#you have a much better use of your time just liking what you like and blocking who & what you dont

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

This is my favorite one, because yeah, he probably would fucking say that, but how? Under what circumstances? What will it take for him to conceivably fucking say that? The situation most certainly exists, the question is, can I as a writer first discover this circumstance, then secondly can I write it in convincingly enough for the nay-sayers who are admittedly a bit boring and narrow-minded and forget that dynamic characters should, indeed, be dynamic and sometimes behave out of character, much like real human people behave out of character under certain circumstances?

The answer to would he fucking say that is almost always yes.

The answer to can I write him fucking saying that? Is a much trickier thing.

would he fucking say that? let's investigate.

[dollgxtz]

Hide and Surrender

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: A simple game of hide and seek turns way more intense than you thought it would.

“I caught my prey, it’s only fair I get to eat my catch right?”

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, cnc, cunnilingus, predator play, predator x prey, hide and seek with roleplay, restraining, chasing, slightly rough sex, creampie, unprotected sex, overstimulation, forced blowjob

AN: Another fic idea that wouldn't leave my head. Can't remember which Touring in Love chapter it was, but in it Sylus plays hide and seek with us. And I was like, yknow what would make this 100x better? Predator play :3

"What would you like to play? I'll join you."

Those were the words that started it all.

You had half-expected Sylus to scoff at your suggestion, to find you childish for wanting to indulge in a game meant for children. But to your surprise, he agreed without hesitation, not even asking why. There was something in the way he said it, though—something that made your pulse quicken.

"You've played this before, right, Sylus?" you ask, covering your eyes with your hands to demonstrate. "You cover your eyes like this and count to ten. Then you come find me."

A moment of silence stretches between you, thick with something unspoken. Then, warm fingers wrap around your wrists, prying your hands gently away from your face. Your breath catches as you find yourself trapped beneath Sylus’ gaze—two crimson eyes watching you with something unreadable, something dangerous.

Those eyes—burning, searing, all-consuming—lock onto yours with something unreadable, something dangerous. It’s not just amusement or curiosity; it’s something deeper, something that snakes around your ribs and makes it hard to breathe. The way he looks at you is slow, patient, as if he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece, as if he’s already thought of a thousand ways this game will end.

You feel your heart hammering against your ribs, loud, deafening, a traitorous thing that gives away too much.

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering something, as if studying you. The corners of his lips twitch—not quite a smile, but something just as unsettling.

"I didn’t have time or interest for such games when I was a child," he murmurs, his voice low, almost predatory. His lips curl into something between a smirk and a smile, and the way he looms over you makes you feel smaller, caged. "But for you? I’ll learn quickly, kitten."

The pet name slithers through the air, coiling around you, sinking into your skin like a brand. A shiver ripples down your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving a molten trail in its wake. Heat pools deep in your underwear, an unwelcome warmth that you fight to ignore. Your throat goes dry, and you tear your gaze away, desperate to escape the weight of his stare. But it’s too late—he’s already seen it.

A low chuckle spills from his lips, rich and smooth, yet laced with something dark. Something knowing. The sound wraps around you, thick with amusement, but there’s something beneath it, something that burrows under your skin and makes your pulse falter in a way that has nothing to do with fear. It’s dangerous—not because of what it is, but because of how your body reacts to it.

Like a predator toying with its prey.

He lingers, close enough that the heat of him prickles against your skin, close enough that you can see the glint in his half-lidded eyes. Yet, just as your breath catches in your throat, just as the tension coils so tight it threatens to snap, he takes a step back. Barely. Not enough to be safe—never enough to be safe—but just enough to keep you teetering on the edge.

His head tilts slightly, gaze lazy, his voice dipping into something slow, syrupy, dangerously smooth.

"Go on, then."

The words are soft, but there’s no playfulness in them anymore. No lighthearted teasing. Only promise. A single word, unspoken but heavy in the air between you.

"Hide."

There’s definitely no playfulness in his voice now.

Your pulse roars in your ears as adrenaline surges through your veins. Fine. You weren’t going down easy. This was just a simple game of Hide and Seek—nothing more. You force yourself to ignore the way your stomach twists, how your breath feels too fast, too shallow. You're overthinking it. Sylus loves to tease you, to get under your skin, to watch you squirm. He loves making you flustered, and you know that. But still…there's something in the way his lips curled into a smirk before he turned around to count, something in his tone when he called out, that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"One…two…three…"

The second his eyes leave you, you bolt. Your feet pound against the tile floor as you dash up the stairs, each step groaning under your weight. Your movements are clumsy, fueled by nothing but instinct. You wince at how loud you are, practically announcing your location, but at this point? Who cares. The only thing that matters is finding a place to hide before—

"Ten." His voice is slow, deliberate. You swear you hear amusement laced in it.

You don't stop running. You throw yourself into his room, nearly tripping over your own feet as you spin wildly, scanning the space for the perfect hiding spot. Your chest rises and falls in quick succession, air burning in your lungs. The bed? No, too obvious. Under the desk? Not enough coverage.

Then, you hear it.

"Let's see where my little kitten decided to hide."

Your blood turns to ice.

Without thinking, you dive toward the closet, yanking the door open just enough to squeeze inside before gently—so gently—pulling it shut, leaving only the smallest crack to peek through. Darkness swallows you whole, the scent of Sylus’s cologne thick in the enclosed space, invading your senses. Your back presses against the wall, every inch of you wound so tightly that your muscles ache. Your breath comes in rapid, uneven pants, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to silence yourself.

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs, so loud it feels like it’s betraying you, threatening to give you away. You try to steady it, to slow your breaths, but every little sound—the creak of a floorboard, the soft click of a door opening—sends another jolt of panic surging through you.

Then, footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Getting closer.

You hear him before you see him.

The door creaks open, a slow, deliberate sound that cuts through the silence, sending a shiver down your spine. The room seems to shrink, the air thickening as his presence fills the space. It’s not just the sound of his footsteps—it’s something deeper, something intangible, an unseen force that presses against your chest, making it harder to breathe. Your heart pounds in response, the steady thump-thump-thump filling your ears like a war drum. Even as fear coils in your stomach, there's an undeniable thrill laced within it, a rush of something you refuse to name.

Through the narrow crack in the closet door, you finally see him. Sylus moves with practiced ease, unhurried, precise, like a predator that knows its prey has nowhere to run. His crimson eyes flicker with something unreadable as they scan the room. He doesn’t fumble, doesn’t hesitate. There’s an unsettling certainty to his movements, a quiet confidence that makes your pulse quicken.

His fingers trail lazily along the back of the couch before he crouches, peering beneath it. “Not under the couch, I see,” he muses, his voice smooth, almost casual. But there’s something beneath the words, something sharp, something laced with amusement, as if he already knows exactly where you are.

"Behind the curtains, maybe?" He doesn’t sound like he’s searching. He sounds like he’s toying with you.

He straightens, then shifts his focus to the glass windows, where the heavy curtains hang still. He moves toward them, fingertips grazing the fabric before he suddenly jerks them aside. You tense instinctively, though you know you aren’t there. He pauses, as if savoring the moment, before releasing the curtain and letting it drift back into place.

Your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. Your lungs burn with the effort of staying quiet, of keeping still.

Then he turns, and your heart stutters violently in your chest as his gaze lands on the bed. No way he doesn’t already know where you are. No way his senses are that dull. You watch, frozen in place, as he slowly kneels, resting a hand against the mattress as he leans down to inspect the space beneath the frame. He hums softly. "Hmm...not under the bed either."

The moment he stands, you know. His next stop is the wardrobe.

A faint chuckle spills from his lips, low, knowing, as he starts toward you with slow, deliberate steps. Every cell in your body screams at you to move, but you remain paralyzed, pressed against the back of the closet as if you could somehow will yourself into the shadows. You can barely hear over the deafening thud of your heartbeat.

"Y’know, kitten," he drawls, his voice a lazy, syrupy purr that drips with something thick, something dangerous, "the sooner you come out, the gentler I’ll be with you."

Your breath catches violently in your throat. His voice alone sends a jolt through you, a sharp, involuntary response that leaves you feeling raw, exposed.

Then—he stops.

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering something, before abruptly turning away. "Oh right, I almost forgot to check the living room."

This is your chance. Your only chance.

No time to think—just move!

Your body reacts before your mind catches up. With a burst of energy, you shove the closet door open and bolt. The sudden shift from stillness to motion is disorienting, but you don’t stop, don’t hesitate. Your feet slam against the floor as you propel yourself forward, the only thought in your mind being run.

You don’t dare look back.

But then—air shifts behind you.

A sharp inhale. A pivot of movement.

And then—footsteps. Fast. Closing in.

Panic surges through you, raw and electric, as you push yourself harder. Your legs burn, your lungs ache, but you don’t stop. You just have to make it downstairs. Just a little farther. Just a little—

A rush of air. A presence at your back.

And then—a hand. Wrapping around your wrist.

You scream, a sharp, startled sound that barely has time to leave your lips before Sylus yanks you back with a firm tug of your wrist. The sudden force sends you stumbling, crashing into his chest, your breath hitching as his arm snakes around your waist, keeping you locked in place. He’s warm, solid, unyielding, and far too close. His scent—something dark and intoxicating—invades your senses, making your already racing heart hammer harder.

“Found you, kitten,” he murmurs, amusement dripping from his tone. His lips curl into a smirk as he tilts his head slightly, eyes glowing with satisfaction. “I was starting to worry I lost you forever.”

The mockery in his voice is unmistakable, but inwardly, you’re grinning, nearly laughing. This was exactly what you wanted—a chase, a fight, a chance to push back. But you don’t let him see that. Instead, you put on your best scowl, defiance burning in your gaze.

"Your acting’s gotten worse," you spit, jerking against his hold. You bring your knee up sharply, aiming for his groin with all the force you can muster.

But he’s faster.

Before your knee can make contact, a thick tendril of red mist swirls around you, his Evol surging to life in an instant. The energy coils around your limbs like living chains, locking you in place just as he moves.

In the blink of an eye, he shifts, twisting effortlessly, using his grip on you to throw you onto the bed with little more than a flick of his wrist. The mattress dips beneath your weight, and before you can even think of scrambling away, he’s already on top, looming over you, his expression smug, too amused.

You lash out.

Your fist shoots toward his face, but he leans back smoothly, just enough for your knuckles to miss his jaw by mere inches. You shift, twisting your body, using the momentum to kick upward, aiming for his ribs. Again, he dodges—his body shifting effortlessly, as if he already knows exactly what you’re going to do before you do it.

“Tsk, tsk,” he hums, easily maneuvering around another wild swing from you. “You’re getting sloppy, kitten. I thought you were actually trying.”

You grit your teeth, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. You manage to free an arm from the tendrils of mist, and without hesitation, you try to land a punch to his shoulder. This time, he catches your wrist mid-air, his grip tightening just enough to still your movement.

“You bast—” You twist your hips sharply, using every ounce of strength to break free, but he barely even moves. If anything, he looks bored, like he’s humoring you.

Sylus chuckles, low and deep. “You really don’t know when to give up, do you?” His grip on your wrist shifts slightly before he suddenly pushes you down hard, making you gasp as your bodies gravity shifts, forced into submission once again.

You feel your pulse jump when his lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to something even smoother, even softer, but no less dangerous.

“And here I thought we were just playing.” His fingers tighten ever so slightly around your wrists, his body pressing just close enough to remind you how little control you actually have in this moment. “I guess it’s my turn to get serious, hm?”

Your breath catches.

Something shifts in the air.

"S-Sylus, wait—" you gasp, your words catching in your throat as the sound of fabric tearing fills the room. In one swift motion, he's ripped your shorts apart, leaving your legs exposed to the cool air, the sudden chill a stark contrast to the heat still simmering between your thighs. Your underwear is the only thing left, a flimsy barrier between his intentions and your already soaked folds.

You start to protest, a mix of shock and anticipation swirling inside you, but the words die on your lips as Sylus shushes you softly, his voice a low, calming murmur. "Shh..." he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a shiver racing up your spine.

"All that fighting, and yet you're soaked down here, kitten".

With deliberate slowness, he lowers his head between your thighs, the anticipation building as his lips hover just above the thin cloth. His tongue flicks out, tracing the outline of your folds through the fabric with agonizing precision. Each stroke is slow, torturous, a teasing promise of what's to come, and your protests dissolve into soft whimpers of need.

"An orgasm or two should get rid of that feistiness," he murmurs against you, his voice a rich, dark promise that leaves you trembling with anticipation.

Sylus's fingers deftly hook into the elastic of your panties, pulling the cloth aside with a practiced ease that leaves you exposed to him, vulnerable and aching. The cool air brushes against your skin for a fleeting moment before his mouth descends, and all coherent thought shatters as his tongue finds your aching cunt.

"Ah!"

The first touch is electric, a jolt of pure pleasure that arches your back off the bed, your hips lifting to meet him with a desperate need. His tongue works with a deliberate, maddening rhythm, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing flicks that have you gasping for breath.

Your hands find their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you hold him to you, guiding him closer even as your mind spins with the intensity of it all. He doesn't mind in the slightest, his low, satisfied hum sending vibrations through you, drawing a gasp from your lips.

"This—is c-cheating..." you manage to whine between ragged breaths, though your actions betray you as your hips move of their own accord, grinding against his mouth, seeking more of the pleasure he's so expertly giving.

“I caught my prey, it’s only fair I get to eat my catch right?” he says, before continuing his assault on your clit. His words send your head spinning and you suddenly feel like you can barely breathe.

With a renewed dedication, his tongue delving deeper, exploring every inch of you with a hunger that leaves you trembling. The world dissolves around you, leaving nothing but the exquisite sensation of his mouth on you, driving you relentlessly toward the peak of ecstasy.

The sensation of his tongue slipping inside you leaves you reeling, each thrust a masterful stroke that has you feeling drunk on the sheer ecstasy he’s delivering. It’s a skill that seems almost divine, the way he knows exactly how to unravel you, how to make you moan and whine so uncontrollably that it borders on begging.

Your body responds helplessly, hips bucking against him as your hands clutch at the sheets, trying to anchor yourself in the storm of pleasure. His tongue moves with purpose, each flick and thrust pushing you closer to that precipice, until finally, he shifts his focus, sucking on your clit with a precision that sends you spiraling over the edge.

The orgasm tears through you, leaving you breathless and shaking, your cries echoing in the room as you ride out the waves of bliss. But even as you begin to descend from the high, you’re dismayed to find that Sylus isn’t stopping, his mouth still working you with relentless dedication.

“P-please...no more...” you plead, trying to twist away, your body oversensitive and overwhelmed. But he simply adjusts his grip, his hands firm on your waist, holding you in place with an easy strength that keeps you from escaping.

“Still a little feisty, hm?” he teases, a wicked glint in his eyes as he looks up at you. “Like I thought. One more should do.” His words are a promise and a challenge, and as his mouth returns to its task, you know you’re helpless to resist the pull of his mastery, your body already surrendering to the inevitable wave building once more.

"Mgnh...ah..."

And just as promised, the fight within you starts to ebb away, like sand slipping through fingers, as Sylus's tongue continues its relentless, masterful assault. The pleasure builds higher to the point where it almost hurts, a crescendo that leaves you breathless and trembling, unable to do anything but call out his name, your voice breaking as your body jerks and shakes under his skilled touch.

"Sylus!"

The second orgasm crashes over you, pulling you under its tide, leaving you riding the waves of ecstasy until you finally collapse, utterly spent, like a boneless heap of jello. Your chest heaves with each ragged breath, tears of overstimulation gathering at the corners of your eyes, evidence of the intensity that just ripped through you.

