! Stop that guy!"

"He stole my bag!"

"Someone grab him!"

You blinked, staring after the retreating figure.

Then, slowly, your gaze dropped to the fallen ice cream, the way it lay pitifully on the ground, melting into a sad puddle.

Your eye twitched.

Alright. The theft? Definitely a problem.

But ruining your ice cream? That was just personal.

"HEY, YOU SON OF A—" You took off in a sprint, instincts kicking in before you even thought about it.

The stranger whipped his head around in alarm, realizing that not only was he being chased—but that his pursuer was very, very angry.

"Oh, you better start running!" you yelled, pushing forward with even more speed.

"WAIT—WHAT—WHY ARE YOU CHASING ME?!" the thief shouted over his shoulder, dodging past pedestrians.

"YOU RUINED MY ICE CREAM, YOU COWARD!"

That seemed to genuinely throw him off. He stumbled slightly before regaining his pace, muttering something under his breath about lunatics.

Behind you, Stelle and Caelus had stepped outside just in time to witness the scene.

Caelus let out a low whistle. "Aaaand there she goes."

Stelle crossed her arms, grinning. "Do we help?"

Caelus hummed, pretending to think. "...Nah. This seems personal."

You took a sharp turn into the alleyway, cutting off the thief’s path before he could escape into the maze of side streets. He skidded to a stop, looking around frantically like a trapped rat.

"Alright, asshole," you panted, rolling your shoulders as you stepped forward. "You made me drop my ice cream. Now I have to kick your ass on principle."

The thief let out a high-pitched laugh, one that sounded more nervous than anything. "L-Let’s not be hasty now!"

You blinked.

That voice.

That infuriatingly familiar, weaselly voice.

Your eyes narrowed as the thief slowly turned around, hands raised in mock surrender.

Purple hair. Cocky grin. Shady coat.

"Sampo?" you deadpanned.

"Ahahaha... surprise?" Sampo Koski grinned, but the sweat dripping down his forehead told you everything.

You stared at him. Then at the stolen bag slung over his shoulder. Then back at him.

"...You stole someone’s bag?"

"Hey, hey, hey, let’s not use such harsh words!" Sampo waved his hands, stepping back. "I prefer ‘borrowing without permission’—"

Your glare intensified.

He coughed. "Temporarily relocating belongings—"

You cracked your knuckles.

"—IT’S A MISUNDERSTANDING, I SWEAR!"

Before he could bolt again, you lunged, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him close. "You owe me ice cream, you rat bastard."

Sampo held up his hands in surrender. "H-How about I get you two? Three! Three ice creams! My treat!"

"You are so lucky I don’t punch you right now," you growled, releasing him with a shove. "Now return the damn bag before I make you eat pavement."

Sampo chuckled nervously. "Right, right—of course! No problem! Consider it already done!"

Just as he said that, the original owner of the bag—an angry looking woman—came sprinting up, flanked by two security officers.

"There he is!" she shouted, pointing directly at Sampo.

He stiffened. "Ah. Well. This is awkward."

You smirked. "Oh no, please go on. I’d love to see how you talk your way out of this one."

Sampo shot you a pleading look before sighing dramatically. "Alright, alright, no need for handcuffs! It’s all a big miscommunication, I assure you!"

As the officers descended on him, you simply stood back, arms crossed, enjoying every second of his downfall.

. . . .

As the security officers reached for Sampo, he shot you one last desperate look—the kind that screamed "Help me, oh great and merciful person whom I may have slightly inconvenienced!"

You rolled your eyes.

"Hey," you called out to the officers, stepping forward. "This dumbass already realized he messed up. No need to rough him up."

The security guards hesitated. The woman, now clearly an elderly lady with sharp eyes, frowned at you.

"Are you vouching for him?" one of the guards asked, skeptical.

"Pfft— No." You snatched the bag from Sampo’s hands before he could protest and turned to the woman. "Here. Safe and sound."

The old lady blinked, surprised. Then, with a warm smile, she took the bag. "Oh, bless your heart, dear!"

Meanwhile, the guards turned their attention to Sampo again.

"Hey, would you look at the time!" Sampo chirped, already inching away. "I must be going—"

You stuck your foot out.

Sampo tripped but recovered quickly, casting you a betrayed look.

You sighed dramatically. "Alright, alright, he’s harmless. Just let him go."

The officers exchanged glances but ultimately relented, grumbling as they backed off. The elderly woman gave you another grateful nod before walking off, leaving you alone with the notorious conman.

Sampo, ever the opportunist, dusted himself off with a wide grin. "Wow! You actually helped me! Didn’t know you cared so much—"

Your fist cracked against his head lightly—a warning tap, really.

"Ow!"

"You owe me ice cream, Koski." You grabbed his collar before he could escape. "And a damn good explanation."

Sampo chuckled nervously. "Ehehe… w-well, you see—"

You dragged him back toward the ice cream shop.

"Talk. Now."

As the bell chimed upon your return, Caelus and Stelle looked up from behind the counter—only to immediately burst into laughter.

Caelus nearly collapsed onto the register, wheezing. "Oh my god."

Stelle clutched her stomach, barely able to breathe. "What— what is that look on your face—?"

Because, standing at the entrance of the shop, you wore the most dangerously peaceful smile imaginable. A smile that promised violence.

And in your grasp, Sampo Koski dangled half-dragged by the collar of his coat, groaning dramatically. "Mercy! Mercy, I say!"

Caelus wiped a tear from his eye. "Did you adopt a stray, [Name]? Or—wait—did the stray adopt you?!"

"Shut up," you said sweetly, before unceremoniously dumping Sampo onto the floor.

"Oof—!" He sprawled out like a ragdoll. "Rude."

You turned to Caelus, still smiling. "Another one of my usual. On him." You jabbed a thumb at Sampo, who gave a weak thumbs-up from the floor.

Stelle snickered. "You got a sugar daddy now?"

"More like a debt-ridden weasel who owes me for ruining my first ice cream." You crossed your arms. "And I will be collecting."

Sampo scrambled up, brushing himself off. "Now, now! Let’s not be hasty—"

Caelus grinned, already scooping your ice cream. "Oh, no. We love hasty."

Stelle smirked. "So, Koski—" She leaned over the counter. "—care to explain what the fuck just happened?"

Sampo let out a nervous chuckle, straightening his coat as he glanced between you, Stelle, and Caelus—all three of you wearing eerily expectant expressions.

"Now, now," he started, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Surely there’s no need for such hostility! Let’s all take a deep breath, relax, and—"

You grabbed a chair and turned it around, sitting on it backward like you were about to interrogate him. "Talk."

Caelus, ever the opportunist, slid a cup of water across the counter like he was in some kind of detective movie. Stelle leaned in closer, grinning.