Sylus leans back, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you. He studies you with a mixture of amusement and triumph, taking in your ragdoll form sprawled before him. "Going to try and fight me again?" he teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

You manage a weak shake of your head, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your own lips, despite the exhaustion. Damn this slick bastard and his godly tongue, you think, a mixture of exasperation and admiration swirling within you.

"Good, just how I like you," he murmurs, his voice a low purr that sends a shiver through your already sensitive body. His hands move to his belt, fingers working with deliberate slowness to undo it, each click of the metal buckle a promise of what's to come. "Seems you're ready for the last phase of our game," he declares, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with a hunger that promises there's much more yet to be explored.

You lay there, your body still humming with the aftershocks of the intense pleasure he had delivered, your eyes heavy-lidded, your breath coming in short gasps. Sylus, ever attentive, noticed your gaze drifting downward, a mix of anticipation and desire in your eyes as you took in the hard and prominent bulge in his pants.

Your cheeks flushed as you realized the effect you had on him, his hard length straining and throbbing against the fabric of his pants, a testament to the pent-up desire that had been building throughout your little "game." He had only eaten you out and yet his cock seemed like it was about to burst and break the zipper.

Sylus finishes undoing his belt, the soft clinking of the metal a rhythmic counterpoint to your pounding heartbeat. The anticipation is electric, a live wire thrumming between you as his pants finally fall away, revealing the impressive length of him. Even after all the times you’ve had each other, his size never fails to elicit a sense of awe.

Your eyes widened as Sylus, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, moved closer, his hard length throbbing in front of your mouth. You shook your head, a silent refusal, playing hard to get, but he was having none of it. With a swift motion, he cupped your chin, tilting your head back and guiding his throbbing cock towards your mouth.

"Open up, sweetie," he whispered, his voice a low command. "Good little prey does as they're told."

Your heart raced as you felt the heat of his cock against your lips, his hands firm on your head, guiding you to take him in. You strained for control, but his grip tightened, and with a gentle yet insistent pressure, he pushed his length past your lips, filling your mouth with his hardness.

You gagged slightly, your eyes watering, but he held you firmly in place, his cock sliding deeper, his hands holding your face still, ensuring you took him all the way down your throat.

"Good girl," he moaned, his voice thick with pleasure. "Breathe through your nose, kitten."

You did as he commanded, your mouth working around his length, your tongue swirling, your throat constricting around him, the sensation of his hardness and the taste of him overwhelming your senses. He began to thrust gently, his hips moving in a slow, controlled rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth, his moans filling the room.

"That's it," he whispered, his breath ragged. "Take all of me, claim me as I'll claim you."

His words sent a thrill through you, and you redoubled your efforts, your mouth and throat working in unison, your hands gripping his thighs as he used your mouth for his pleasure. But just as you thought he would climax, he pulled out, his cock glistening with your saliva.

"Not yet," he said, his voice hoarse. "I won't miss the chance to claim my freshly caught prey with my seed."

He catches the wide look in your eyes and grins again, a wicked gleam lighting up his features as he moves closer, positioning himself between your trembling thighs. The head of his cock teases your entrance, brushing against your slick folds with a touch so light it sends a tremor of anticipation through you.

"Stay still." he murmurs, his voice a low purr that vibrates against your skin. You nod, breathless, as he begins to push forward, the slow, steady pressure parting your folds and stretching you inch by inch. The sensation is both exquisite and overwhelming, a delicious burn that leaves you gasping, feeling impossibly full as he sinks deeper inside you. You unknowingly tense up, and Sylus pauses.

Sylus's voice, low and soothing, filled the room as he slightly broke from his rough and demeaning role. His hands gently caressing your hips, his body still poised at your entrance. "Might as well relax" he whispered, his breath warm against your neck. "You have no choice but to take it anyways, kitten".

His words, spoken with tenderness and experience, were a balm to your nerves. You recognize this as his way of checking in and reminding you to relax without fully breaking the mood. He began to move with slow, gentle thrusts, his length sliding into you with deliberate slowness, allowing your body time to accommodate his size. "That's it, squeeze around me," he encouraged, his lips brushing your ear. "Feel me filling you, stretching you, making you whole."

The pain began to subside, replaced by a building pleasure as your body accepted his intrusion, the discomfort transforming into a unique blend of sensations. You moaned, a mix of relief and arousal, as he continued his slow, steady rhythm, his body moving in sync with yours, his hands guiding you through the waves of pleasure and discomfort, until the pain was a distant memory, and all that remained was the exquisite sensation of being filled by his hard length.

Your fingers curl into the bedsheets, clutching them for support as he begins to move again, each thrust firm and unrelenting, setting a rhythm that has you moaning helplessly beneath him. The friction is intoxicating, the sound of skin against skin mingling with your cries as you arch into him, your body alight with pleasure.

Sylus's breath came in short, sharp gasps as he thrust into you, his voice thick with desire. "So tight, so fucking wet," he growled, his words a testament to the pleasure you were providing. His hips moved in a relentless rhythm, his powerful strokes driving into your core with a force that left you breathless, your body trembling with each impact.

As the pleasure mounted within you, swelling like a storm threatening to break, Sylus transformed his movements into a slow, torturous dance. Each thrust was languid and deliberate, a teasing rhythm that played your body like a finely tuned instrument. You were on the brink, right at the precipice, but he held you there, tantalizingly close yet agonizingly far from the release you craved.

"Please, Sylus..." you whimpered, your voice a desperate plea, raw with need. "I need to...I need to finish..."

He leaned in, his breath a scorching whisper against your ear, his lips brushing your skin with feather-light caresses. "I'll let you cum, my love, if you tell me who won."

This bastard. Of course he wasn't going to make this easy.

The challenge in his words sent a shiver racing through you, a heady mix of excitement and frustration. You yearned for the release, but admitting his victory felt like a concession too steep. "Fuck you" you spat, your voice caught between resistance and the relentless pull of longing.

Sylus's pace slowed further, each thrust a deliberate tease, his body a contradiction of slow, sensual movements and the raw, simmering desire you could feel pulsing in every inch of him. "Mmm, not quite the answer I'm looking for. Tell me, sweetie," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, sending tingling sensations along your skin. "Who won this little game?"

Your body trembled beneath him, caught in the crossfire of need and stubbornness. The sweet torture was a dance of agony and ecstasy, and it was almost too much to bear and you snapped. "You w-won," you finally admitted, the words spilling from your lips like a confession, tearing free as you surrendered to the pleasure he offered, your body arching toward him in a silent plea. "Please...let me cum!"

"That's my good girl," he growled, his voice a low, primal rumble that resonated through your very core. "Now, cum for me."

His pace shifted, each thrust gaining force and urgency, driving deep and hard, a relentless rhythm that pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed around him, muscles tightening in a wave of release, the climax ripping through you with a sweet, shuddering ferocity that left you breathless and utterly spent. In that moment, the world dissolved, leaving only the blissful aftermath of his mastery, the sweet torture finally giving way to a bliss that wrapped around you like a warm, comforting embrace.

As your body shudders around him, gripping him with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Sylus's thrusts grow more frantic, driven by his own approaching climax. The room fills with the sounds of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

His movements become erratic, each thrust deeper and more urgent, as if he's chasing the very edge of his own orgasm. You can feel the heat building within him, a primal energy that seeks release, and you arch into him, encouraging him to finish inside you.

With a final, powerful thrust, Sylus groans deeply, his body tensing above you as he finds his own release. You feel the hot rush of his climax inside you, a flood of warmth that fills you completely, making you feel full. His body shudders, muscles taut, as he pours himself into you, the sensation a sweet, intimate mingling of pleasure and finality.

Sylus, his breath ragged, withdrew from your body with a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent understanding passing between you. He laid down beside you, his body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, his hand gently caressing your sweat-slicked skin, his touch tender and possessive. He peppered kisses on your lips, cheek, forehead and neck before settling next to you.

Both of you lay across the bed, chests rising and falling in sync, the aftermath of your "struggle" leaving a lingering heat in the air. The sheets are a mess beneath you, tangled from the chaos of it all. Your limbs feel heavy, aching from exertion, but there’s still a stubborn pout on your lips as you turn your head to glare at Sylus.

“Not fair!” you huff, breath still uneven. “I should’ve known you’d pull your dirty tricks…You owe me a new pair of shorts, by the way.”

He merely chuckles, the sound deep and rich, and before you can react, he shifts, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you flush against his side. His warmth seeps into your skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest oddly soothing despite everything. He squeezes you playfully, pressing his face against your hair as his laughter rumbles through his body.

“I could buy you a hundred new shorts if you wanted,” he murmurs, his tone amused.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t fight his hold. Instead, you melt into him, letting your body relax as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. His scent is familiar now, something dark and warm, laced with a hint of something uniquely him. It’s comforting, even if you’d never admit it out loud.

For a moment, there’s peace. Just the steady rhythm of your breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the ghost of a smirk still tugging at his lips.

Then, his voice, soft but teasing.

“I definitely wouldn't mind a second or third round if it ends like this every time. What do you say?” he says, his breath hot against your ear.

Your breath catches, and you pull back just enough to look at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The way his smirk deepens tells you everything you need to know.

[ladsheadcanoncorner]

oooh a new headcanon blog Im excited to see what you do with it ill start with a spicy ask what are the boys like in bed?

starting the spice right off of the bat i love it! thanks for the first ask, dear <3

rating: nsfw, 18+, minors dni cw: smut ✉︎♡: ask box open, tumblr users + anons

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Xavier:

We already know from so many of his cards that this man changes the name of the game to love and freakspace

The best way to get what you want from this man is, ironically, denying him whatever he wants

Tease him about his jealousy. Make an offhand comment about Charlie or, god forbid, Lumiere

Xavier is on you in seconds

He likes to push you up against different surfaces and take you from behind to start

Makes the dirtiest comments whispered in the sweetest sounding voice. “I can’t wait to see how well you take me.” “You’re already so wet and we haven’t even started.” “I’m going to show you how much you’re mine.”

Will only move to the bed once you are begging for him to be inside of you

So grabby. Your hair, your chin, your cheeks, your hips, anywhere he can reach to get a better angle inside of you

Loudest moaner punctuated with broken gasps, and he is doing all of it in your ear or with his lips flush against your skin

He likes finishing on the small of your back, watching the way it pools and covers the entirety of your backside

Never beating the sleepy boy allegations, but he will trace comforting circles on your back before falling asleep with you wrapped in his arms

Zayne:

Another contender for renaming the game to love and freakspace

Loves taking you on different surfaces. His office desk, the couch, up against the ladder in his library, in the shower

Has the most desperate sounding moan in the back of his throat whenever you go down on him

He likes positions where your legs can be up on his shoulders so that he can kiss your calves and your thighs. Loves watching you get goosebumps and shiver with pleasure underneath him

Usually steady surgeon hands get shaky when he is close, god you’ll be his undoing every time

One distinct groan and this man is definitely finishing all over your stomach. As a doctor, he’s heard all of the horror stories about accidental pregnancies, but if you get him in the right mood and you're both using protection, he can also be convinced to finish inside of you

If you weren’t doing it in the shower already, Zayne will carry you into the shower to clean up together afterwards

Sometimes this leads to round two, sometimes it ends with him lathering your skin with a touch so gentle you could cry

He’ll kiss every spot he touched to make sure that, even if he was a little rough before, you only feel how much he loves you after

Rafayel:

This man works himself up just thinking about you

Sends you a frenzy of texts that make you think he must be in some sort of mortal danger

When you get to his place, he acts all innocent like you were the one overreacting, but you can see that familiar hunger in his eyes

It doesn’t take long before he is all over you. Hands in your hair and up your shirt, kissing you so deeply that you'd think you were his first drink after days of dehydration

Likes hickeys, giving and receiving

You will be leaving with multiple marks on your neck, your chest, and anywhere else he can reach

He likes positions where the two of you have equal power. He starts on top, then you, then back to him. He’s happy to let you do the work but has no problem taking charge either

Whines and moans when he is close to finishing, he is incredibly vocal

Facial king. Bonus points if it drips down your chin and onto your chest

Most likely to post about taking your girl out to eat after absolutely railing her, but you’re so hungry and happy that you don’t really care

Sylus:

There is a TikTok where a girl is advocating for bringing back dry humping, and the president of this initiative is Sylus 

Nothing drives him crazier than seeing the way you are absolutely losing yourself by just rolling your hips over his. He likes to buck up against you so that you can feel even more pressure too

Also president of the munch club

Does everything so slowly and deliberately because he loves hearing the broken, desperate way his name is coming out of your mouth

In terms of positions, I can see him being down to do whatever you want, but if he had his preference he’d prefer more of the classic ones where he can see your face - each nuance of your expression another clue to how he can pleasure you even better

Has insane stamina and can go all night if you want, but will also call it quits the second you say you want to stop

Breathy sounds and grunts are how you know he is close to finishing

His favorite place to finish is deep inside you (he likes seeing his massive dick twitching all the way up your abdomen), but he’s also a pearl necklace enjoyer

Has a towel warmer by the bed specifically so that he can clean you up with a warm washcloth afterwards

Will never admit it but he loves pillow talk afterwards. The two of you snuggled up in his bed, you laying on his chest while you talk about your day or your plan for tomorrow or the next outfit you want to buy for Mephie. He could listen to you talk for hours, and especially loves the way your kiss-swollen lips look after

Caleb:

He loves nothing more than just seeing you in his space when he comes home from work. The thought of you in his home, all alone, waiting for him makes him rock hard before he even walks through the door

Dominant af (as if his cards/story weren’t enough of a giveaway). Doesn’t waste any time and closes the gap between you with such speed and efficiency you almost don’t realize it until he is kissing you hungrily

You: “Not even a ‘hello?’” Caleb: “I thought I’d show you how much I missed you instead.”

He is a giver, and he prefers pleasuring you in his bed (he’s a big guy, he likes the space)

Will quite literally fuck you into the sheets if you let him. He is gripping the headboard, the bedframe groaning under the sheer strength of his thrusts, and you are helpless to do anything except beg him for more

Lots of “you like that, baby?” and “you’re doing so good for me”

When he gets close, he is the whimpering king. Biting his lip, ragged thrusts, your name and a string of profanities punctuating each whimper

Another guy who I think would absolutely love seeing his dick stretched all the way inside of you when he finishes. Nothing says you’re his more than his come leaking out of you after you’ve been thoroughly fucked

Will cook you your favorite dinner after you’re done, not letting you lift a finger because you were such a good girl for him. The rest of the night you’ll be pampered to your heart’s content

[memorabxlia]

Tied Up ━ 방찬

genre: smut summary: “It’s long enough to tie you to the bed.” warnings: language, bondage, oral (fem receiving), begging, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (wrap up irl!), Chan is referenced as Chris in this, I most definitely forgot something pairing: boyfriend!bangchan x fem!reader wc: 1.2k a/n: DAY 12!!! nets: @blossomnet @k-labels @k-films

The room smells like pine and cinnamon, a lingering reminder of the Christmas morning chaos. The discarded wrapping paper is scattered across the floor, remnants of gifts exchanged with laughter and delight. You’re perched on the edge of the bed, holding a long piece of red ribbon, about to toss it into the trash when Chris stops you.

“Hey, don’t throw that away,” he says, his voice low and teasing. His eyes gleam with mischief as he plucks the ribbon from your fingers, letting it slide through his hands like silk.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “And what exactly are you planning to do with this? Tie up some more presents?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he steps closer. His body radiates warmth, and you feel the heat of him even before he touches you. “Oh, no. This has a much better use.” He leans in, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispers, “It’s long enough to tie you to the bed.”

Your stomach flips, a mix of surprise and anticipation coiling tight inside you. “Is that so?” you murmur, your voice trembling just slightly. The idea sends a shiver down your spine, but not one of fear—no, it’s something far more electric.

Chris smirks, his hand trailing up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “You’ve been teasing me all morning,” he says, his tone playful but laced with something darker, needier. “Every time you bent over to pick up a gift, every time you leaned forward to grab a cookie… you’ve been driving me crazy. And now…” He holds up the ribbon, letting it dangle between his fingers. “Now I think it’s my turn to have a little fun.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “And what if I say no?”

His grin widens, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes your knees weak. “You won’t.”

Before you can protest, he’s gently pushing you back onto the bed, the soft comforter cushioning your fall. The ribbon slips around your wrists, cool and smooth against your skin. You gasp as he tugs lightly, testing the knot, and then secures your hands to the headboard. The sensation is strange but thrilling, the way the ribbon bites just enough to remind you that you’re at his mercy.

“Comfortable?” he asks, his voice dripping with faux concern.

You tug experimentally at the restraints, feeling the ribbon hold firm. “Not bad,” you admit, trying to sound casual despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

Chris laughs, a deep, rich sound that fills the room. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.”

He kneels between your legs, his hands resting on your thighs. His touch is warm, possessive, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as it travels over your body. Slowly, deliberately, he traces patterns on your skin, his fingertips skimming higher and higher until they brush against the fabric of your panties.

You bite your lip, arching into his touch, but he pulls back, smirking. “Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “I want you to beg for it.”

You groan, frustration mixing with arousal. “Chris…”

“Shh,” he interrupts, pressing a finger to your lips. “Patience.”

He drags his hands back down your thighs, his touch feather-light. Then, without warning, he brings his palm down sharply against the tender flesh of your inner thigh. The sting catches you off guard, and you yelp, your hips jerking involuntarily.

“Sensitive, huh?” he teases, his voice dark with amusement. He does it again, this time on the other side, and you squirm, the sensation mingling pain with pleasure in a way that leaves you breathless.

“Chris, please,” you whimper, your voice breaking. The ribbon tightens as you pull against it, your body straining toward him.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your hipbone. “Please what?” he asks, his breath hot against your skin.

You moan, unable to form coherent words. He takes that as encouragement, his mouth moving lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your thigh. When he reaches the juncture of your legs, he pauses, his breath ghosting over your aching core.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice a growl.

“Eat me out,” you plead, desperate for relief. “Please, Chris, please.”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer. In one swift motion, he yanks your panties aside and buries his face between your legs, his tongue delving deep into your slick folds. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, your hands clenching into fists above your head.

He moans against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His tongue flicks over your clit, fast and relentless, and you writhe beneath him, helpless under the onslaught of pleasure. Every lick, every suck, feels like it’s lighting you on fire from the inside out.

“So good,” he growls, his voice muffled against you. “You taste fucking incredible.”

His hunger is insatiable, his movements almost frenzied as he devours you like a man starved. You can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, your back arching off the bed as you hurtle toward the edge.

“Chris, I’m—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as he sucks hard on your clit, tipping you over the edge. Pleasure explodes through you, white-hot and all-consuming, and you scream his name as you come undone.

He doesn’t let up, his tongue coaxing every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body. By the time he finally pulls away, you’re a wrung-out mess, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. He climbs up your body, settling between your legs, and you can feel the hardness of him pressing against your thigh.

“Need you,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

“You’ll get me,” he promises, his eyes dark with lust. “But first…” He grabs the end of the ribbon, slowly pulling it free from the headboard. Your arms fall limply to your sides, but before you can move them, he’s gathering your wrists together and securing them once more, this time behind your back.

“Chris,” you protest weakly, though you’re too spent to put up much of a fight.

He silences you with a kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he positions himself at your entrance. “Trust me,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re going to love this.”

And then he’s inside you, filling you completely in one fierce thrust. You gasp, your nails digging into your palms as he sets a brutal pace, fucking you deep and hard. Every stroke pushes you closer to the edge again, your body already wound tight from your last orgasm.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips as he slams into you. “So tight, so perfect.”

You can’t speak, can’t think, can only feel as he drives into you with unrelenting force. The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, your combined moans echoing off the walls.

“Cum for me again,” he commands, his voice raw with need. “I want to feel you—”

The words are cut off as your body convulses around him, another wave of pleasure crashing over you. He follows close behind, his release spilling deep inside you as he collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged.

For a moment, you both lie there, tangled together in the aftermath. Then, with a wicked grin, Chris sits up, his eyes gleaming with renewed mischief. “Think we should save the rest of the ribbon for later?”

❥﹒ stray kids taglist: @minkilicious @casemoa143 @instabull @lice @amarecerasus

[arrowmoose]

I don’t usually get into discourse, but y’know what? I’ll say it this time:

If you are afraid of cis men or have an aversion of some kind to them, that is a problem YOU need to fix. You have an aversion to about half the population. That is not something other people need to accommodate for, because most people CAN’T accommodate it. That is something you, on your own time, with your own devices, need to rectify. I don’t blame anyone for being afraid of cis men, especially if they have bad experiences with them. I get it. I understand. But the problem is, most people forget that’s only a teeny tiny sliver of cis men who have behaved that way. The majority of the cis male population are not what you are stereotyping them all to be. They are not “disgusting”, or need to be gotten rid of, or need to believe that they’re inherently bad just because they’re cis and a man.

Sound familiar at all?

If we as a community want to stop what has been afflicting us for decades and even CENTURIES, then we need to stop afflicting it on other people. You cannot, in good conscience, believe that being a “fuck cis men”, “men hater”, or any one of those is productive at all. It’s hypocritical. And, I thought as a community we were supposed to be better than the things that drag us down?

I’m so tired of people being hypocrites for these kinds of things. Not only are you hurting the actual good souls among cis men, but you’re causing more problems in our own community. Whatever bad experience(s) you had to make you believe all cis men are like this, I’m truly sorry, but believing such a thing is honestly immature and extremely harmful.

Again, I usually don’t get into discourse of any kind, but I’ve seen so much about this and this has been in my mind for a while.

i don't care how uncomfortable you are around cis men, queer cis men still need places to go, and sometimes, those spaces will be shared with yours. disabled and neurodivergent queer men and queer men of color especially need a place to go. the queer community isn't the "fuck cis men" community. that is the rad fem community. if you think cis men and people who read as cis men are inherently "too scary" or shouldn't be allowed in queer spaces, you joined the wrong community.

[kisssukuna33]

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always have you over at his house the night before an important match. It helps with the stress he says.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always put on a TV show before you two settle into the couch for cuddles. Usually the cuddling session is a mix of him relaxing against you as you ask him questions about the match tomorrow.

"You packed an extra pair of shorts this time right? Remember what happened last time"

"yeah I did"

"Did you iron the clothes?"

"Uraume took care of it"

"That new protein shake your nutritionist recommend, Did you take it?"

"Already did"

"What about the snacks during the game tomorrow? did Uraume-

"oh my god baby relax, it's all taken care of"

He says in somewhat of an annoyed tone as he pulls you even closer to his chest, tightening his grip around you. But deep down he loves it when you are concerned about him like this.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who insists that having a good time before the match tomorrow isn't a problem to him but you reject the offer firmly because you know how Sukuna gets whenever you two started something.

It always ends up dragging for hours so no, your bf needs his beauty sleep for tomorrow.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who pouts slightly when you say no to him but decides to settle with the short make out session instead, better than nothing he thinks.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who teasingly steals few touches from your sensitive areas, clearly trying to rile you up but stops after seeing the glare you gave him.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who never seems to be the type to get much nervous before matches. Because of his Overconfidence? His never ending Ego? maybe. But his ability to stand strong in situations like this always makes your heart flutter.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always makes sure you get the best VIP seat to his match, You always need to be in the front lines where he can see you from clearly when he beat up his opponent back to his ancestors.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always find a way to bring you up in the Media press. Sukuna is widely known by the audience for being a down bad "simp" for his girlfriend as well as a complete disaster for his opponents.

"Mr Ryomen, Do you know there's a whole talk in the internet about you being a simp for your girlfriend? What do you have to say to people who spread things like that?"

"Keep spreading the truth I guess. The internet definitely needs it more"

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who hurries back to his changing room and jumps straight into your arms. Despite your constant nagging for him to get patched up first.

"Baby did you saw the jab-cross I threw before he hit the ground?"

"Yeah it was Amazing Ryo!"

"I did good than the last match, didn't I?"

"Yeah you always do"

"Then I deserve way more than that cheap kiss you gave me earlier don't I?"

"Get patched up first you freak, Uraume's waiting"

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who lets you both into his house as he holds your waist with one arm. He let go of your waist as he makes his way for the bathroom while murmuring something about showering first.

As he started to shower you turn on the tv with the intention of seeing the live match you saw today in the digital screen. And it immediately cuts to a interview Sukuna did just right after winning.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who seems enthusiastic as ever talking to the reporters about the match he did and the opponent he beat. Not long after he adds a little appreciation from his part.

"My manager Uraume helped me with a lot of stuff so I truly appreciate them. Also my girlfriend stayed up beside me every night when I practiced and supported me in everything, this win is hers as much as it is mine."

"if you're watching this I love you baby"

A warm feeling start to take over your chest as you hear his words. The man who's appreciated and idolized by millions saying these things so casually to you, you still can't get your mind around it.

Then the reporter use his luck to ask a risky question one more time.

"it's look like you two have a great relationship together, what do you think about marriage Mr Ryomen?"

To that question Sukuna doesn't respond but instead returns a well knowing little grin as he waves off the interview.

"Tch why did they ruin the moment by asking that, now it looks like he doesn't want to marry me" you said to yourself.

Just as you were about to leave to the kitchen to grab a snack, something shining inside the closet that Sukuna forgot to shut earlier catches your eyes.

Hidden by the cloth piles it was a little jewelry box that had familiar initials on top of it.

It was none other than yours and Sukuna's.

Wait..

No that can't be, Yeah maybe this is the earrings he wanted to give you before.

But much to your surprise the box opened up to reveal a gorgeous wedding ring. A big diamond you sure costed atleast 5 six figures alone sitting on top of it. Inside the ring you and Sukuna's initials were carved into it making it seem even more special to your eyes.

Your heart is jumping from excitement and happiness, everything about your life is starting to get better and better and you can't help but thank Sukuna for it.

You don't want to ruin the surprise he planned for you of course. So you put the box back to it's place and sit on the bed till he's done showering patiently but the stupid smile you had since earlier didn't left your face for once.

"Alright I'm done showering let's slee- what's with you?"

"What's with me? nothing Ryo"

"You're are smiling very creepily woman"

"Ryo that's mean! My smile is not creepy!"

"Yeah whatever come here, freak"

Sukuna says as he drags you closer to his side of the bed while turning off the bedside lamp at the same time. Your bodies intertwine with each other like it was always meant to be. Sukuna's hands wrapping around you as he buries his face into your neck.

"Ryo?"

"hmm"

"I love you"

You can feel a small smile tugging at his lips.

"I love you too princess, more than anything"

Boxing Kuna is my favorite <33

No grammar checks though sorry :/

[sirenpearldust]

Found you 2

Baby Daddy Azriel!

Series masterlist ⋆ Part one ⋆ Part three

Pair: Azriel x Spring Court! Reader

Word count: 3.050

Warning: fluff

Summary: conditions are set

Azriel sat up straighter in his seat, he cleaned up, looked more put together. He wanted to make a better impression on his son than last time. The memory of his terrified face hasn’t left him, it has been haunting his dreams. Just the reminder unsettled him. 

A hint of nervousness crept in, what if one misstep meant he wouldn’t be allowed to see his son again?

Meanwhile, you watched him as he sat across from you, dressed in black pants and a blouse that accentuated every defined muscle he had honed through years of training in the illyrian camps.

His piercing hazel eyes wandered intensely as he surveyed the room. Until they locked onto you, sharp and unyielding. His knuckles repeatedly tightened until they turned white before he forced himself to let go. Black massive wings folded tightly against his back, his shadows swirling around him, still inspecting the unfamiliar space. 

Instead of his usual cold, detached demeanor, irritation flickered across his features. 

That’s a first, you thought. 

For once, he wasn’t emotionless.

For once, he was unraveling and it was because of you.

You had to hand it to his genes, you had basically birthed his twin. Amias was the spitting image of him, inheriting the same elegant planes of his face, a beauty that was almost otherworldly. He had his hair, his wings and even his skin tone.  The only feature that set him apart were his eyes. Those were yours, a striking reminder of your Spring Court legacy shining through.

You still remembered the sadness, the ache in your chest as you watched your son grow into the features of his father. 

The same scowl, the same smile, the same dimples. 

It felt like a cruel twist of fate that your son had to look so much like the man who had caused you so much pain.

Sipping your tea, you deliberately avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the view outside.               He didn’t deserve an ounce of your attention, not anymore. 

You two were here for one reason and one reason only; to discuss Amias.                                        You had to push your feelings aside, no matter how difficult it was.

It hadn’t been part of your plan for Amias to get to know Azriel. He wasn’t supposed to find out about him, he was meant to be raised by you, away from any danger.

Azriel’s presence now posed a threat to your role as a parent and as a noble in Spring. His work was dangerous enough and his ties to the Inner Circle only added more risks. The already volatile situation in Spring was bad enough already. You didn’t need to be accused of treason or colluding with the enemy, you’ve already had enough problems.

“Are you going to sit there silent again and not say anything?” Azriel asked, his shadows darkening around him.

Your lip curled in a faint smile. It was almost amusing, holding something over him, having a semblance of power for once. You might have felt guilty for using your son in this way, but Amias didn’t even know his father, not really, not the way you did.

He had no idea of the darkness and cruelty Azriel was capable of.

“You’re too loud,” you said softly, setting your tea cup down. His wings bristled, and you could tell it had pissed him off.

“I’ll lay the conditions out for you,” you continued, calm and unwavering. 

“Be against even one of them and you’ll have no right to see my son.”

“Our son,” Azriel corrected, his jaw tightening as his knuckles turned white again. He knew, he knew you had set traps, and he wasn’t sure if he was prepared to navigate them.

“He’s my son too, Y/N,” Azriel said, frustration lacing his voice as his hand ran through his hair roughly.

“I only want what’s best for him.”

You ignored him. 

Without a glance in his direction, you opened the folder and slid the sheet in front of him, wordlessly demanding his attention to what truly mattered now.

The conditions were clear and non-negotiable. They were there to protect Amias and you.

1. You are not allowed to take Amias without my permission.

2. Wherever you go with him, you must inform me first.

3. He’s my heir and will receive his education in Spring.

4. He will not train in the Illyrian camps unless he is of age and wishes to do so.

5. You will have no authority over me as his mother.

6. You will be a present father unless he chooses not to see you.

7. Your highest priority is to protect him, cherish him and ensure his safety.

8. You will treat him with respect, kindness and love.

9. You will not arrange or force any marriage upon him.

10. You will not harm me, kill me, or order anyone else to do so in order to have Amias.

11. You will not inform your family of his existence without my permission.

12. You will protect Amias before anyone else, this includes you protecting and serving your High Lord or your mate.

13. You will protect what is mine and what is automatically our son’s legacy.

14. In the event of my death, you will safeguard his wealth, inheritance and well-being. No one shall touch it.

15. You will not take Amias out of Spring unless he is in grave danger, or I am dead.

16. If you choose to have any other children, you are to treat them the same as Amias.

17. Any woman you decide to stay in a relationship with and who is to get to know our son, you will introduce to me first.