"Spill."

Sampo sighed dramatically. "Ahh, what a cruel world! A man can’t even do a little bit of freelance item relocation without being hunted down like a criminal—"

"Because you are one?" you deadpanned.

"Details!" He waved you off. "See, my dear friends, it’s all about perspective! To you, I might look like some shady—albeit handsome—fellow running through the streets, but to others, I am simply a humble entrepreneur!"

Caelus snorted. "Humble, my ass."

You tapped your fingers against the chair. "So what, you just happened to rob an old lady in front of a crowd?"

"*Whoa!*Whoa! Let’s not throw around words like ‘rob,’" Sampo said, looking genuinely offended. "She was the one who had something very valuable, and I simply liberated it for a bit! Then I was going to return it—eventually!"

"Eventually my ass," you muttered.

Stelle grinned. "So, what was in the bag, huh? Stacks of cash? A top-secret government file? The legendary lost treasure of—"

Sampo groaned, rubbing his face. "Ugh, it was a bunch of handmade scarves!"

There was silence.

Then Caelus burst out laughing again. Stelle doubled over, wheezing.

You blinked. "Wait, what?"

Sampo slumped over the table. "I thought it was something else!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "You—stole scarves? From an old lady? And got chased down the street for it?"

Sampo threw his arms in the air. "I panicked!"

Caelus wiped a tear from his eye, grinning. "Man, you really are the worst at this."

"I’m usually so good at this!" Sampo groaned, before giving you the most pitiful look possible. "You believe me, don’t you?"

You took your freshly made ice cream from Caelus, making a show of enjoying the first bite. Then, without breaking eye contact, you reached out and grabbed Sampo’s wallet right from his coat.

"Hey—!"

You flipped it open, pulled out enough to cover the ice cream, and slammed the cash onto the counter. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Caelus let out an exaggerated "oohhh!" while Stelle outright clapped.

Sampo sighed, defeated. "You wound me, [Name]. Truly."

You smirked. "Next time, watch where you’re running. Or maybe don’t steal from old ladies."

Sampo pouted. "Lesson learned… probably." that fucking whore

With the sweet taste of victory (and ice cream) on your tongue, you leaned back in your chair, savoring every bite while Sampo sulked dramatically across from you. Stelle was still giggling every now and then, and Caelus had taken it upon himself to reenact Sampo’s very ungraceful escape attempt using napkins and straws.

You took another slow, deliberate spoonful, making a show of enjoying it just to rub salt in Sampo’s wounded pride.

"Mmm. So worth the trouble."

Sampo groaned, slumping over the table. "This is cruel and unusual punishment. Watching someone else enjoy what should’ve been mine."

"You paid for this," you reminded him.

"And yet, somehow, I feel robbed," he sighed.

Stelle grinned. "Now you know how that old lady felt."

Sampo shot her a betrayed look, but before he could get another word in, you set your spoon down, stretching with a satisfied sigh. "Alright, I’m heading home before something else drags me into its nonsense."

"Awww," Stelle whined. "You sure? You could stick around and watch Caelus keep clowning on Sampo."

Caelus, who had been dramatically dropping a napkin “thief” off a table ledge, grinned. "I’ve got at least ten more skits in me."

Sampo groaned louder. "You’re all terrible people."

You laughed, standing up. "I’m sure you’ll survive, Sampo. Or not. Either way, not my problem."

With a final wave to the chaotic duo, you exited the shop, stepping into the cool night air. Your bike was parked nearby, and you swung a leg over it with ease, the quiet hum of the streets a welcome change from all the chaos.

For the first time in a while, a genuine smile settled on your face.

As you settled onto your bike, ready to head home, a flicker of movement in your peripheral vision caught your attention.

A hooded figure stood near the alley across the street, leaning casually against the wall as if waiting for something—or someone. The dim glow of a nearby streetlamp barely illuminated his features, but for a split second, you caught a glimpse of something familiar.

Ash-blonde hair with red tips.

Your grip on the handlebars tightened slightly. A strange sense of recognition stirred in your chest, but you pushed it down. You were tired—you’d had enough surprises for one night.

With a shake of your head, you dismissed the thought. Probably just some random guy. Not your business.

You revved your bike, the engine’s low hum filling the silence. The hooded figure didn’t move, didn’t react.

And so, you turned your attention back to the road and rode off into the night, leaving the stranger—and whatever trouble he might bring behind because you had enough for one fucking night

. . . . .

The ride home was uneventful, the cool night air doing little to wash away the lingering irritation from earlier. You parked your bike, stretched out your sore limbs, and stepped inside. The dim glow of your apartment welcomed you, quiet and still—just the way you liked it.

You tossed your jacket onto the couch, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and were about to collapse onto your bed when your phone buzzed.

Unknown Caller.

You stared at the screen, debating whether to pick up. Something about it felt… off.

Against your better judgment, you answered.

A familiar voice crackled through the speaker. "…[Name]?"

You froze.

Aglaea.

It had been months since you last heard her voice. Since she let you walk away without a word. Since she didn’t defend you when you needed her most.

Your grip on the phone tightened. "What do you want?"

There was a pause. A hesitation. Then—

"Eurypon is dead."

The words settled over you like a thick fog. Cold. Heavy.

You blinked once. Then twice.

Dead?

Eurypon—the same bastard who removed you from the unit, who framed you as reckless, who ensured you’d never work in the investigation unit again—was dead?

You weren’t sure how to feel. Shocked? Maybe. But there was no grief. No sadness. Just an empty sort of understanding.

People like Eurypon made enemies. It was only a matter of time.

You exhaled, voice steady, emotionless. "I'm not in the investigation unit anymore, Aglaea. Don’t contact me."

A beat of silence. Then, Aglaea’s voice softened. "I know," she murmured. "I just thought… you should hear it from me. Not the news. Not anyone else."

You didn’t respond.

Another pause. Then, quieter—almost hesitant—she added, "Save my number, [Name]. Even if you don’t want to talk to me. Just… save it."

You sighed, fingers hovering over the screen.

Then, without another word, you declined the call.

But you did save her number.

. . . .

You groaned, throwing yourself onto the couch before grabbing the remote and flicking on the TV. After the chaotic mess of the night, all you wanted was some mindless background noise.

Flipping through the channels, you paused at the news. Maybe they had an update on something actually interesting.

"Breaking News: Former Investigation Unit Director, Eurypon, Found Dead."

Your brows raised slightly. So it was real.

The reporter droned on about the details—Eurypon’s body found in a private residence, a single bullet wound to the head, no signs of forced entry. But what really caught your attention was the next segment.