18. In the case of a mating bond between us, you will not force it upon me and will let it go if I do not want it.

19. You will not disturb my private life, you will treat me with respect and courtesy.

Azriel rubbed his temples, clearly irritated. 

Most of the conditions were reasonable, but the restrictions on when and how he could see Amias gnawed at him. 

Why did you have to control every aspect? Why did you have to approve when and if he could spend time alone with his son, or when his family could know about his existence?

“Can I introduce him to my family?” Azriel asked, his voice tight with frustration.

“No,” you replied coldly, your gaze unwavering. You hated the Night Court, they were the reason for Spring’s ruin and had caused multiple issues in Prythian across almost every court.

“He has a cousin,” Azriel pressed.

“You and I have no living siblings,” you shot back.

Azriel’s temper flared. 

“Rhys has a son.”

“He’s your High Lord,” you responded flatly.

“He’s my brother.”

You sighed rolling your eyes. “Sure.”

“So can he see his cousin?”

“No!”

Azriel groaned in frustration, his patience running thin. 

“Will you ever allow any of this to be permissible?”

You shrugged, taking another sip of that damned tea, that Azriel now seemed to take a dislike to.

“You either accept the conditions and make this bargain, or you can say goodbye to the future you’ve imagined,” you said, your voice steady but firm.

Azriel sighed, knowing full well you were serious. 

“These conditions are set to protect Amias. He doesn’t know you and I won’t thrust him into your world directly.”

“What about condition 18?” Azriel asked, his voice tight,.

“What about it?” you responded, your gaze unwavering. 

“Will you reject it?”

“There is no bond,” you replied, your tone cold.

Azriel’s jaw clenched again, the tension rising in his chest. “If there is one, will you reject it?”

“Most likely.”

His heart twinged painfully and an uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach, like a bad omen. He hoped he wasn’t your mate because if he was, you would let him suffer. He was sure of it especially after what had happened.

“You know I’ll go insane from a rejected mating bond.” 

You hummed in response, uncaring of the worry in his voice. 

“Let’s then hope it doesn’t happen,” you said, a sharp smile playing on your lips as you met his eyes.

Azriel’s wings shuddered as the weight of the situation settled in. He didn’t feel good about this, not one bit.

“Fine,” he said, his voice resigned, “I accept all 19 conditions.”

You smiled and extended your hand. He took it without hesitation, his rough, scarred hand engulfing yours. The touch brought a flood of memories, both beautiful and painful.

Azriel couldn’t help but notice the softness of your skin, a stark contrast to the calluses and scars that marked his own. 

In that brief moment, you both felt something, an electric jolt, a slight burning sensation. You felt the tattoo spreading under your chest, across your ribs. You were glad that you could hide it, no one had to know about what was happening.

Azriel’s breath caught. He opened his top, revealing the tattoo spreading underneath his pectorals. Tracing the lines with his fingers. You almost choked on your spit. What was he doing?

You quickly turned your face away, not wanting to see the sudden state of undress. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before, nothing you wanted to revisit, either.

In the brief glance you noticed something else, new scars. Some were fresh, still pink against his skin, while others had faded to white, stark against his tan.

“Roses,” Azriel murmured to himself.

“Now that we have a bargain, you can see him.”

You stood up, the white floral dress a stark contrast to Azriel’s dark attire.

Azriel was just a step behind you, he was eager to see his son. 

He wanted to teach Amias how to fly, how to fight, to show him the things a father should. He wasn't going to abandon him the way he had been. No, he would be present. He would be the father his son deserved, a steady presence in his life.

For the first time in his life he had hope for a bright future, he wants to build something better, to give Amias a future full of care, love and guidance. 

⋆ ♡ ⋆

Amias had been full of questions ever since he first met Azriel. His curiosity was boundless, he would comment on Azriel’s wings, marveling at how similar they were to his own. He spoke of the shadows, how they moved like his did.

Azriel’s shadows mingled with his own, twisting and swirling in a gentle dance and Amias couldn’t help but laugh whenever they played with him. They were soft and cool against his skin.

Azriel’s gaze softened when he heard his giggling. He felt this immense feeling seeing his son’s joy, feeling his happiness, hearing it, being a part of it.

He had come with presents - toys, books, sweets.  He bought him books, child stories from the night court, stories of Illyrian legends, a little teddy bear and a bag filled with small cherry candies, you know Azriel enjoyed. 

“Amias,” you called softly, lowering yourself to his level with open arms. He ran toward you, his little face lighting up as he kissed you on the cheek. You smiled, warmth flooding your chest as you gave him small kisses back, holding him close for a moment. You breathed him in, he smelled like a baby, you didn’t want him to grow up. He was already bigger than the other children his age. 

Azriel watched the scene from a few steps behind, it stirred up memories he had long forgotten, pushed away. It reminded him of his own rare moments of excitement as a child, the joy he’d felt in those fleeting times he was allowed to see his mother, when he was out of the cell.

He observed how animatedly Amias spoke to you, his small hands gesturing wildly as he recounted his latest “battle” with his plushies. Azriel couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, he was in awe as he took in the pure, unrestrained joy of your son, their son.

Amias’s eyes wandered up to him. He immediately recognized Azriel, but this time, instead of looking scared like before, he smiled at him.

He was taken aback by his reaction. His eyes immediately searched yours, knowing you had something to do with it, but you ignored him, focused on brushing Amias’s hair. 

It had grown long, already reaching his shoulders, he was in need of a new haircut.

Amias slowly slipped from your arms and stood in front of Azriel, his clothes a soft baby blue. His wings pressed tightly against his back and a shadow lingered at his feet. He stood there in awe, his eyes wide and round, smiling and giggling up at Azriel.

Azriel slowly lowered himself to Amias’s level. Even kneeling, his towering figure still loomed larger than both you and Amias. His sheer size stirred something hot inside you, something you’d buried long ago.

“Hello,” Azriel said softly.

Amias took a step back, looking at you for reassurance, as if searching for confirmation.

You smiled brightly, nodding and giving him the encouragement to go ahead. Amias turned toward Azriel again, his hands nervously fiddling. “Are you my daddy?”

Azriel’s breath hitched. There, standing in front of him, was his son, real and alive.

 “Yeah, I am.”

Amias took a step toward him, wrapping his small arms around Azriel and pressing his tiny head into his chest, sniffling. You and Azriel watched as Amias’s small hands clung to him. Without hesitation, Azriel held him close as he cried silently, his heart pounding in his chest. He sat on the floor, embracing him tightly, gently caressing his head, whispering apologies for not being there all this time.

That’s how the three of you spent the afternoon into the evening, watching Amias play, him eagerly dragging both of you into his games.

Yet, he was always a little nervous, always turning toward Azriel, as if he feared his father might disappear again.

You both sat on the floor next to each other.

“Thank you,” he said, watching you. Your eyes never leaving Amias.

“For what?” 

“For birthing, raising and loving him.”

“He’s my son. That’s a given.”

Azriel searched your eyes and this time, you didn’t look away. His gaze was soft and you hated the vulnerability in it.

“You know how they treat bastards.”

“We’re in spring,” you replied softly, making sure Amias wouldn’t overhear. 

“Bastards are a given. What do you think happens after Calanmai?”

He nodded, relieved that his son wouldn’t be ignored or left alone.

“Even if he is Illyrian?”

You laughed softly, a touch of amusement in your voice.

“Yes, even then.”

“They don’t care about that,” you said, your tone steady. “You’d know that if you picked up a book once in a while.”

Azriel winced at the jab, his eyes narrowing slightly. Here he thought you were finally opening up to him, but your words made it clear how you felt about him.

“Spring is inherently open,” you continued, “We accept everyone and everything. That’s why festivals like Calanmai exist and the land prospered with children, happy, healthy children. At least, before Amarantha came and your Lords, or shall I say your “brother” and his runaway whore”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, the urge to retort rising in him. He wanted to tell you that Tamlin had been warned, that he had continued despite it all, but he couldn’t. Your son was here and he shouldn’t witness his parents fighting. But god, the way your eyes burned with hatred whenever you looked at him or spoke about the Night Court, it stung.

“Daddy are you angry?”

Azriel noticed the worry in Amias’s face and immediately smiled, shaking his head. “Just tired.”

“Mama tired too,” Amias added.

You chuckled softly at his cuteness. 

You felt Azriels rage just a few seconds ago, you were thankful that he was still good at lying. You only cared about your son, Azriel’s feelings couldn’t interest you in the slightest.

“Amias, full sentences, please.”

“Mama, I am tired too.”

“You wanna go sleep with Daddy?” Azriel asked gently.

Amias nodded, his tiny arms stretching out toward Azriel. In his fathers arms, he stopped you from going to the office, where you usually spent your time.

You looked at him, noticing the expectant look in his eyes. “Can you both come?”

You nodded, glancing at Azriel. “You’ve got time, or do you need to go to work?”

Azriel smirked, scaring you. “I’m on vacation.”

The surprise was evident in your eyes as Azriel caught you off guard for the first time. Before you could respond, he scooped up Amias, who giggled in delight.

“Where is your room, little prince?” Azriel asked, holding his son up in the air with a grin.

Azriel’s smile was radiant and Amias looked so happy, it made your heart swell. Even if the reason behind it all was the sperm donor, the sight of your son so content made everything feel right.

“Let’s go,” Azriel said, his voice warm as he began to walk.

⋆ ♡ ⋆

There you three laid, Amias down in the middle, nestled safely between you both. 

Azriel had woken up, his internal clock honed over centuries stirring him from sleep. But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, the sight before him felt almost unreal, like a dream he wasn’t ready to wake from.

His son was here and you.                                                                                                                 There you were, lying beside Amias, your long hair fanned out behind you, arms wrapped protectively around the small boy as he cuddled into you. It was endearing, the way you both slept so peacefully next to him. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Azriel had slept through the night, no nightmares, no restlessness, just quiet, steady breaths filling the space around him.

His eyelids grew heavy again and he let himself sink back into the warmth of the mattress. Just as he was drifting off, Amias stirred, sleepily turning toward him. Tiny hands reached for him as he snuggled into Azriel’s chest, his breath soft and steady.

Azriel let out a slow breath, wrapping an arm around his son. 

And for the first time in a long, long time, he let himself rest again.

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[tarotbyjam24]

messages from your future spouse

Likes , reblogs and feedbacks are very much appreciated 💗

Masterlist \pick a cards

Disclaimer: This is general reading . It may or may not resonate . If reading doesn't resonate let it fly and choose another pile or simply there were no messages for you through this reading 😊 Take the reading lightly as nothing's set in stone until you believe so🕊️

Thankyou for stopping by let's dive in ☄️,shall we ? Choose the pile you feel most drawn to 🧸

Pile 1

Anyone who takes the time to be kind is beautiful .

Some people don't change no matter how hard you try.

But we can not simply sit and stare at our wonds forever .

You spread joy because you're joy that's what I admire most about you .

First love teaches us what love isn't .

It's better to feel the hurt of honesty then to live in a false comfort of lie .

The secret of life is to be obsessed with yourself and be kind to everyone around you.

Some days are just heavy .

Everything you lost will be replaced with something better.

Imagine being loved the way you love .

Pile 2

You haven't met the best version of yourself yet don't give up

when you choose yourself everything around you will choose you too

remember you can start again over and over as often as you need

people don't cry because they're weak it's because they've been strong for too long

the little things ? little moments ? they aren't little

perhaps we should learn to love ourselves so loudly , it silences our insecurities

I love seeing you happy

it happened so that you could grow

you will forever be my always

do it for your future self

Pile 3

You can't go back and change the beginning but you can start where you're and change the ending

expect nothing appreciate everything

you can also comit injustice by doing nothing

be patient. Sometimes you've to go through the worst to get best

how many time can the same thing break your heart ? As long as you love it

find joy in simple things life will always be fulfilling

In the end, I realized the hurt never turned to hate. No matter how much my emotions led me to feel so. I never stopped loving people. I stopped trusting them.

The art of observing and not absorbing

Not liking me is fine, but making up lies to destroy my character is weird.

Keep it private until you know it's permanent

Imagine being loved the way you love .

Pile 4

First love teaches us what love isn't .

Discipline is the strongest form of self love .

She's an old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind

people talk about me behind my back and i just sit here like damn i got myself a fan club

It takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations .

Forgive yourself for the mask you wore when you didn't feel safe enough to be yourself

YOU DON'T NEED EVERYONE TO love you, JUST A FEW GOOD PEOPLE

may every hour in your soul be golden, may it be filled with endless magic .

Vibes to carry through out the week

You're not sensitive. You're not overreacting. If it hurts you, it hurts you. Don't let anyone invalidate your feelings. Ever

I hope you liked the reading . Thank you so much for letting me read for you . Wishing you best ahead . 🎀 Bless you and have a nice day 🫶🏻

Loads of love , jam\gem

Exchanges : open , collabs for paps : open

[hrrtshape]

EMMA±??±?±?±?±??!?!?!?!OMGORMGOGMG????? STORYTIME HELLOW WHERE DID U EVEN SHIFT TO

i spent 15 days in the upper east side and now i have an existential crisis about my real life (but in a hawt way)

unlike my previous shifts, where i’d spend 10 minutes, maybe 20, dipping my toes into a life so much better than this one, i spent fifteen whole days in my better cr. fifteen days ago, i woke up in my king-sized bed with 1000-thread-count sheets and realised i had, in fact, won in life.

i had done it. no brief glimpse, no fleeting moment before snapping back to my real-world peasantry. fifteen days. enough time for a full socialite saga and to meet my beau!?!?!??! enough time to wake up in pyjamas which might as well been the most comfortable thing i've ever worn, hear the distant clatter of someone else in the other rooms, and stretch luxuriously as if i were in a renaissance painting. i could smell money in the air FOLKS!?!?!!!! not new money, but old money, the kind that sits heavy in the walls (!??!?!?), the kind that makes people say your last name like it means something. and this was my life. MY LIFE. at last. took it long enough.

the first morning, and you have to understand my main character syndrome for this, i stepped out onto the balcony, the manhattan skyline.....mhmhmhmhmhm....mhm. mhm. mhmm. stretching before me like a personal prophecy, and i felt it in my bones!!!!!!: this was home. MY HOME. okay. so. then i went around, you know, exploring my little room (not little...) and girl the moment i stepped in front of a mirror.......WHO'S THIS BABE???? yea. yea. i even had a cat !!!!

then i went to school. sorry, went, i mean DRIVE. now, here’s the dealio. i had scripted myself into this effortlessly put-together, socially untouchable, well-adjusted manhattan teen heiress life. but there were gaps in my logic. big ones. like, for example: i couldn't drive. i didn't know how to drive !!!

and yet, there i was in the morning in my super super super sSUPPPERRR cutesie school uniform, keys in hand, standing in front of a car (a Porsche, people, a porsche!!!) that looked like it cost more than my entire life back in my cr. so, i acted like i totally knew what i was doing. slid into the driver’s seat with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before, adjusted the mirrors like i had a clue, and started the car.

and then? i picked up lily-rose depp.

(she's not an actress in this dr, by the way. just my best friend. which is infinitely cooler.)

she didn't even question everything. just said i looked really hawt today. i was blessed. seriously. like i'm typing this and also screaming i want to go back.

somehow. miraculously. i got us to school in one piece. st. lazarus international college. it looked like a cathedraland felt like a warzone. we pulled up alongside a line of obnoxiously expensive cars (not a single honda in sight!?!?!?!?), and i barely had time to breathe before stepping out onto the pavement, uniform pristine, COACH. MOTHAUFCKING COACH TOTE bag slung over my shoulder like i was about to solve world hunger instead of sit through calculus (that shi fucking sucked btw !!!! but my school's classrooms were drop dead gorgeous).

anyways. i now have to brush upon something that made me almost let out a humongous squeal when i saw him. CORIOLANUS. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes,ewfygweuvbuihweiusvbgiweu`rs. i saw him. yep. yep. i had to slap myself. metaphorically.

SO. i had scripted that on my first day, i would give coriolanus snow a nosebleed.

and !?!??!?!?!!?! IT SUCCEEDED. when i first saw him, he was leaning against a row of lockers like he owned the place and i swear to god i almost moaned. crisp white shirt, tie loose, cheekbones sharp enough to wound, eyes narrowed. pray.

HO. HE WINKED AT ME. and then i walked past him with my bfffffff lily-rose and. and. and. nosebleed. bro. bro. bro. BROSKI. the way he blinked..........the way his breath hitched just a little as the first drop of blood slid over his cupid’s bow. the WAY he tilted his head back, tongue darting out briefly over his lip. oh my god. i was actively fighting to not go and jump on him and like do vile disgusting things.

i had won the war, but at what cost?

because he was so hot.

SO FUCKING HAWT.

uh. so. yeah. that was just the first two hours of my better cr, and it was already putting my entire existence to shame. like, objectively, scientifically, undeniably better than anything i have ever done in my cr.

ssssoooooo. IF ANYONE WANTS TO HEAR MORE…do let me know. because, hands clasped, eyes glistening, heart on the verge of combustion, i am being so serious. this was the peak of my human experience. i have tasted divinity PEOPLE. i have lived too well. i fear i must go back, or else i will experience genuine withdrawals from the lack of my paramour’s face in my daily visuals.

so yeah. if you’re curious… hit me up. (evil, knowing laughter echoing into the abyss)

OH AND. whenever i'd go to sleep there i'd like cry out of fear that i'd wake up in my cr but whenever i'd wake up just...there...i'd literally pray to god. BECCAUSE EIJISEJFEWUSHFIHEJI. i'm there.

anyway, i am so not okay about this. i keep coming back to edit, rewrite, relive. but okay. listen. if you ever had even a sliver of doubt about shifting, i am kneeling right now, hands clasped, eyes wide with conviction, telling you!!!!!!!

SHIFTING IS SO FUCKING REAL.

it’s real in a way that defies logic, in a way that makes the air feel electric, in a way that rewires your entire understanding of existence. so real. so unimaginably real.

[threebea]

I need to write an AU where Obi-Wan works at Dex's diner maybe during the Imperial era and Clark Kenting it. Shaved his beard and wears glasses or some other low level cosmetic thing.

Patron: wow has anyone ever told you that you look like Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Obi-Wan: oh yes, after betraying the Republic I got hired at a diner in cocotown since it was the only job I could get after becoming an enemy of the state. I'm afraid I'll have to beg for your silence on the matter.

Patron: haha can you imagine? Anyway I'll have the shake and fries.

⭐

Clone Trooper: hey doesn't that guy look like General Kenobi?

Clone Trooper Buddy: no he looks completely different. He has no facial hair, he has glasses, he has tattoos. General didn't look like that.

Third Clone Troopers: it's so hard to tell them apart.

Clone Trooper Buddy: besides with the amount of businesses that legally are allowed not to serve us you think the one that had General Kenobi working for them would let us in?

Clone Trooper: ugh good point.

Regular: Ben is nice Dex, but he's kind of clumsy. (Winces as a bunch of plates shatter in background)

Stormtroopers on leave tense and look over at the middle aged man profusely apologising, they turn back to their nerfburgers.

Dex: Ben means well and he's got a kid to look after you know? Besides he's gotten way better than he was before!

CRASH

Stormtrooper: do you know how hard it is to get space mustard off armour!?

Ben: I am so sorry 😭 please let me help you.

Regular: you're a good guy Dex (shakes head)

Later:

Dex: pal you gotta bring it down with the clumsy act. I can't afford this many dishes.

'Ben': you're only mad you didn't see their faces.

Dex: well that's also true. Steal anything good?

Ben: copied a few passcodes. They were gossiping about their next station. I'll put it on a drive and you can sell it.

Dex: I'll send a copy to Organa too. Never know when it might come in handy.

Stormtrooper: I need to see your identification citizen.

'Ben' completely unconcerned: of course! Ben Kenobi (hands over very good fake id)

Stormtrooper: (stares at him) wow that's rough. Do you get hassled? You related or something?

'Ben': hassled? Oh! Perhaps a bit in the beginning, but not as much now. I thought about changing my name, but updating ID now is so complicated.

Stormtrooper: tell me about it. I got married and it was a whole thing.

'Ben': exactly! Who has the time for the line up at a Service Corscant? I find being straightforward is the best way to go about it. I'm not even related, just the same Stewjoni last name and similar build. The name is what really makes people think I look like him.

Stormtrooper: yeah I wouldn't have even thought about it. Anyway you're clear. Have a good day.

Ben: you too! 😊 (Smiles as he walks away with a bag of weapons the Stormtrooper didn't bother to check)

[baepsays]

Love Hangover⸻ Gojo Satoru x reader

synopsis: "Call me back. Call me back. Call me back." — love hangover by Jennie & Dominic Fike

Cw: toxic relationship, emotional cheating, manipulation, just sex and NSFW stuff, choking (took something from the mv and applied it where I think they implied it :3 ), lot of back and forth, use of the word 'bitch' to refer to the reader (not by Gojo), hate sex, oral sex, fem anatomy, no particular use of pronouns for reader, lowkey angst sorryyy, they are just both pretty shitty lol. Mention of alcohol consumption and cigarettes

'Call me back' received. 2.13AM 

You and Gojo Satoru might be great people, your respective friends will agree. But when you're together it's as if all hell breaks loose. They do not understand. Neither do you two. He makes you so unlike yourself, so unrecognizable, it's often difficult for you to fathom the person you become around him. 

He becomes an unbearable prick; controlling and smothering you, simply too much for you to handle. In return you become a shady bitch; criticizing his every gesture. “Roses instead of lilies? Did you confuse me for someone else?” One day you would be joking over the dinner you made him, next day you would be wishing he was dead. Going through his phone, shouting at him and asking if he is speaking to his exes, was a regular occurrence. Then you won’t talk altogether, but just fight constantly—while lying under your covers together, while eating, on the phone, in public— just making things harder for everyone and yourselves. Until one of you goes;

‘I’m over, I'm so over.’

But you two would always end up where you started. One coincidental meeting with Gojo Satoru somewhere, anywhere, could be that you're across the street from each other; sitting in different restaurants, with different people— and that would be enough for both of you. Doesn't matter he has some girl hanging off his arms. Or the fact you are on a second date with some guy, thinking this might be something serious; a single, double, triple back from him, and suddenly the fact that he was still entertaining his date while you could practically feel his gaze burning your skin, won’t matter—not that it did not bother you. In fact, to put it simply, you do not really mind when he plays you. Because you two will always end up back in each other’s arms. 

‘One minute, we're growin' apart, and next, I'm in her apartment.’

And here you go again. Doesn't matter how many times either of you tell yourselves and your friends that ‘I swear I'll never do it again!’ But you always do it again, and again, and again. He always ends up ringing your doorbell, unannounced. Does not matter you did not pick up his calls, does not matter you did not answer his texts— One “Call me back” at 2 AM, then suddenly he is at your door. And you know he will be there. No matter what, you two always end up in front of each other’s doors. You may not answer his texts or calls; but when you open the door for him and beckon him inside, he will always be welcomed with two glasses of wine. For the sake of the pretense of wanting to have a civil conversation over wine like two grown adults, finally resolving this push and pull and drawing a firm boundary— is all a faux excuse. you still have the keys to his place, and he still has the keys to yours. And they are not being returned any time soon.  

In a flash you're on your couch, back arching off from its surface and fingernails digging in and ruining the fabric. Again. The other hand would be a tangled mess in his hair. The bigger mess would be pooled under you and around his mouth. Again. Eating you out like he has never before, or he might never again. But he knows better than that. 

So, you would start all over again. Things would be blissful for a while. Sweet talking, going on dates, reminiscing about everything which was good. Thinking this time you would take it slow. Take your time with just hanging out and getting to know each other all over again, promising to not repeat the past. All over again. Though when you two would go out for dinner, all that talk would bore you to death. It is not that you feel like staying with Satoru because of who he is, in fact the more you think about that the more it makes you want to leave him, but you want nothing more than to keep him around, forever. And Satoru knows that, hates that really. Always thinking “what's up with that?” — but just as the waiter would bring out the check, you would gaze at him all sultry and go, 

"Let's head to mine."

And all Satoru would be able to utter is , "Okay, awesome."

Subsequently, there would be just lots, lots of sex. Spending days in bed; skipping work, calling in sick, flaking on friends and practically going missing. And everyone would already know what to expect, nothing new, just the cycle repeating itself. 

Spending days in each other’s company giggling about, high on sex and the thrill of having each other back. Then the nights would pass with him being  buried, as deep as he possibly can be, inside of you. Just spending nights watching you get naked instead of watching the movie he chose himself— roaming his hands all over every ridge and curve on your body, encoding new details, leaving kisses and marks all over you. Places where everyone will be able to see, but also places only he would be able to access; tucked away safe even from your own eyes.  Letting the muscles inside your pussy hug him snug, fitting like she has never known anyone but him, because even she knows no matter who comes and goes— his shape will stay. 

As soon as he would get his hopes back up again. Just as soon the momentary bliss would be unexpectedly cut short. One day you are holding each other to sleep after indulging in each other’s bodies, the next moment you are shaking his hands off you and he is waking up with cold sweat all over him. Then you would stop reciprocating his kisses, leaving his lips cracking. Giving short and curt replies to questions, getting irritated over small things. Not that this is unprovoked. Unknowingly to Satoru, before he could delete the texts from the girls flooding his phone and block their numbers; you saw it all.

Back to square one. Fights and nights spent away from each other doing reckless stuff to provoke each other. Because why are you kissing his eyelids and calling him your one and only one moment, and then accusing him of ruining your life another day.

Soon enough you’re going to a club and letting people openly hit on you. Ignoring his calls and texts, to a point he has no choice but to pull up your location (do not ask how he got that). Then letting him drag you back to his place, shout out profanities at you, rip off every piece of clothing from your body. Doing nothing about him pushing you face down on the bed, pulling on the necklace— which he gave you—on your throat from behind and practically choking you, as the necklace leaves behind marks on top of the marks he previously left behind with his lips and teeth. As he thrusts himself inside you, mercilessly, not even letting you turn back around, putting all his body weight on yours— very literally smothering as always. One hand keeping a firm grasp on your throat while the other comes down to place slaps on your thighs and ass, from time to time. You would barely phrase something between loud moans and whines, “F- fuck you.” 

“You are. As always” all he would reply with with a singular impactful thrust. 

Next morning he would wake up to  empty, cold, and wet sheets. A singular half burnt cigarette would be lying on his bedside table, from the stash of cigarettes in his dresser, despite the fact he does not smoke. And a bottle of whisky would be gone from his collection, even though he does not enjoy whisky. All that would be left of your immediate presence, are the shredded to nothing flimsy pair of painties, which you wore last night. Not like you ever went out of his apartment with the same panties you entered through his doors with. 

Concurrently you would be drowning in alcohol, shooting glasses of shots after another to cure the hangover from the day before. You were not one to drink, but you were also not one to be irrational. Yet here you are, hungover and functioning on autopilot. If anyone asked what is wrong, you would not have an answer. Though you do know what this is, the need to never get over this hangover, instead perpetuating and fostering it. Because you know better than anyone that no alcohol will relieve the itch in your throat the way the whisky in Satoru’s cabinet burns down your chest, and alleviates you. You can buy similar whisky, the same brand even, or maybe even a wine or rum— but it won’t taste the same, it won’t get you drunk the same. 

‘I swore l'd never do it again.’

And after a month, Satoru would wake up to a singular missed call from you. 

‘you know I'm gonna do it again.’

a/n: dividers by @/dollywons & @/aquazero, header from the mv for the said song. essentially saw @jumpinglillies talking about wanting to read a Satoru fic based on this song, thanks to them for bringing the song to my attention i hope this lives up to your expectations <3

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

FEEL FREE TO SEND ASKS ABOUT ANYTHING AND LEAVE A COMMENT WITHIN MY BOUNDARIES I WOULD MUCH APPRECIATE THEM <3

tag list: @madamechrissy @cuntphoric @moonlitwitchdaisy @rriwyu @gojocon @aishi-toru @cuntyji @arcanarix @lover-lyn @kazupop

[bumdlybeachbro]

This cycle of exhaustion, avoidance, and frustration is something a lot of people struggle with, and at its core, it comes down to energy management and fulfillment.

Here’s the thing: Work drains energy, and hobbies require energy. If your job is taking so much that you feel like you have nothing left for the things you love, the problem isn’t just “being tired.” The problem is how you’re recharging and how fulfilling your life outside of work is.

Breaking the Cycle

Recognize What You’re Sacrificing When we avoid hobbies because they feel like "work," what we’re really doing is choosing short-term rest over long-term fulfillment. That rest might feel good in the moment, but it leaves us feeling empty because we aren’t engaging with the things that make life enjoyable.

Make Hobbies Easier Your brain sees your hobby as “effort,” so make it effortless. Instead of "I have to do a full session," tell yourself, "I’ll just do 5 minutes." Instead of setting up a whole workspace, make your hobby accessible in small bursts. Lowering the barrier makes it easier to start, and once you start, momentum takes over.

Stop Using Work as the Default If all you do is work, then "not working" just feels like waiting for work to start again. That makes time off feel pointless, which fuels this cycle. Plan small moments of intentional joy: Listen to a song you love, read one page of a book, watch a 5-minute video that inspires you. Even tiny doses of pleasure break the monotony and remind your brain that life isn’t just labor.

Check for Burnout If even the things you love feel draining, that’s a burnout warning sign. Are you constantly exhausted, even after rest? Do you feel emotionally numb or detached? Does everything feel pointless, even things that used to excite you? If yes, you might need deeper recovery, not just more free time.

Redefine Productivity We’re conditioned to see anything that isn’t work as "wasted time", which makes hobbies feel like a luxury instead of a necessity. Shift your mindset: Your hobbies are not optional—they’re the fuel that keeps you going. Doing things you love is productive because it builds the energy and passion that make everything else easier.

Final Thought

This cycle won’t break itself. If you’re waiting to "feel like it," you’ll be stuck in this loop forever. Instead, do something small today. A single action- no matter how tiny- can disrupt the pattern and start shifting things in a better direction.

What’s one hobby you miss that you can bring back in just 5 minutes today?

[ghouljams]

Ghoul i’m so sorry, this AU has taken over my brain and i can’t stop thinking about this you said:

Sitting in your slick for the rest of the night? If you're that excited for it he can leave a load in them.

like it’s stuck in my mind.

your dad has fucked the 141 over yet again, not only that, fucking asshole is there at the ceremony that takes place when the task force miraculously comes back from a death trap mission.

funny thing is, it’s not just dad there, you are too.

anyway, i’ll say it quick before i black out and write way too much: ghost pulls you to the bathroom, ruins both you and your underwear with his load just in time. as soon as you’re out you’re pulled along by your dad.

because now you have to go up to the stage to stand pretty beside your dad while he gives his speech.

and ghost has to hold back from having the cheshire cat grin because the whole time you feel his cum spill out of you and onto your already debased underwear.