A figure appeared on the screen, standing at a podium in a sharply pressed uniform, flanked by two other high-ranking officials. His face was one you recognized instantly.

Ash-blonde hair with red tips, slightly messy yet unmistakable. Cold golden eyes staring through the camera with that same unyielding intensity.

Mydei.

Your former teammate.

No. More than that.

Eurypon’s son.

Your lips curled into something between amusement and curiosity. So he was the one stepping into his father’s shoes now?

Then, before you could process anything further—

BZZZT.

Your phone vibrated against your stomach. Another unknown number.

You groaned, throwing a pillow across the room in frustration. "Are you kidding me?"

Swiping the call open, you pressed the phone to your ear. "Whoever this is, I swear—"

"[Name]."

You blinked.

That voice. Low. Steady. Unshaken.

You glanced at the TV again, and there he was—Mydei, standing there like he owned the damn world.

Slowly, you sat up, adjusting your grip on the phone. "You killed Eurypon, didn’t you?"

There was a beat of silence.

Then, calmly, Mydei responded, "Yes."

No hesitation. No guilt. No unnecessary justifications. Just a simple, undeniable confirmation.

You exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking your head. "Well. Can’t say I’m surprised."

Eurypon was a bastard. A snake who sold out his own people for power. You weren’t about to shed any tears over him.

"That’s not why I’m calling." Mydei’s voice was clipped, professional. "We need you back in the investigation unit. There’s a mission that requires your expertise."

Your amusement faded.

And then you laughed.

Loud. Sharp. Unbelieving.

"You think I’d ever go back to that corrupt mess?" you asked, a grin stretching across your face. "You’re funny, Mydei. I don’t do favors for free, and I especially don’t work with the people who threw me out like trash."

There was silence on the other end.

Then, a sigh.

"I expected you to say that," Mydei admitted, his voice still composed. "But it was worth a try."

"You seriously thought I’d agree?"

"I thought you might consider it."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Hard pass."

Another pause. Then, softer than before—barely noticeable—he said, "…I see."

You almost laughed again. Even now, he was as restrained as ever.

"Tell you what," you said, stretching lazily against the couch. "How about next time you call, you don’t ask me to clean up the investigation unit’s mess? Try something fun for once."

A quiet breath from the other end, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

Then, his voice returned to that same controlled, unreadable tone.

"Just wait till 25th April."

And with that, the call ended.

You exhaled, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you.

So Mydei was pulling the strings now.

And he had no qualms about getting blood on his hands.

You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

April 25th

Your phone buzzed.

You barely spared it a glance, still sprawled out on your couch, half-asleep from last night’s late ride. The screen flashed with an unknown number again.

A groggy sigh left your lips as you grabbed it. "This better not be another waste of my time."

"[Name]."

You sat up instantly.

That voice—steady, composed, unmistakably Mydei.

"You're calling me again?" you said, rubbing your eyes. "What, another mission offer? I already—"

"Check the news."

You blinked.

Something in his tone made you pause. He sounded… amused? Smug, even.

Your brows furrowed as you reached for the remote. The news channel flickered to life on your TV, and within seconds, you were wide awake.

"Investigation Unit Officials Exposed in Widespread Corruption Scandal—Mass Firings Underway."

Your breath hitched.

The screen displayed a list of names, each one making your pulse quicken.

People you used to work with. The same bastards who threw you under the bus. Who framed you, lied, and made sure you'd never step foot in the unit again.

Now? They were gone.

Some were getting arrested. Others were being dragged out of their offices, their faces pale as reporters bombarded them with questions. Their crimes—bribery, evidence tampering, illegal dealings—were being laid out in broad daylight for everyone to see.

You sat there, stunned.

And then, from the phone pressed against your ear—

A quiet chuckle.

"So?" Mydei drawled, clearly enjoying this moment. "What do you think?"

You let out a slow breath, still processing everything.

"You… really went and did it, huh?"

"You sound surprised."

"That’s because I am." You shook your head, watching as another corrupt official was led out in handcuffs. "I knew you were stepping in, but I didn’t think you’d actually clean house."

A hum from the other end of the line. "I said I would handle it."

Your lips twitched. "Didn’t think you’d be this thorough."

There was a pause, then, with that same unwavering authority, Mydei spoke again.

"Come to the Investigation Unit tomorrow at 7 AM. ASAP."

You stiffened. "Wait—what?"

"You’ll be leading the next mission," he continued, completely ignoring your reaction. "Highest-ranking officer. No one above you. No one to control you. You do things your way this time."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"You’re serious?"

"Have I ever wasted my time with jokes?"

He had a point.

Before you could respond, the line cut off.

You lowered the phone slowly, still staring at the news, but your focus had already shifted.

Tomorrow at 7 AM.

You were back in the unit.

And this time, you were the one in charge.

A quiet chuckle slipped past your lips.

It felt good.

HI GUYS ITS ANTOHER SERIESS and ts tension wohoo!! @leonsnewadventures

PART 2!!

[acourtofthought]

I woke up this morning to more hate anons and a few reassuring messages (thank you so much for those ❤️) but I'm not going to be responding to any more about this topic.

I have two younger children with a lot of energy, a needy energetic dog who is always stealing stuff and making you chase him, I'm taking one of my best friends out to brunch this morning to celebrate her birthday and I currently feel like shit because I could not sleep last night. My body was humming with anxiety and I woke up in a panic every hour after finally falling asleep after two hours of listening to sleep meditation videos. Rinse and repeat from 11 pm to 7 am.

Yes, to those who continue throwing this in my face, I do defend Elain's character on some anti takes who constantly use the Elucien and Elain tags. When doing so, you are forcing Elain stans to witness your hatred of her, you are filling their feed with negativity and you should then not be surprised if people decide to comment. But you're also kidding yourself if you think I am constantly bombarding others because responding to the Anti Elain takes would tie up Eluciens for the entirety of their day. Clearly, you have absolutely no room to talk when you couldn't even handle someone having a headcanon that put Elain's story before Gwyn's on the timeline all while only using Elain, Lucien, and Elucien tags. It wasn't even Gwyn slander, it was literally "I know Gwyn is going to be an important part of the IC / Nyx someday as Az's mate but I'd really like to see Elain interacting with them from her POV first". Apparently, THAT was the cause for the downfall of the Elucien / Gwynriel friendship. Apparently THAT was the reason for the discord between us. It couldn't possibly have been all the hate some Gwynriels have for Elain or the statements that "Az's book is definitely next and Eluciens are just going to have to accept it" or "Gwyn will get a Pegasus from Helion first." or "We'll learn about Az and Gwyn's heritage before Lucien discovers his". If you're allowed to have those headcanons then why can't we have ours? And if the only way for Eluciens and Gwynriels to be friends is for us to put Az and Gwyn first at all times, to not try to point out why Elucien might be set up more than Gwynriel (just like you do for Gwynriel over Elucien / Elriel) while acknowledging that we could still be wrong then I guess we can't be friends. Disagreeing is not a crime. Putting our OTP first is not a crime. Saying "I think our pairing is ready first" is not a crime, especially when most of it is in response to the takes we're regularly forced to bear witness to. It's not antagonistic either. You know what is antagonistic? Saying "Az's book is definitely next and Eluciens are just going to have to wait longer". Saying "anyone who thinks Elain's book is next is delusional". Saying, "Elain is so boring and underdeveloped and that's our right to think so but you're a bad friend if you have anything negative to say about Az or Gwyn's character." "Elain is boring but Gwyn does not need more development, they're so wrong for saying that". Saying "we can have our headcanons but if you have yours then you're creating discord." Saying "Elucien's should be happy if Gwynriel is next because they still win, it still confirms their ship". Sending hate anons, gaslighting and spreading lies is the exact same bully behavior you claim to hate about E/riels yet some are turning around and doing it to "mutuals".