- Morph

You're so fucking wet when he tugs your panties down, it makes him puff out his chest, victorious. You must be so used to being fucked every time you see him that your body responds easily now. Not that Ghost particularly cares, he's rough fitting his thick cock against your cunt and filling you quick. He wraps a hand over your lips to stifle the moan that threatens to burst free. He's got to be quick, your father (and the press) will wonder where you've gone, not to mention he's supposed to be on stage himself. Honestly this is going better than he expected it would. Humiliating you, and your father, is his favorite past time, and now he gets to do it in front of an audience.

Of course he'll leave you with come staining your panties, pasting them against your cunt like a terrible bandage as he pulls your skirt back over your ass. He gives you a neat slap on your backside when you leave the little bathroom he'd dragged you into. He can't wait to see you squirming on stage, maybe someone will ask you what's wrong and you'll have to lie. Oh it's too good a show to miss.

Except you're perfect the entire ceremony, smiling amicably and standing politely still with only the occasional shift in weight that anyone would blame on your high heels. It pisses him off. You should be as uncomfortable as he is in this bloody dress uniform, and you're simply not. You didn't even seem surprised to see him when he'd grabbed you.

It's only when Price comes back to the 141 during the post awards cocktail hour and clears his throat that Ghost feels some internal weight shift.

"So," Price says over the rim of his glass, "'O else is fucking the girl?" It's only too bad that the sergeants both stiffen at the same moment Ghost does.

[taelophone]

Oblivion ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝˚.⋆⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Oblivious!Reader ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ CWs: Reader is violently oblivious like so clueless . Corny Flirting . Neurodivergence in Luigi . Slight angst ? ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ I played w the fourth wall a bit lol

What is she doing to me, man?

I mean, wait wait wait—! Before you switch, just listen to me for a second, okay? I’ve been trying to get with this girl I love for the past three years, and she hasn’t even acknowledged any of my attempts!

If she weren’t into me, I'd expect her to at least bring it up later, right? Ask me to clarify, say she doesn’t see me like that, or god forbid say it makes her feel uncomfortable.

But you haven’t! Every time I make a flirty comment, you just giggle and say I’m too kind! I’ve never once thought I was bad at flirting, but are my lines just not hitting like they used to?

Even now, as I’m walking you home, you’ve got your arm wrapped around mine while I talk about a robotics competition I did when I was fifteen that ultimately changed the course of my life and sparked a permanent interest in computer science. But all that seemed to travel through Luigi’s mind was whether or not you liked him back!

You nodded, hanging onto his every word as the hard rubber soles of your pink Jordan dunks step-step-stepped on the thick and heavy slabs of concrete. He seemed to really like telling you about his interests and achievements— not that you didn’t want to hear about them— but you just wondered why he seemed to love talking about academics so much around you.

But anyway, that’s beside the point. You and Luigi have been great friends for around four years now, and things were just amazing!

He bought you little candles, cute room decor, candy, new shoes, pretty rings, necklaces with your initials, and your favorite flowers all wrapped up in pink parchment! He was the best guy friend a girl could ask for, really, but that was a part of the problem.

He was so amazing in ways that other men in your life had never even come close to being before. From remembering little things about your interests to all the many dollars he had spent on spools of plastic for his 3D printer, gifting you elaborate custom-made plastic trinkets and “forever flowers,” as he liked to call them.

He was smart, funny, witty, and left your mind melting in his wake every time he graced your mornings with a random Starbucks order for you to try. Now perfect is high praise, because everyone has their flaws, but if you had to use the word for anybody it’d be him.

There was no way in the world Luigi had his eyes set on you when there were thousands, hell, millions of women out there that could perfectly complete his complex puzzle of a mind. You weren’t dumb or dull by any means, but there were just better options for your best friend.

It’s fine, really. Not sentimental at all, no no really.

“What are you doing this weekend, by the way?” Luigi asked, his voice cutting through the amalgamation of crazed screams in your mind.

You thought, your lips pursed together in a lopsided pout as you flipped through the mental pages of your planner, each page containing some sort of mental note or red ink until you reached this weekend. Free on Saturday, but only after ten in the morning.

“I’m free this Saturday, but I have to drop a friend from college off at the airport. She’s moving to Kansas, so I should be free any time after, like, ten to ten-thirty. Why?” You asked, your attention suddenly being grabbed by a community garden just up ahead full of pretty pink peonies and daffodils.

He watched as your eyes locked onto the garden and its floral inhabitants. He smiled his usual boyish grin, letting go of your arm momentarily to jog over to the garden before you got a chance to even process what he was doing.

“Luigi—? Luigi, what are you doing!?” You called, standing up on your tip-toes and calling out to him right in the middle of Twenty-fifth Street.

You saw him duck down, his cocoa brown curls disappearing amongst the plant life and greenery. You crossed your arms, waiting for him on the sidewalk like a puppy owner would wait for their eager little Maltese or Pomeranian to return from their burst of energy.

When that familiar face emerged again, he advanced towards you with a handful of freshly plucked flowers. He placed them in your hand with a particularly girly giggle, gently brushing his fingers across the general petals like he wanted to get a feel for their genetic material.

When he was done fluffing up each bloom, he gently placed a hand at the small of your back in a silent urge for you to keep walking.

“I’m not sure if that was illegal or not, we should probably start walking,” he beamed, a light pink dusting the apples of his cheeks as he felt you lace your arm around his firm one again. “But yeah, uh…what was I saying…Oh, right, I wanted to ask if you wanted to spend the day with me at my house. We’d have to go grocery shopping but it sounds fun…in theory.”

You nodded, an amused chuckle leaving your lips as you scurried down the street with Luigi. By now you neared your humble little home, sandwiched in between two other townhouses composed of bricks of vermilion.

“Yeah, sure! Why not. I’m not paying for groceries though,” you joked, reaching in your sweater pocket for your keys.

“You don’t pay for anything, girl…” he chuckled, his brows furrowing together with amusement.

“Well, you don’t let me!” You giggled, patting yourself down from head to toe before you sighed from the depths of your lungs. You left your keys on the kitchen counter.

“I done left my damn keys in the house,” you huffed, shaking your head as if you were disappointed with your laggy mind.

“That’s fine, I have mine,” Luigi added, reaching in his back pocket and pulling out a set of keys attached to a matte-black key fob, a LittleBigPlanet charm, a little heart charm you gave him two years back, and a Ben & Jerry’s discount pendant.

He plucked the only silver key from the jingly set, gently twisting your front door open with a flick of his wrist and a click of the bottom lock.

“Lock your top lock,” he reminded with no real bite in his tone. He raised his brow slightly, a look of feigned disapproval as you giggled back up at him.

“My hero!” You chirped, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders and pretending to swoon over his large muscles. “What would I ever do without you!”

“Stop it,” he chuckled, his sharp canines glimmering in the early afternoon sunlight as your feet hit the ground again. “Get in your house, go.”

You laughed, squishing his muscles one more time before he manually removed your hand from his bicep and turned you around, giving you a playful smack on the behind that sent you yelping into giggles in the doorframe.

“Bye, Luigi,” you mused, leaning against the white archway of your home with a satisfied and impish smile. He chuckled along with you, clipping his keys on his jeans belt loop as he leaned on the opposite side of the door frame.

“Goodbye, culona,” he chuckled, gently pulling your front door closed. “Lock your top lock!”

You smiled, locking both your top and bottom locks following Luigi’s gentle reminder to make sure you’re completely safe when home alone. Once you were sure your door was properly locked, you kicked off your shoes and raced upstairs to your warm and inviting bed.

You stared at the many Polaroids on your white walls; some of them from college or high school, most of them stemming from your solo trips or memories with Luigi. From jumping off of cliffs in Thailand to stuffing each other inside ridiculously small spaces to see how far the other's bones could bend before giving clear warnings of discomfort.

He was the best friend you’ve ever had in a long long time, and you didn’t want to be stupid and jeopardize that. So rather than perusing any sort of connection with Luigi— as tantalizing and coveted as he was.

You sighed, the air rushing in through your nostrils and drying up your mouth as you exhaled. As the tasteless carbon left your lungs, the bitter flavor of unrequited love bit your tongue, the iron taste of heartbreak bringing you back to your sad little senses.

But it’s fine…he’s still around, and after a while, the feelings will gradually fade into sparkles of humor that you’ll be able to sprinkle into daily conversations. A mere powder amongst the storm of dust you would ultimately face later in life— something to laugh about later, and nothing more.

But for now, that wasn’t the main concern. Your goal of the hour was to get your outside clothes off your bed, take a shower, and catch up on some new shows you had been meaning to watch for a while now.

You slipped out of your jeans and top, unclasping the sharp and satanic teeth of your bra and flinging it somewhere around your room before donning a nice soft sweater and shorts. The gentle fleece kissed your skin, bathing you in endless amounts of comfort compared to the cheap polyester-printed textile of some SHEIN shirt you had put on earlier.

You spent the rest of your afternoon through the late evening doing house chores. Folding laundry, doing dishes, sweeping the living room, cleaning yours, and finally getting around to organizing your dresser.

When the house radiated Pine Sol and the scent of Yankee Candle’s Soft Blanket, you took a deep sigh before deciding to take a scalding everything shower that would leave your vision impaired for the next hour. Shave, exfoliate, wash, deep condition, rinse, wash, rinse.

And just like you assumed you would, you stumbled out of the shower lightheaded and dehydrated after battling the demons of self-care. Your baby hairs clung to your forehead, a hot and humid reminder of the war you had won as you wobbled out of the bathroom to slather on some warm vanilla lotion.

You lathered the silky oils across your limbs and soft stomach, sliding on a matching set of blue and white pajamas before settling down at your vanity to do your skincare. No sooner than you sat down, your phone began to ring and chime with your set ringtone for Luigi.

You propped your phone up against the mirror, answering his slightly untimely call as you dabbed gentle amounts of your Curology on your face. “Hey, Lui!”

“Hi pretty,” he sighed, drowsiness evident in his tone. 

His face was partially buried in his plush-looking pillow, a singular eye fought to stay open so he could see you on FaceTime. He watched as you slathered your skin shiny with products, serums, eye patches, and deep-moisturizing creams as you smiled at his little comment.

“I literally look like raggedy-Ann and you’re still calling me pretty. You’re too kind,” you chuckled, placing two green brightening eye patches under your eyes. “What’s up?”

“You do…not look raggedy, trust me,” he murmured, a sound that bridged between a scoff and a short chuckle from the front of his tongue. “But I didn’t want anything, I just missed you.”

“Luigi, you just saw me like…five hours ago!” you giggled, checking the time on your metallic alarm clock. “You’re literally gonna see me again in, like, twelve hours.”

“Yeah but I miss you” he frowned, sitting up so his back rested against the black wooden frame of his headboard. “You’ve been gone way too long.”

“Luigi you’re being a baby” you chuckled, placing all your cosmetics, cleansers, and containers in their respective places before grabbing your phone off the vanity and crossing the short distance to your bed.

“See, why are you being mean to me? I call you to say how much I love and miss you and you kick me to the streets?” He joked, his words enunciated by a quirk of his bushy brow.

“I’m not kicking you to the streets, I’m pointing out that you’re being a clingy little pissrat,” you teased, widening your eyes at the camera in faux shock.

“Pissrat is crazy…” he chuckled, a low sigh that drawled from the back of his throat and left his mouth a little drier than before.

You chattered back and forth on FaceTime until about four in the morning, and soon, the daunting revelation that you’d have to be up and out of bed to drive over thirty minutes to the airport and back washed over your brain like cold rainfall. You groaned, throwing your head back in near-violent regret before you exhaled from your nose.

“Are you okay? Hello?” Luigi asked, his brows furrowing together as an expression of slight fear and confusion donned his face. In an effort to placate you, he waved a single hand up and down at the camera in a little “calm down” motion.

“I’m fine, I just didn’t realize it was like…four in the morning. I have to be up in like two hours,” you whined, your eyes screwing shut as you accepted the somnolent fate that awaited you in just a few hours.

“Then get some sleep! Cuz then I have to deal with you in the morning, and you’re gonna be all cranky and irritated, then I’m gonna have to leave you outside…” he sighed, running a hand over his face to mimic genuine distress.

“So charming,” you huffed, flipping him off as your face buried itself into your pillows.

“I charm you every day, you just don’t know it,” he smiled, rolling his eyes in the most disgustingly flamboyant way his muscles could muster. It almost made you gag, both literally and metaphorically.

“Ew, sassy sergeant…” you huffed, flipping him off before blowing air kisses at the camera. “Goodnight!! I’ll see you in like…a couple of hours”

“Goodnight, pretty” he yawned, waving at the camera as his head leaned back against his headboard, the tanned column of his neck on full display.

You chuckled, taking a very obvious FaceTime photo before hanging up and giggling into your pillow. His face was so gorgeous— deep dark cosmos and stardust swam through his eyes, swirling with adoration that could kill you if you got too close.

And when your eyes fluttered shut you dreamed about him and his gentle chivalry. If gallantry was dead, then Luigi would be the very spark of electricity that rose from the ashes.

Sculpted by the clay-sodden hands of a helpless god, desperate to create one last reminder of courtliness in the dawn of decadency. Luigi, the ever-iridescent emerald buried deep in the sediment that aged and preserved his quality, birthing the emerald of Venus— a manifestation of her saintly love.

The slow pattern of your gentle breathing filled the room and slumber soothed the lingering anxiety that sneered and taunted your conscious. In the land of dreams and painless drift, there was nothing that could disturb your mind.

Except for an alarm clock.

The noise was loud, piercing, and obnoxious as your eyes just barely rose, a slow and undead hand reached out for your phone to press the big orange stop button on your phone. With a heavy and half-dead sigh, you arose from your cozy little coffin of a bed and stalked your way to your bathroom to get ready for the morning.

Hot shower, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, edge brush, and a little bit of warm vanilla perfume were all it took to jumpstart your morning. You grabbed your keys and tossed on some pretty pale blue jeans and a brown zip-up hoodie over a white crop top before you wiggled out the door and headed to your car.

In just a couple of hours, your best friend would be pushing you around a cold supermarket while your limbs dangled out of a near-filthy shopping trolley as you mindlessly knocked things off the shelf that would come crashing on top of you.

The casual intimacy of it was almost domestic— it was like shopping with your life-long partner. The few times you had shopped with him before had usually ended up with you eating ingredients with him on his couch while he word vomited about the nutritional value of the different kinds of snacks you had bought.

But you focused on the now, helping your cousin load her bags into your trunk right after you pulled into her driveway. When you finished, you dusted your hands off on your thighs and shut the trunk with a heavy thud before checking your phone after ignoring it ever since you silenced your alarm.

mario💚

‘ Good morning <3 Have fun driving your cousin. Tell her I said hi! Btw I think we’re gonna go to Whole Foods. ‘

You giggled to yourself, hearting the message before shoving your phone into your back pocket to climb in the front seat. 

“Ooh, who got you smiling like that? Is it Luigi?” She asked, poking at your shoulder with a giddy grin.

“Chill, chill…Maybe,” you chuckled, pulling back out of the driveway a little messier than you would have liked to admit.

“Aw shit…we’re gonna crash and we ain’t even make it on the road yet. Lord take us, on her soul we ready,” She teased, throwing her hands halfway up in faux prayer.

“I should’ve left you in the house, on YOUR soul,” you fired back, a half-hidden smirk clawing its way to your face as you set your GPS.

“Didn’t you go to one of those fuck ass frat parties with him a couple years ago?” She asked, pulling out her mascara wand from her purse and touching up her lashes.

“Yeah, it was lowkey trash…like there was no personal space and music was shit. But I was really drunk so it got better,” you nodded, tossing on the radio to hopefully divert her attention from your best friend to something different.

“Man, if y'all don’t get married already,” she huffed, slamming the black mascara closed like the idea of your unattached state irritated her— skin-deep.

“He’s definitely not into me, but go off,” you chuckled, shaking your head at the childish fable she just proposed.

She stared at you, sharp from the corners of her eyes before a small scoff pushed past her lips. “A’ight, girl, whatever you say…”

The rest of the ride was spent jabbering about different topics before it was time to say your goodbyes, watching her disappear behind the glassy doors of the airport. After you confirmed that she had gotten situated inside, you took some time to text Luigi back.

“good morning ! :) omw rn just dropped her off. She says hey”

- Loved by Mario💚

You spent roughly forty-five minutes in your car, driving all the way from the airport over to Luigi’s with your music at a comfortable volume. You barely even had time to pull into a parking spot before the front door slowly came open to reveal your best friend twirling his keys around his pointer finger.

He waved, his sculpted arm flailing with excitement as you pulled up next to his house. You waved back, eagerly scrambling out of the car with a huge grin.

“Lu!” You beamed, jogging over to where he stood on his front porch and giving him a rather grand hug.

“Hi, pretty,” he squeaked, his strong arms wrapping around the small of your back and squeezing you into oblivion. Your sneakers dangled above the pavement, a shocked little chuckle rushing from your lips before he sat you back down on the ground.

“Alright, let’s go to Whole Foods, you can pick out some stuff too. I’ll pay” he smiled, making his way to his car with a very jolly pep in his step.

“I’ve never seen a man so excited about groceries,” you murmured, giggling at his little wiggly walk.

“No, I’m just really excited to see the most beautiful woman in the world,” he smiled, opening the passenger door for you with a boyish glint in his eye.

“Oh stop, I’m not paying for your groceries, Luigi,” you chuckled, giving him a shy smile before climbing into the passenger seat.

“No, that’s not what— oh you’re so…” he chuckled before closing your door oh so gently.

I mean, it wasn’t like his flirting was any type of concealed. He was trying everything! Italian nicknames, food, chivalry, casual compliments, everything!

But you just…didn’t notice. Sigh.

The ride to the grocery store was full of giggles, friendly flirting, and little side remarks about Luigi’s shitty driving skills— those for which he blamed your presence.

“I can’t help it! You keep laughing, and it’s making the car swerve. Siren song…all your fault,” he tutted, shaking his head in faux disapproval.

“I don’t know man…I think you just can’t drive. Might be because you’re Italian,” you joked.

“Okay racism, go off girl!” He beamed, snapping a very homosexual finger with a little face you could only categorize as flamboyant ferocity.

“Mamma Mia!” You sighed, shaking your head in feigned resignation.

“I will crash this car, don’t play with me,” he teased. 

“Shocked you haven’t already,” you sighed.

When you reached Whole Foods, you practically bolted out of the car as you charged to find a big shopping trolley that you’d make Luigi push you around in. You hopped over the thin metal bars, the cart clattering underneath you as you boarded it with near-lethal aggression.

“See, look. Crashing carts and all you did was sit down. Lord, take her, she’s ready,” he joked, his hands wrapping around the handle and pushing you into the store as you shifted your limbs to accommodate for the tiny space.

He pushed you through each aisle, letting you lean over and sweep things into the trolley with little regard for what you were even picking. Mango ice cream, tortilla chips, some fancy goat's cheese, pocky, and a bunch of cherry turnovers with golden brown puff pastry. 

The various snacks and ingredients began to pile on top of you, your midriff and bust while Luigi read off his little grocery list on his phone. He paused, looking down at you before giggling quietly, bonking your head with a blue box of fettuccine.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he giggled, pinching the bridge of your nose with his middle knuckles on his pointer and middle finger. “I think we got everything…I see you got yourself some snacks…” he mused, his eyes widening slightly.

“I had a moment,” you said, clutching a brown bag of lime tortilla chips that crinkled and crunched under the pressure from your arms.

“I see” he chuckled, pushing you over to check out and ringing everything up— freeing you from your crunchy cage of various kinds of sustenance.

He paid for your things, positioning the four reusable tote bags next to you in the cart as close as he could without squishing you to death. It was more of a task than it would seem, considering the cart was barely big enough to fit all of your being.

But for you, he made it work.

“Alright, let’s go do stupid shit at the house. I think we can try and make like…a vegan cake,” he murmured, rolling you out of the supermarket with an unserious smile.

“Vegan cake? Nah, you were right earlier. Lord, it’s my time, I’m ready,” you sighed, throwing your arms out in feigned disappointment.

“Stop it, vegan food is good for the body and brain,” he murmured, raising a brow at your innocent hatred for his idea of vegan baked goods.

“The only thing that goes into a cake that’s vegan is the flour…yeah nah. We can make vegan parfaits though. Or just eat carrots. Or just not eat?” You smiled.

“Actually, what did you eat today?” He asked, stopping the trolley in front of the car And unloading the bags into the trunk.

“Actually I didn’t eat anything yet,” you hummed, the realization just now setting in as you dangled your calves out of the little cart.

He paused, staring at you with a raised brow like you had just spewed a line of blasphemy. He closed the trunk with a heavy thunk and shook his head before scooping you out of the trolley.

“Yeah, no, that’s not an option…” he chuckled, placing you in front of the passenger seat and pulling open the door for you once again.

You giggled, getting as cozy as you wanted, even propping your heels up on the dashboard. When Luigi found his way to the driver's seat after shutting your door, he tossed a bag containing a cherry turnover at your head with one command.

“Eat. You’re hurting my goddess. You know what that’s called? Blasphemy. Shame on you, depriving a god like that…” he smirked, the engine of his lovely white Toyota Corolla. “How’s your cousin by the way?”

“Oh she’s doing great,” you said in between bites, being extra careful to not get crumbs in Luigi’s car— as eating was something he barely allowed inside of his precious vehicular baby.

“She was a little annoying today though. She said we should get married, but I thought that was weird because we obviously aren’t like that,” you chuckled. “I think she thinks you’re like…in love with me.”

He sighed, long and heavy from the depths of his lungs, his forehead resting on the black and slightly worn leather of the steering wheel as his hands gripped its top. You expected him to be annoyed for you, to pop his head back up and say something that would refute the claim with an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Alright, come on,” he groaned, his head now gently hitting against the steering wheel before he turned to look at you again with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw.

“Am I not your type? Am I too clingy? What is it, love,” he sighed. Wait what? Is he acting…? What is he talking about right now?

“Wait what…Luigi, what are you talking about?” You asked, slowly wrapping up your cherry-tasting pastry back in its plastic.

“Hi! Hello! Look at me, please,” he said, putting the car back in park and cupping your face in his hands. He looked like he was at his breaking point, the blows and slams you had taken to his fragile little heart unknowingly beginning to show on the map of his Sicilian features.

“I love you. So so much. Like, I’ve been trying to throw hints since like twenty-nineteen. I am VERY in love with you, stay with me, now,” he enunciated slowly, letting you mirror his body language as you nodded slowly.

“As we speak I’m letting you eat in my car, knowing it makes my skin crawl! I have a key to your house! You have a key to mine! My call log is literally just you…What is it, please just tell me. Are you not into me? Are you genuinely unaware…?” He whispered, his eyes dangerously close to crossing like he was in physical pain from saying this out loud.

“Oh my god, I had no idea…” You gasped, wrapping both of your hands over Luigi’s wrists, your thumbs flitting over his carpal bones with the gentleness of a newborn swan with their eyes freshly open to perceive the colors around them.

He sighed, a self-pitying chuckle tumbling from his lips before he began squishing and pinching your cheeks. You weren’t sure if it was to self-soothe, or if this was his alternative for shaking you senseless.

“Okay…This is me formally asking. May I have the honor of being your boyfriend?” He asked, a tired smile on his face as he gave you a half-nod.

“Of course, Lu,” you laughed, kissing the tip of his nose with a bright smile.

“Oh thank fuck, I was gonna cry,” he sighed, kissing your squished-up cheeks before settling back in the driver's seat.

And after he pulled out of the driveway of Whole Foods, his cheeks tinted cherry with a fine dusting at the tip of his nose, he could rest easy knowing that he was finally out of the friendzone.

Ignorance is bliss, and you were one blissful woman.

Taglist is coming <3

[bueckets]

thank you for taking the time to read my works. below you'll find a collection of my series and standalone stories organized for easy browsing. i hope you find something that gets you onto santas naughty list.

Series

The Prophecy | Finished

Description: They call her The Prophecy—basketball’s impossible phenomenon, rewriting what it means to be perfect on the court. With a near-flawless shooting record and a mind just as sharp in aerospace engineering as it is in breaking down defenses, her name sparks awe, envy, and relentless scrutiny. But perfection has its cost.

But even legends have weak spots. When a high-stakes matchup against LSU draws the attention of Paige Bueckers—the golden face of college basketball—The Prophecy’s flawless world starts to crack. On the court, they’re rivals, locked in a battle for supremacy. Off the court, late-night texts and shared moments blur the lines between competition and something much harder to define.

Word Count: 30K

Part: Start Here

The Hit List | In Progress

Description: When an overworked engineering student's late-night CAD project gets interrupted by a very drunk, very lost basketball star stumbling into the wrong dorm room, she learns that some defensive plays work better in love than on the court.

What starts as a case of mistaken identity turns into an unexpected game of cat and mouse when UConn's golden girl, Paige Bueckers, can't seem to take a hint– or maybe just doesn't want to. Armed with nothing but sarcasm, an overprotective stuffed bear named Mr. Gummy, and a borrowed team jacket that definitely isn't helping the situation, our engineering hero finds herself drawing up plays to defend her heart against college basketball's most persistent point guard.

They say offense wins games, but defense wins championships. When you're trying not to fall for a girl who treats the court like her kingdom and your personal space like a suggestion, maybe it's time to admit some battles aren't meant to be won.

Word Count: 34k

Part: Start Here

One Shots

Thin Walls

Description: When a sleep-deprived biomed student moves in with UConn’s most notorious heartbreaker, you expect late-night film study, protein shake graveyards, and an apartment perpetually scented like sweat and victory. What you don’t expect? Thin walls. And Paige Bueckers making absolutely no effort to keep her extracurricular activities quiet.

What starts as a battle for basic human decency turns into something far messier���petty revenge plots, mind games laced with innuendo, and an unspoken tension that neither of you is willing to name. Paige plays like she owns the court, like she owns the world, and maybe—just maybe—like she wants to own you, too.

They say pressure makes diamonds, but when it comes to Paige Bueckers, it just might make a disaster.

WC: 8.4k

Read Me

Going UP?

Description: From missed alarms to broken elevators, your Tuesday couldn’t get worse, well, until it gets better. When a late-running grad student’s desperate dash to save her thesis turns into an unexpected elevator encounter with UConn basketball sensation Paige Bueckers, she learns that sometimes the best assists come from broken machinery.

Armed with nothing but coffee-fueled anxiety and an encyclopedic knowledge of basketball analytics, you find yourself trading quips with college basketball’s golden girl in a stalled elevator. What starts as a disaster turns into something else entirely when basketball theory meets practice, terrible jokes meet dangerous grins, and hot chocolate meets, well, everywhere except the mug.

They say love is a game of chances. But when you’re trapped between floors with a girl who can bend physics on the court and make your heart run suicides off it, maybe it’s worth taking the shot.

Sometimes cupid doesn’t use arrows. Sometimes he just breaks the elevator.

Word Count: 8.1K

Part: Start Here

[biteyoubiteme]

brrr

seungmin x fem!reader

⊹ ₊ ݁ . ❅ synopsis: friends with benefits either ends in love or indifference. ⸝⸝⸝ warning: fwb, reader and seungmin are toxic/avoidant/mean, not too much aftercare at all, mentions of mensuration, period pain, slight spit kink, mentions of no prep, no protection, creampie(s), oral (f!rec), lots of kissing, minho side character, I probably did forget some this time im so sorry

⊹ ₊ ݁ . ❅ wc: 13.5k ❅ . ݁ ₊ ⊹

❅ ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: brrr- kim petras an: this was not my best work pls forgive me ;-; ive had this idea since august last year and im glad I could get it down- this is not proofread im so sorry for any mistakes that you come acorss :p

[m.list]

The two of you weren't friends; you didn’t even share any acquaintances, classes, or hobbies. It was better for the both of you that no one knew the other existed; there was no need to make things messy with questions. It was a one-night stand that turned into two. Six months later, the two of you were still inviting each other over for no-strings-attached sex. 

You remember that second night when Seungmin rolled out of bed already halfway to putting his jeans back on when you asked, “Are you leaving?” The look he threw over his shoulder was cruel to anyone else, the one that said he would kick a girl while she was down in the dumps for him, put an end to any relationship with complete certainty, and never look back.

“I don’t want to sit and cuddle, I told you that already. I don’t do relationships,” 

“I wasn't asking to cuddle you idiot, I wanted to make sure you would lock the door on your way out,” you were sitting up in bed the sheet halfway up your body, “I need to shower and I don’t care enough to walk you out again,” 

Seungmin had huffed a laugh tugging his shirt on, “You didn’t walk me out last time,” he looked down at his phone flipping through his calendar, “Does Thursday at three work?” 

“Are you really trying to schedule sex like we’re a forty-year-old married couple?” 

“Yes, does three work?” he repeats himself looking bored. 

“I have a chem lab then, I'll be here at seven,” 

“Okay, I'll just meet you here,” 

And if you didn’t see Seungmin all week you would be sure to find him standing at your door Thursday at seven, hands in the pockets of his jeans leaning against the door frame waiting as you unlocked your door. Your standing dick appointment was penned into your schedule along with any other time one of you felt an itch. It wasn't past either of you to text randomly in the middle of the night a quick you up? 

In minutes Seungmin would be in your bed, on your couch, over the countertop, or even right at the front door. Neither of you really wasted time with kissing or prep, most of the time Seungmin’s spit was the most lube to help with the stretch of taking him so fast after he came in, it was a month in when he brought over a bottle of lube with him to keep in your nightstand. “look what I got you”

One of the nicer things he had done besides make you cum but you only ever used it if you made it to the bed. The only times he had his mouth on you was to keep his moans down after a noise complaint from your neighbors. Every sound pressed right against your pulse. 

Seungmin often came over when he was angry, always upset about one thing or another. Pressing your face into the mattress as he pounded into you, complaining about his classes, his roommates, and someone getting his coffee order wrong. Any slight towards him sent him right to your door, his perfect crutch to getting his anger out. It didn’t matter much to you either way as long as you had at least one or two orgasms by the time he left you were fine to be used without mercy. 

It was easy to ignore him, push everything away until he was there in front of you, leaning on the door frame already hard just knowing you would pull it open. But if you weren't in the perimeter of your apartment neither of you even looked at the other besides a sideways glance you would share with any stranger you walk past. 

It's how you could stand in the same line for coffee, a few feet away chatting with your friends while he picked up his order. Just a boy with a scowl on his face as he sipped from the still steaming up. You didn't even look at him as he brought his cup back up, cutting your friend in line just to complain. 

“He's always so rude,” she mutters as soon as Seungmin has gone, rushing out without a blink your way, taking his newly redone cup of coffee with him. “He was arguing with our professor the other week about the context of some passage. Went on and on and it was so awkward because he was kinda right but neither of them would drop it,” 

Seungmin had come over that day, the door slamming behind him when he finally came in, no questions as he pushed you down onto your bed, not even stopping to help pull down your shorts. “Stupid fucking prick, doesn't even know how to properly teach a class he's paid to teach-”  

But you just shrug now, arms crossed holding your coat like a blanket you could throw over your lies. You didn't care what Seungmin got up to when you weren't around, but it made sense that he was angry even outside the walls of your apartment. How he got through his fits before you wasn't your concern but you're sure he did have some other form of release. And now you knew he would be right back in your bed when you got home. Because it didn't matter how small the inconvenience was. 