I'm an Elucien blog first and foremost. I love both Elain and Lucien. I see the potential of Gwynriel but am allowed to be a little salty at Az for the way he acts towards Lucien. I am allowed to want to see more for Gwyn's character outside of just being Nesta's best friend before feeling like I truly know all her layers. Saying that does not mean I hate her or am slandering her. Elain has been around since book 1, Gwyn was only around for SF, it is not abnormal for someone to feel more drawn to a character who they've been reading about for multiple books. I have many mutuals who comment under my posts and say "I see things differently" and we have healthy exchanges even with a difference of opinions, clearly I don't need every single person to agree with me. If you can't handle that and instead need to resort to telling lies about my posts and sending hate anons than you are the problem, you are the bully.

Wanting to claim Elucien's as friends just so you feel you have a bigger army against elriels while shitting on Elain then expecting us to show nothing but respect for your favorites? That's not a friendship we need.

[coolgrl111]

Idk if you're taking bot rqs rn, but if you are, can you do a Connor Murphy bot and his gf has to attend his funeral

-🪱

a/n: STOP this is so sad!! i wanted to try my best to write it as well, hope you enjoy…. shedding tears as we speak 😖😖

connor murphy bot link

—

you don’t cry at the funeral.

everyone expects you to, of course. you can feel their lingering eyes on you. hear their soft whispers. their pitying glances. teachers who recognise you from the hallways but don’t know what to say.

mrs. murphy pulls you in for a hug that lasts a little too long. she smells like vanilla and maybe something artificial. when she lets go, she presses a single red rose into your hands, her fingers cold and shaking.

“thank you for coming,” she murmurs, like you could have stayed away. like you would ever consider not attending, standing in the damp grass, staring at a casket that shouldn’t even exist.

you place the rose on top of it with the others. red against the reflecting polished wood. it looks wrong. all of this looks wrong.

the priest is talking, something about healing and grief, but his voice fades in and out like a radio signal that won’t quite tune in. you don’t want to hear it anyway. the grief you are feeling isn’t irreversible. you already know there’s no healing from this. no coming back from the space connor left behind.

someone sniffles behind you. you wonder if it’s real. if they actually miss him, or if they just feel like they should. no one treated him kindly while he was alive. why pretend to care now?

there are too many people here. more than he would have expected. more than he would have wanted. some of them are people who hated him. people who laughed at him in the halls, who whispered his name like a sick joke.

you want to turn around and ask them where all this kindness was when he was alive. maybe to even sock them in the face, like they truly deserved. some sick fantasy in your head wished that it was them in the casket and not your beloved boyfriend.

but you just stand there, your hands curled into fists at your sides, your nails biting into your palms.

you think about the last time you saw him.

the way he looked at you, like he was already halfway gone. the way his voice cracked when he said your name.

“i’m just so tired.”

you should have held on harder.

you should have told him that he was wanted. that he was needed.

that he was loved.

but the words are worthless now. they belong to the living.

connor is gone.

your connor is gone.

you think about all the widowed women around you. the ones dressed in black with their hands folded neatly in their laps, faces drawn tight like they’ve spent years practicing grief. most of them are old, the way widows are supposed to be. you wonder how they do it. how they wake up every morning knowing the person they loved is never coming back.

you always thought being widowed came with age. that it was something that happened after a long life spent together, when the hair turns gray and the bodies grow frail.

but you feel like a widow.

an 18 year old, a teenager. a widow. it just didn’t feel right.

connor was yours. even when he pushed you away, even when he got lost inside his own head, even when you fought and it felt like neither of you could ever win—you were his, and he was yours.

but now, there was nothing.

tag list: @newrochellechallenger2019 @melancholicmelanin @elliotlovesmacncheese

(if you want to be tagged in my work, dm or comment!)

[deadlyrival]

like maybe controversial to say but i truly do believe that joker has no interest in sex whatsoever outside of its role as a tool of control and dominance/submission if im being real. its something to use and control people with. and its interesting specifically how this applies to batman. and when i say this i dont mean that hes not horny like no he IS absolutely horny about batman and wants to fuck him im not disagreeing. i have two eyes and can read. but what is key is that he does not want to fuck him LITERALLY. he wants to fuck metaphorically. psychosexually. he wants to penetrate him in the most visceral sense. he wants to win and he wants to dominate and destroy him. fucking him with his body is a take it or leave it possible step along the way. which is why i've never been able to get behind or really understand batjokes fic which rests upon the premise of 'joker will stop being evil and killing people if he gets dicked down once in a while' and its like... i dont think he cares about that. i think youve misunderstood where the eroticism of the relationship lies and what hes actually getting out of it . lol. the point is yes he’s soooo horny about batman but no sex isn’t and never was the point. the eroticism and intimacy and obsession and domination exist within the violence of their relationship and all the rituals it already comprises. literal sex is so irrelevant to it all. its all about power and submission and control and WINNING. like. making batman fuck him would be winning because it would be making him do something morally abhorrent that he would hate himself for. its just about mind games for him. anyway i guess im just saying that even in fanfic i lowkey believe those two would not fuck nor is joker fucking anyone else because hes a semicelibate snob who thinks sex and fornication are below him (as a higher intellect. which is how he sees himself). <- thoughts on joker and sex. because no one asked <3

[shiny-kaibernyte]

Romantic Leon headcanons, please?

Thank you! Finally someone requested Leon! You have asked and i as your humble writing servant shall oblige.

Leon | Romantic Headcanons

Leon absolutely adores you, through and through. Everything about you, your insecurities, your passions, your hobbies, your little quirks: to him it's all more things to love about you. He sees you as the center of his world, the core that keeps him grounded and warms his heart.

Seeing you interact with Hop or his mother, jelly instantly. Leon is a family man - fight me. So seeing you laughing with his little brother after you catch him off guard during a fight, or listening to your bonding moments with his mother. Heart eyes, literal heart eyes on this man.

Gentleman, opening doors for you, pulling out your chair, escorting you around cities or busy settings. He is always wanting to impress you, and chivalry seems to be his go to in doing that. 

Leon is NOT afraid to make a fool of himself. If you are ever upset and you need a pick me up, if a cuddle or words of affirmation aren't enough. Then he will do everything to make you laugh and yes, he is not afraid to be a clown in public. 

Will not hesitate to take his cloak off when you're cold. If he doesn’t have his cloak on, then his jacket, it's not as warm but it's the next best thing! 

An arm-linker. Wherever you go, he adores it when you hold onto his arm that classic royal way. Not only because he gets to be so close to you, able to talk to you whilst walking without worrying if you heard him or not. But it also means you won’t fall behind him. Leon is tall and walks with a PURPOSE! Even if he has no idea where he's going. If he tied his hair in a ponytail, it would be SWINGING.

Surprisingly enough he doesn’t like to battle you, he would much prefer watching or battling alongside you. Something about winning against you hurts him. Even if you are jumping for joy when he wins, not a care in the world just proud of him. Leon can’t help but feel something tug at him. Hop though, ohhhh boy you cannot leave that HOUSE without battling him first. And no Leon is not picking sides you are both his family even if he knows who very clearly will win.

Has never been late to a date once. On the rare occasion you don’t go out together and he decides to surprise you with a spontaneous day out, it is a 50/50 chance he is either in the middle of a field somewhere or Raihan calls you asking if you lost a Leon. Still not late though.

SPOILS YOU on birthdays, anniversaries, holidays. He will ALWAYS spend money on you, why? Because he can and he wants to. Being Champion and even an ex-champion, he is LOADED! And never spends money on himself unless it's something broken. You have to steal his wallet to STOP him spending money. What kind of uno-reverse is that?

Leons love languages are words of affirmation, physical affection. After the last point you'd think gift giving would be on here? Not really. He only gives gifts on special occasions. He thinks surprise gifts are pointless as eventually they become predictable. Whereas an embrace or an i love you are always special no matter how many times they happen.

Forehead kisser and a cheek cuper. Leon loves to just pull you into a warm embrace randomly and kiss you on the forehead, whispering i love yous before cupping your face and kissing you. It's his go to. 

Cuddly sleeper, he has to have you in some kind of embrace. Is also a light sleeper and doesn’t mind if you wake him up to move. He has had to leave late at night because of Rose so many times that getting him into a deep sleep is so rare.

When he DOES get into a deep sleep, it's always on the sofa. Hair a mess, hat on the floor, arm up, he looks like Anna from frozen when she was asleep in that one scene. It is truly a hilariously adorable sight to behold. Many pictures have been taken. Both Hop and Raihan have about 20 saved.

[crossbackpoke-check]

Why I Am Not Coming In To Work Today [abridged], Jess Zimmerman

part one | part two

[sarcasmchandlerbing]

Now this is what has to happen in the playoffs (according to me and my wishes) and also I will predict the outcome:

Florida Panthers has to beat the scary opponent. They can. They have the change. It might be a tough round 2 with these two and I will be scared. I hope I'm not going to start to hate the opposing team if they manage to win. Go Panthers! ❤

Carolina Hurricanes needs to get rid of of the big bad wolf. I am so scared of them (the big bad wolf) winning this whole thing it's not even funny. They can. Easily. Nothing can't stop them. But I hope Hurricanes can! I want Hurricanes to win so bad but I think the others might win 😬 I hope I am so wrong about this one! Go Hurricanes! ❤

Dallas Stars need to beat the other team. Who I think will win? Well, this might be a tough battle they are going to have. It could go either way I think. Go Stars! 💚

Vancouver Canucks, you have one job. To destroy the team which has already won in the past. No need for it again. So please please Canucks, win this. I don't know about this one, the enemies might win. Hope I'm wrong again! Go Canucks! 💙

[alisaint]

the fact that will is canonically confirmed to be in love with mike, but MIKE is the one that lends requited byler any credibility and in fact is the thing pointing towards byler endgame and its proof is actually so funny when you think about it.

[mareestoermers]

i think we are all forgetting something when we talk about how toxic patrick, tashi, and art are — or when we decide one is “worse” than the other. they all have moments of seeing right through it, seeing each other’s toxic behavior for what it is, and STILL want and need each other in this possessive, envious, visceral way.

1. in the way beginning, tashi is clearly flirting more with art than patrick, and patrick is visibly annoyed. art sees right through it and even challenges him like “okay, let’s leave”, and has this little smirk on his face because he knows patrick won’t give up on tashi.

2. tashi immediately sees the visible tension and love between art and patrick, and literally orchestrates their first kiss. she sees right through their repression, and even calls herself a “home-wrecker” but still entangles herself with them, especially patrick because he’s clearly the better tennis player at that point and that is tash’s ONLY true love. tennis. that’s what she desires most in him, and patrick knows that. he even calls her out on it in the dorm room scene. but they have this mirroring fire in each other that neither of them can give up, not until patrick breaks the balance and bails — tashi’s injury is literally a metaphor for the balance shattering between all three of them when patrick leaves her.

3. before this, patrick sees right through art trying to break them up, and even admires that quality — maybe even feels smug and flattered because art is jealous and feels left out from both tashi and patrick. patrick has known this all along, we saw it in the “tick-serve” scene, where he even swears to tashi he won’t tell anyone but he still tells art, who is desperate to feel a part of them and patrick wants that, too — even keeps that close intimacy with art that we see in the churro scene (swoon swoon swoon).

4. haven’t you noticed that arts desire to be great is only ever tied up in patrick and tashi? how he needs to beat patrick to win tashis affection, how he needs to win in tennis so that tashi can live through him, how he lives up to his potential in the ending only because tashi and patrick push him to it, in their little fucked up ways? he knows this — he even admits that he’s playing for tashi, that he knows she’s living through him. he even admits he’s playing a fucked up little game with patrick when they’re in the sauna. yet he still does it. again, he knows what’s happening, sees right through them — still does it, still loves them.

5. when tashi calls patrick to come pick her up he knows it’s not just to tell him to throw the match — and despite how she battles him about it, they still have sex in the car, because he already knows. he’s so fully aware of her and her game and he’s so willing to be caught up in it, the same as art.

just some examples of how they all have moments of clarity and agency and yet they still choose to be entangled in one another because they’re all fucked up in their own, individual ways, and they’re all living through each other for their own specific needs. arts is to be seen as worthy, as great, but only through their gaze. tashis is to have the career that was stolen from her. patricks is truly to be in love and in lust with both of them, because we even see that from the beginning that tashis love alone will never satiate him; it has to be arts love, too. that scene in the sauna when he thinks he’s lost it from art is the most sad and fucked up we ever even see patrick. on top of tashi asking him to throw the game — he’s so defensive of arts feelings.

in short this is an actual love triangle (and i would go as far as to see it as a polyship). you can’t erase one without the whole thing unraveling, and you can’t say one character was the “worst” without picking apart the motivations and pointing to the fact that their bad behavior was never a secret or left unchecked.

even at the end, patrick signals to art that he slept with tashi — art knows and they still have that intimate completion at the end, all three of them. art living up to his potential and embracing patrick fully (id argue this could even be a metaphor for embracing his bisexuality), patrick having both tashi and arts affection again, and tashi playing a phenomenal tennis match through her little white boys — in such a visceral, emotional way that she cries out like she did in the beginning and the last frame is her smiling.

in a fucked up way, they all get what they wanted out of each other.

[maskedbyghost]

lets continue our talk about situationship!Simon, where this bitch grovels for monthssss

_______________________________________________

situationship!simon starts sending you text messages. before you could expect something like "you up?" or "come to my office.", but after you broke things off with him, simon started sending you heartfelt text messages, apologizing for his past behavior. “i’ve been thinking a lot about what happened between us,” he texted one night. “i realize now how much i hurt you, and i’m truly sorry, love. i understand if you need space, but i wanted you to know how much i regret everything.”

along with his messages, simon started sending you small but meaningful gifts. he remembered how you’d joked about his tea obsession once and that you’d mentioned you only liked chamomile. to your surprise, he found the best brand of chamomile tea and even packed it in a nice box before delivering it to your room.

he even started to open up more. during a late-night phone call, where you could clearly hear that he was drunk, simon said that he started seeing a therapist. “i’m workin on understandin my issues and changin for the better. i want to be better, not just for you love, but for myself. i hope you can see that i’m tryin to change.”

when you asked him to stop calling you love, he refused. “i can’t help it. you’re mine in a way no one else could be, and i don’t want to pretend otherwise.”

as simon keeps showing up with gifts and heartfelt messages, you can’t help but wonder if he’s being real or if he’s just trying to win you back before breaking your heart again.

you still go on dates with other people, and simon is tormented every time he sees you leaving the base in those pretty dresses—dresses he wishes were just for him. he follows you, quietly lurking in the corners of the restaurants or bars where you’re out with your dates. oddly enough, most of the guys you go out with either get transferred to another base or stop calling you after just one date, and you’re doing your best not to blame simon for it. but you know it's him. and he is not sorry at all.

almost every day, simon texts you, asking you out on dates and planning special things for the who of you. all you have to do is say yes, but each time, you refuse. it breaks his heart every time, but it also makes him more determined to try even harder. he knows he deserves this treatment from you.

back when you and simon used to train together on base, it was a special routine you both enjoyed. now, you’ve started asking other guys to help you with exercises, and it drives him wild with jealousy. watching their hands on you makes him see red. after your training sessions with them, simon invites these guys to spar with him. it quickly becomes clear that he’s using these sparring matches as a chance to take out his frustration and anger, landing a few extra hits just to make his point.

despite everything, you still won’t budge, and it’s only making simon more frustrated. the truth is, it’s becoming harder and harder for you to resist him. his persistence is wearing you down, and the more he pushes, the more you find yourself struggling to stay strong.

simon invites you to one of his therapy sessions, saying his therapist thinks it would be helpful for him and his progress. during the session, he opens up about his struggles and insecurities, laying everything bare. as he talks, you start to feel sympathy for him. it’s clear he’s determined to change and work on himself, and you see how genuine his efforts are.

one night, you were preparing tea in the kitchen when a girl you know from the base asked for simon’s number. she mentioned she was interested in him, which made you jealous. you snapped at her, making it clear that he would never be interested in a girl like her. simon overheard the whole thing and couldn’t help but smirk to himself. it was clear you still had feelings for him, and he took a bit of satisfaction in that.

later that night he sent one simple message to you: "that's my girl. i belong to you, and you only."

after that message, simon stepped up his game. he started sending you lots of sweet texts and little gifts, and even took care of some of your paperwork. it was hard to ignore how much he was trying, and you found it tougher to resist him as he kept showing you how much he cared.

a few months after managing to ignore simon as best as you could, you caught a nasty cold and were stuck in your room. you only texted price to let him know you needed a few days off because you were sick, and got back in your bed trying to sleep that cold off. a few hours later, as you were still trying to fall asleep, you heard your door open. simon walked in, carrying a bunch of bags, a worried look on his face.

“i came as soon as I could,” simon said, worry in his voice. “i brought you soup and medicine.”

simon didn’t leave your side for days. he only went back to his room to grab more clothes and shower. he was insistent on helping you with everything, even assisting you with your showers in the most respectful way possible of course. he’d sit in a chair next to your bed, and you felt a pang of guilt seeing how much he was giving up for you. you even tried to convince him to go get some rest, but despite your protests, he somehow ended up in your bed, gently spooning you as you slept.

simon would whisper sweet things in your hair, thinking you were asleep. you heard every word as he softly talked about how much he missed you, how sorry he was for everything, and how he wanted to make things right. even though you were sick and exhausted, his words touched you deeply.

once you were feeling better, you found simon sitting alone in a common room, lost in thought. you approached him quietly and gently kissed the side of his face. with a soft smile, you whispered, “take me on that date you promised.”

_______________________________________________

@daydreamerwoah

[prlssprfctn]

The first time, Tim notices someone observing them from afar, it is when they are all settled for a brief dinner together. It is the middle of the week, and Bruce gathered all of them together to... relax. Which is strange but not unwelcome. Everyone is so involved in chattering and bantering that they don't notice a lingering gaze through the window; they don't, but Tim does.

It takes him a few seconds to figure out that it is Jason.

He is not sure if Bruce reached for him to invite, and Jason just declined, or there was no offer to begin with, but Tim knows for sure Jason lurkes behind windows for a few minutes before disappearing in the night.

And the funniest thing? Tim understands him.

He thinks he is not Jason's replacement — never truly was, despite what the other thought — but in a way, they did swap their places. Because in the past, it was Tim, who hid on the rooftops, staring at Bruce and his family, listening to the snippets of their conversations. And now it is Jason.

It is still different, of course. Tim had a choice, and it was his... enthusiastic project, if anything — Jason doesn't really. But if anyone understands the feeling of standing far away from everyone, it is still Tim.

That's why the next time in happens, Tim reaches out.

It is after the particularly easy mission, when Tim spots the red motion on the rooftop. He slips away from Nightwing and Robin, who debate about something with Batman through the comms, and finds himself standing behind Red Hood.

The way Red Hood taps his fingertips on the balustrade makes Tim remember that he is not included in their comms anymore. He wonders how lonely it is, to hear the voices of his brothers, but never being able to grasp the whole conversation they have.

'Hood,' he calls for him.

To Jason's credit, he doesn't scramble in panic, even if it seems that he is surprised by his appearance.

'Red,' he mutters back, instantly defensive. 'What, came to mock me?'

Tim rolls his eyes; he wishes things would be easier with Jason, but they are not, and he can't really blame him for that.

'Had I ever mocked you?' He copies his stance, arms folding in the chest. When Jason tilts his head, almost asking, "Really now?" Tim rolls his eyes again. 'Okay, I did a few times. But it mostly were jokes about your death.'

Jason chuckles.

'Good one, punk. It changes everything.'

'You like jokes about your death,' Tim protests. 'And I know you allow Arsenal to joke about it, so it is not entirely closed topic.'

'I don't remember allowing you to joke about it, though.'

...

This conversation is so fucking stupid. Tim didn't even came here for this, but-

But fine. He still can win.

'So, you only allow it to your friends. Fine. Let's be friends,' Jason chokes on his own exhausted sigh. 'Do you need some friendship questionnaires to fill to be my friend? I can arrange that.'

Jason kindly flips him off under his breath before disappearing in the night, leaving him alone with whining Nightwing and irritated Bruce in his ear.

The next time he stalks down Jason, who in turn is stalking Damian and Bruce, he shoves in his hand twenty three papers filled with bunch of friendship questions — half stripped from internet, half made by Tim that involve the specifics of their jobs.

He doesn't expect anything to come after it, but in two weeks after Jason returns to the city after his mission with Outlaws, Tim finds these papers filled with surprisingly neat, calligraphic answers.

And he gets the printed copy of the same questions, with one page of an additional one, written in the same handwriting, and with a little sticky note atop of it.

Your turn, Timbo.

Tim smirks.

Oh, he will so drag Jason back in the family, somehow.

[wonderthor]

your neighbor sukuna who lives in one of the apartments upstairs may be a rough and dangerous man, but he’s funny and nice to you, so you become friends anyway. you even develop a little crush on him, and when he calls you little pet names like sweetheart and doll, you start to think he might like you too. one night you decide to go out for drinks, and as he drinks more he lets out more about his past and you learn he is a little more dangerous than you thought. he talks about how he broke into people’s houses at night all the time to steal their things and when he finally did get caught and locked up, he had probably broke into over 200 people’s houses by then.

“that’s crazy, but you wouldn’t get that lucky with me though”

he sets his beer down, raising his eyebrow at you in question.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean that im a very light sleeper, always have been. and there’s no way you couldn’t break into my apartment without me knowing it.”

he picks his beer back up and takes a swig before looking back at you with a smirk.

“you sure about that?”

you confidentially smirk back at him.

“oh absolutely. i get woken up if the wind blows a little too hard against the window. i even woke up that one time i had a mouse in my apartment and i could hear it scurrying across the floor. i would definitely hear you open my door and walk around.”

sukuna taps his fingers against the bar counter with his head in his hands and his eyes still on you, thinking.

“how about we make a bet.”

“a bet? on what?”

“if i can get into your locked apartment and into your bedroom without waking you up, i win. if i do, you win.”

“and what do i get when i win?”

sukuna chuckles at that, almost like a villain’s laugh.

“i wouldn’t worry too much about that.”

you roll your eyes at him.

“oh please, you sound way to confident in your impossible chance at winning.”

he laughs at you again.

“i am. there’s a reason i was able to break in so many people’s houses while they were still in there without getting caught. it’s kind of my specialty.”

you take another sip of your drink and lean back.

“your specialty, huh? and you still haven’t mentioned what we get if we win.”

“what do you want?”

his tone caught you off guard for a second, getting deeper and more serious without you expecting it.

“u-um, i don’t know. you can pick.”

he smiles at you again, a devious smile this time as he leans in closer to you.

“if i win, i get to do whatever i want to you. if you win, you get to do whatever you want to me.”

time stops for a minute and you don’t realize that you’re just staring at him until after several seconds.

“what do you m-mean by that?”

he leans back to hold his beer and his playful demeanor is back.

“well according to you, you won’t have to worry about that, right?”

a couple of days went by and you were still on edge. you mentally slept with your eyes open and even kept your bedroom door cracked, just in case you really couldn’t hear him come in. even though you knew it was just a bet and a silly little game, you couldn’t stop your heart from pounding against your chest. maybe because you still didn’t really know what he said meant. and there was also the eerie feeling that you were essentially waiting for him to break into your apartment, like a real robber. like the robber he used to be. and even though you knew he wasn’t dangerous to you and wouldn’t hurt you, you were still admittedly a little scared. you truly didn’t know what to expect.

it had been a couple of weeks now and you were sure sukuna was fucking with you. whenever you saw him in passing, he was his normal playful and flirty self, and mentioning nothing of the bet. you were starting to think he was kidding, just making that up to scare you and mess with you. or you also thought he could have just forgotten, since he was drinking a little and couldn’t have forgotten all about it.

but little did you know that you were playing right into his hands. he was waiting on you to lose your edge, to slowly get comfortable enough again to slip into deep and dream-filled sleeps. that’s why you didn’t expect it, why you didn’t expect to lose.

when you woke up one night, you felt your heart fall out of your body and your eyes almost jump from their sockets. there he was, in your apartment, in your bedroom, on your bed, leaning over you on his hands and knees. when he saw that you were awake and too stunned to speak, he smirked and leaned in closer to you until his face was just inches from yours.

“guess i win, sweetheart.”

[be-xkyy]

Tw: unprotected sex, rough sex, jealousy, mild abuse, insults, reader bimbo.

Yandere bf! Jock who is the star captain of the school's football team.

He is truly the golden boy.

With his gorgeous smile, blue eyes, and dirty blonde hair. He is surrounded by girls constantly, beautiful girls but he only has eyes for his dumb cute cheerleader girlfriend, YOU.

Always sucking his dick before a game letting him film you as he cums all over your face, pumping his cock until ropes of thick cum paint your face ruining your makeup and staining your hair, he rubs his cock against your shiny lips.

“Ugh– that was so good– what do you say sweetie?”

“Thanks for cumming on my face daddy~”

He smiles when he sees you cheering him on during the game jumping up and down, he licks his lips when he sees your cute little ass and tits bouncing in that tight uniform, you wiggle your pom poms vigorously and blow him a kiss when you see him looking at you. So fucking sweet.

The one who fucks you in the empty locker room after every game, fucking you sweetly when he wins, sucking on your tits, leaving kisses and bites all over your neck as his cock buries deep inside you, he murmurs sweet nothings against your ear.

“Such a pretty girl– so sexy when she cheers on her man”

“God your pussy wants some attention, should I rub it? Of course she wants to fuck– she begs me to rub it”

“I'm gonna give you the best orgasm of your life babe, you'll be full of my cum until next week– Ha”

Oh... but when the team loses he's completely different.

Like now.

He drags you down the halls walking straight to the locker room pushing you inside roughly ignoring your whimper of pain as he locks the door, you rub your arm and try to talk to him “Baby that hurts–”

“Shut the fuck up bitch! What the fuck was that out there?! Were you flirting with the captain of the other team?!”

His voice is filled with anger, he looks at you with furious eyes and you try to back away when he gets closer which seems to annoy him more, he grabs you by the arms pushing you face down on the bench and growls against your hatred.

“Answer me fuck! What the fuck were you doing talking to him? Do you want to bounce on his dick just because he won? Huh?!”

“No! I just wanted to be nice–”.

“Liar! Shit you want to drive me crazy, is that it?! I'm not an idiot I know what I see!”

He yells at you not even letting you finish, he pulls down your extra shorts and panties hard scratching your legs, his hand quickly pulls out his cock the vein running through it is swollen and the weeping tip is red.

“I'm gonna fuck you until you come to your senses you stupid girl. There's no one like me! I'm the only one who would want a girl as dumb as you!”

With that he rams you in all the way, his cock touching your cervix and his balls slapping against your ass, he fucks you mercilessly as his hands squeeze your ass cheeks his fingers dig into your skin tomorrow you'll have bruises.

“Silly girl, acting like a whore... like she doesn't have her man watching her”

Annoyed murmurs escape his lips as he pounds into you like an animal in heat, you let out high pitched moans hiding your face in your arms, he fucks you like he wants to rearrange your insides. Your eyes roll back with each thrust that abuses your G-spot.

“Who’s the only one for you? Come on tell me who’s fucking you so good?”

He asks between gasps and grunts clearly getting close to the edge, your dumb brain takes a while to understand his question not being able to think of anything else but his cock deep inside your pussy, you reply between moans.

“You! You’re the only one for my daddy! You, you, you!”

“Good girl, at least you’re smart about something~”

Your walls clench at his words and you squeeze your eyes shut, your skin is hot and you feel fire in your veins, the orgasm is approaching and your toes curl as you cum your love juices wet his cock.

He growls as your walls clench tightly around his throbbing cock and as his body tenses with the impending orgasm he pulls out of your pussy pumping furiously as he explodes, covering your ass and back with his hot cum that stains your top.

“Shit— that was great, that's a nice pussy you have baby”

He says as he smears his cum all over your back and ass with his fingers and you hum tiredly but happily, the moment interrupted when someone tries to open the closed door, the handle turning vigorously.

“What are you doing in there? Open the door right now!”

Damn it, it's the coach...

[no-144444]

quick tweet, big problem- o.piastri

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summary: you and oscar are together, but the world doesn't need to know you're engaged. lando decides they do.

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! kravitz! reader

(context in case you don't know him: ted kravitz is a skyf1 presenter)

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“Red flag, red flag, come in,” Tom said.

Annoyance surged through him. This race was not going his way at all. He started slowing down, following closely behind Lawson. “Who’s off?”

“Colapinto,” he explained. “It’s a big one, probably a 20 to 30 minute red flag.”

For fucks sake. Oscar had told them it was too dangerous. They didn’t listen. He paid the price. Now Max was up into p2, and Lando was stuck in p5. Oscar couldn’t even do anything to help. He grunted, getting out of the car and following Tom back to the garage. 

He was ushered over to his engineers, but honestly all he wanted was to see you. Being Lando’s race engineer, Oscar had seen you around the paddock in some of his first weeks and befriended you, on top of that, he’d fallen madly in love with you and asked you out 11 months ago. You two had been going out for 11 months now, and, while he could see you between the screens as his engineers and Andrea gave him advice about the race, he kind of tuned them out, too busy staring at you.

“Jesus, loverboy, just go say hi and come back, alright? We need you thinking with your head, not your dick,” Zak scoffed, finally allowing him to see you. 

Quickly, Oscar rounded the corner of the desk and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on the top of yours. You didn’t stop talking to Lando, explaining the plan for the rest of the race. 

“But I fucking said to stay out,” Lando whined. 

“No, you told us to box you. We told you to stay out,” you explained, your voice calm. 

Lando just scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” then walked off to go brood somewhere else. 

“Shitty weather, eh?” you mused.

“Awful,” he nodded. 

“Is that sweat or rain?” you asked, feeling how wet he truly was. 

“Both,” he sighed. He knew there were about forty cameras on the two of you. Moments between you two that the public saw were few and far between. You liked it that way. He liked it that way. Privacy was something he essentially gave up when he became a public figure, but that didn’t mean you had to. “How’s Lando doing?”

“He’s just pissed away his chance at World Champion,” you took a deep breath, leaning into him. “And I’ll be the one he screams at during the end of the race. I’ll be the one having to explain it to Zak, and I won’t get home until probably tomorrow. And my dad is staring at us.”

Oscar groaned. “Fucking hate dealing with this shit.” 

You nodded. “Me too. But at least there’s no race for two weeks.” 

“We’re off to Melbourne,” he reminded you. “Have to do the family rounds, since we’re engaged,” he beamed. Over the last break, Oscar had proposed. It was the happiest moment of your lives (closely followed by Oscar’s win in Baku), and now you were on your way to visit his extended family for the first time. Since he’d met most of your family (especially considering Ted Kravitz was your father and Oscar met him before he met you), it was only fair that you make the trip and meet his.

Before that though, you had to get through today. 

“You’d better go chat with your engineers,” you took your hands off his. “Zak is giving me dirty looks.”

He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t want to.” 

You chuckled. “Go,” you urged him. “If you get higher than p9 I’ll give you a kiss at the end of the race.”

“Good deal,” he pondered. “Or I could just kiss you now,” and with that, he pressed his lips to yours quickly, before running off to his side of the garage. 

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Lando was an idiot, but he was Oscar's idiot, so you didn't kill him. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone slipped up, whether it be your dad, you, or Oscar. You didn't suspect it would be Lando, though. You did enjoy watching Oscar shout at him though. That was pretty funny.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[100vern]

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.