And you were right, the second you turned the corner you could see his stupidly big black car sitting outside in the parking spot with your apartment number on it, unused when you spent most of your time biking or walking the short distance to campus. 

“It's fucking freezing outside,” was the only thing he said as he watched you roll your bike into its spot next to the entryway, your keys jingling as you pulled them from your coat pocket, twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open. 

“Is it the cold weather of the bad coffee that has you back here,” you ask, your smirk only making him roll his eyes. He lets you get out of your outerwear, watches you slowly unzip, the sight less tantalizing and more annoying. He knew you liked to play with him, especially when you witnessed the problem for which he came over in the first place. 

“Shut up,” he walked right past you to your bedroom, pushing open the door to see your half-made bed. He moved around like he knew where everything was placed and located. You're sure that if you asked him to do the laundry he would know where to fold and put away your clothes, even where to put the basket and fabric softener when done. 

You follow, shimmying out of your jeans before he's on you, pushing you against the wall and pulling your panties to the side. His fingers are cold and he runs them through your folds, your body jolting forward until your face and chest are the only thing keeping you up. “Warning next time?” but if he's going to warn you it's the first drag of his tip from your clit to your entrance right before he slams himself in. hands digging into your hips and he curses, sinking in all the way so that there is no room for you to get away, no way for your to fuck back onto him. 

“No,” he grunts, pulling out only an inch before slamming back in, picking up a steady pace that has you biting your lip, hands sliding down the wall searching for purchase as he holds you in place. You lean forward so that your shoulder can keep you up, hand snaking down to rub at your clit because you know he won't do it right now when he's so focused on getting off. 

He’s quick, grunting into your ear and you're right there at the edge ready to fall over when he pulls out. His cum dripping down your lower back after he gives a few short tugs of his slick cock, your whine an exasperated expectation when he's this fed up. “Seung-” he cuts you off with his fingers, shoving them back into your waiting cunt, pumping at the same pace he had been at before, letting you finish the second he curled the digits to meet the perfect spot inside you. 

It's a rush of a high before he pulls away, fingers in his mouth before he zips his pants back up. It didn't matter to you if he got you off when you had your hands to help. Neither of you was past using the other like it was nothing. You had done it before and you're sure it would happen again. Late nights where you called over Seungmin to eat you out when you just couldn't get off, toys doing little for you when you wanted someone right there between your legs. There were plenty of times you sucked him off without wanting anything in return, but finishing now felt like a bit of a gift. 

“Sorry,” he huffs, less an apology but a way to fill the space. 

“You don't have to apologize,” you try to look at the stain he's left on you, the warmth already cooling against your ass, “I needed a shower anyway,” 

To anyone else it would have felt cold, the dismissal as clean cut in your eyes as you waved him away. But it's the exact reason why you liked Seungmin, if even a little bit. He wasn't one to get attached, less so one to linger; hover around like the ghost of past regrets. The two of you knew exactly what this was, down to the way you turned around with a small goodbye, his in turn response just as cold, transactional. You would have it no other way. 

You jumped into the shower after hearing the door close, Seungmin always remembering to turn the first lock so that you would only have to deadbolt it when you were done. The routine down faster than it took you to memorize your class schedule. He was a constant you knew would always be around, one that you even liked from time to time when he could hold up a conversation longer than a few words. 

It hasn't always been like this, not that first night you met. The conversation flowed, aided by the drinks in hand, tucked into the corner of a frat party neither of you wanted to be at. It was a glaring contrast to the second night when you had called each other back. Less wanting and needy under the LED lights half hitting your faces and more like tonight. It had been one of the only times he had kissed you, lips chasing yours when you pulled away, hands greedy to get a feel of your body, so new and undiscovered to him. “I don't do relationships,” had slipped from both of your mouths between kisses, his apology then for feeling as if he had cum too soon and not because he had pulled out to release on your favorite lace panties. 

But it didn't matter, you didn't need an apology when he had stayed hard, finding himself back in you without stopping, making you feel things you never thought possible, finding your moans in his mouth, as he echoed back the perfect choir to match. It had been the best night you had had with someone, the one you turned to when you needed help to get off. And it wasn't as if you hadn't had great times with Seungmin after that, it was only different because the two of you knew who you were.  

You could see into each other and you didn't have to hide. Somehow you had stripped down to the basic raw instincts of each other, no need for the added layers of emotions when all you wanted was everything physical. Neither of you had to hide from the other when it would be no use in the first place, the two of you looking into a mirror that shouted back the same image. 

It's why when he came back hours later, the knock on your door had the same rhythm he always found, you didn't think to even turn him away. “It almost seems like you missed me,” his eye roll, a welcomed response. 

“Shut up,” but he couldn't deny the way he had already been hard just thinking about driving over to your place. The idea of someone being so open to taking him whenever he saw fit was something he found addicting, something he wouldn't admit to anyone except you but never in words. The confession tucked in between his moans as you sucked him off, the warm, wet skill you have over him bringing him to your door over and over again. 

He did miss you, in some strange way when there was no sex and he was sitting at your doorstep waiting or in the short time it took him to get up and leave, the small conversations shared before you got in the shower he liked the solace he found. The sex was an added bonus nonetheless. But he wouldn't be able to deny that he liked how easy it was to just be himself when around you. It was something he avoided thinking about too much but crept up on nights like this where you just wiped the corner of your mouth and sat next to him on the couch not kicking him out as you turned on the TV. 

The two of you could sit in silence that is not strained, no questions asked when the air is still. It was peace he didn't know that he needed; didn't even know that he wanted. And yet he always went home. 

Because when you woke up, tucked in on the couch right where he left you it wasn't surprising. You just picked yourself up and got ready for school all over again. Bundling up in an extra layer since the seasons were changing, the bike ride numbed your face and ears. Your lecture halls were stuffy with the heat turned up enough to make you flushed, stuck in a roundabout feeling as if you were defrosting. Your partner already waiting in the seats you had picked out at the beginning of the semester, assigned together at random to work together on your final assignment of the quarter. 

Minho was always on time, scrolling through his phone as he waited for you to join, coat thrown over the back of his chair. Your exasperated ‘hi,’ enough to turn his head in your direction, a soft genuine smile gracing his lips, the the edge of his mouth turned up. 

“I only got a few words in on the doc last night, the research isn't going too well,” he confesses while you pull out your laptop from your bag, setting it up once you have taken your seat in the unbearably uncomfortable chair. 

“I only got a few more lines in before i had to take a break, maybe we can work later if you're free,” it was usually how things ended up going, you got most of your work done after class while sitting over coffee growing cold. The work slowly devolved into giggling over stories you shared together. But you two always fell right back into working. 

“I'm free after my lit class, around three if that works,” it's how you ended up back at the cafe, your usual spot occupied by your laptops and books, research underway as you tried again and again to locate the proper evidence you needed. You needed Minho there in times like this to be the soundboard to bounce ideas off of, making sure that your topics lined up and you didn't have the wrong points being made. 

“I can never tell if I'm doing the citations correctly,” Minho muttered, blowing a puff of air out enough to tousle his dark bangs. The two of you had been sitting here for well over two hours, the sun just starting to set from the wintertime. It made the whole cafe feel warm now that most of the bustle of the campus was dying down, everyone just milling around doing work, muttering with their friends, the hum heavy in the air. 

“Let me see,” the table was long, filled with all the books and empty cups you two had yet to clear so you got up to lean over his shoulder to check. 

Minho sat with his hands in his lap, letting you look over the work he had done poorly, “what have you done?” The words are mostly a giggle at how messed up he got the format, every line was at a different indention, nothing lining up properly at all. 

“I have no idea,” he giggles right back, his hand rubbing down his face as he tries to hold back his laugh, “I really didn't want you to see it but it got too bad,” 

“I could have helped when you first had a question,” you remind him, leaning over the side of him to get the keyboard in place for you to help fix. It was something you would have done in the cramped library closer to your lecture hall, the larger study rooms always taken up leaving the single cubicles available, the two of you squeezing into one if you weren't lucky enough to find one together. It's why you preferred the cafe, so much space to look at everything you needed and apparently the free entertainment. 

Pushing open the door, Seungmin waltzed in, eyes glued to his phone before he ran right into the poor soul who happened to be walking right out at the same time. The crash is loud enough to turn everyone's heads, Seungmin's loud “fuck” echoing in the newly silenced room. 

He was drenched in coffee, the front of his cream-colored sweater only showing off the river of the stain for everyone to see it. The perfect design you would wear for a bad day. 

You're frozen leaning over Minho, his hand resting hot on your lower back to steady you. It's the first thing Seungmin sees when he looks up from his soaked sweater, his lip curling in as he holds back his frustration, balling his fists, shaking his head. It's a rush of apologies from the coffeeless person, Seungmin waving him away without the need for the theatrics, what's done was done, and now he's pissed. 

Minho laughs, loud and shocking in your ear, cute teeth on display for the cafe as you gape at him. “Bad day?” he asks, and unlike the rest of the cafe who tries to turn away, shy eyes from the mess made, Minho only racks his eyes up and down the front of Seungmin. 

“Now made worse,” seungmin mutters, not even looking at you as you stand up straight, Minho's hand leaving you as he pushes his hair away from his brow. 

“Oh this is my roommate by the way, seungmin this is my project partner, the one i was telling you about,” he gestures between the two of you, sharing your name, seungmin only sharing you a brief glance. 

“Hi,” “Hello,” it was probably the few times you two had shared niceties, even when he watched you walk up your front steps he was quick to complain about the wait and you were quick to tell him to fuck off. But it was clear Seungmin was surprised to see you now with his roommate. 

Seungmin hadn't even caught on that it was you who was Minho's partner until that very moment, seeing you lean over him, his hand on you like he was comfortable enough to even do so. He listened when Minho talked but clearly not close enough to realize it was you. Now not only soggy and angry he was able to admit the hint of jealousy he was feeling at the sight of the two of you. If not jealousy, annoyance that he hadn't caught on, annoyance that the two of you seemed so comfortable, so able to be seen in public. 

But the two of you had made the rule without thinking much about what it would do in the long run, no need to go on and on thinking about some kind of claim he had on you when in turn you two had no claim over each other at all. But it didn't keep him from feeling the crinkle of unease in his stomach, the feeling so similar to anger that it was easy to feel the emotions flip-flop with each other. “We are just about to finish up and I was wondering if you could take me home,” 

“Don't you have your own ride?” Seungmin asks, Minho was the only other one who had a car in the apartment they shared. It was the point of contention every night who got street parking and who got the lone parking spot by the front door. 

“I dropped it off at the shop before class and just walked the way, and it's too cold to walk back now,” Minho shrugs,“wait dont you bike home?” you've moved back to your side of the table, slowly packing your things as they talk, seungmin ignoring you. 

“Yeah, but I'm used to it, when it snows I'll catch a ride with a friend or just walk once it's settled,” 

“I could give you a ride whenever you wanted,” and he's so obviously flirting it's like you're caught. Seungmin is watching you, looking for your response as you blink at Minho who is smiling so sweetly the corner of his mouth dipped just right to turn any girl to agree just to see that smile again. 

“Flirting when I'm right here?” Seungmin flicks Minho's shoulder, and you can feel your face heat, as Minho rolls his eyes. It should feel small, like a joke, Seungmin poking fun at Minho in front of a girl he likes, but it feels like Seungmin trying to tug you from Minho’s hands.  The obvious glint in Seungmin’s eyes could be written off by his bad day but you know exactly what it means, if anyone knew what he looked like when pissed it was you. 

“Maybe i'll take you up on it for now youre right i should be back home it's getting late and i don't like to make the trip in the dark,” it's all you have to say to get away from really answering in front of seungmin, your bad thrown over your shoulder as you wave bye to them, “its was nice meeting you, see you tomorrow minho,” seungmin dipping his head in a stiff nod as you leave. 

It wasn't too long after that there was a knock on your door, the first words out of your mouth teasing him, “Is someone upset?” he doesn't even try to answer with his usual bite, his hands in your hair before he's nipping your neck, leaving a trail of wanting bites and muttered words you can't grasp. The door is kicked shut behind him as you clutch his shirt, still warm under his open coat as you stumble back. 

He was needy, hard already, and grinding into you as you fell back on the couch. His hands were hot, working off your shirt, not stopping to worry over your bra as he shoved his hands down into your sweatpants, sliding them down your legs along with your panties. 

It's rare that Seungmin comes over to eat you out, not unless you send him a text to head your way. Now with his lips on your clit it shocks your system, thighs trying to close in around his ears, hands twisting into his hair as he sucks. He doesn't even have to try to get you wet, he's lapping at your cunt like he had been starved for you, the lewd sounds only making you shake. It's when he slips his fingers in, curling them just right that you cry out, moaning without warning that the noises would even leave your lips. 

“Wait-” It feels too soon to finish, like everything is hurtling towards you as you feel the tightness in your stomach burns. You don't want him to stop now when you're crashing as he pulls his mouth away, thumb working over your clit to help ease you down from your hair, the fingers still inside you, pumping slowly as he watches the way you tremble for him. 

“Tell me you want it,” chin still slick with your wetness, his tongue darting out to taste you on the edge of his lips. Your heart is beating in your ears, so caught off guard that you're stumbling to keep up but Seungmin is right there tugging you closer to where you need to be. His thumb which had been so slow is now replaced by his persistent circles, speeding up the longer it takes you to answer. “Tell me,” 

“I want it,” you can't even remember what it was a few minutes ago opening the door for him, teasing only to be teased right back, now you're looking for anything to hold onto, searching for the right words as your mind spins. 

“Beg me for it,” he pulls his fingers from inside you, placing them on his tongue as he soaks in your desperate whimpers. 

“Please-” hips moving on their own, you're grinding forward trying to catch more pressure as he slows down his circling fingers on your clit. “Please Seungmin- I want it, please,” 

Free hand pushing down his pants he releases his aching cock, pre-cum bubbling up from the tip, thumb rolling over his slit to catch the release. “Louder,” his eyes are hooded as he watches, so dark you are sure that you'd fall into them if you didn't know what this was. But you couldn't care about that, not when he was demanding something so little of you. 

“Please- please Seungmin,” his lashes flutter at the sound, his name on your lips like an antidote to his frozen limbs. He moves so that he can sink into you, falling over your body as the two of you gasp at the entrance, the stretch gloriously needed to leave you mindless. 

He doesn't even realize he's doing it, nose to yours, breathing in the same air, gasping on the same breath, lips just brushing and before he can help himself he's kissing you, sloppy and consuming. The taste of you fills your senses as he finds it in him to devour you. Your arms wrap around his neck, hands pulling on his hair as you let him take control as if you ever had an ounce of it before. 

Every drag of his cock only draws out both of your hums, the slow pace only speeding up as Seungmin’s need grows. He had only been here yesterday, felt the warmth and squeeze of your cunt less than twenty-four hours ago, and yet even he could admit he was addicted. He needed a long fuck, that drawn-out ache working into his bones the whole way to dropping off Minho back at their shared apartment. The only thought on his mind was the way you said his friend's name instead of his, how many times had you uttered his name? How many times would you do it again if you had the opportunity? He wanted you to think of him in the way he was starting to think of you. 

Not in the way he had imagined, he knew I wouldn't fall into loving you easily as horrible as it sounded. Seungmin had come to the conclusion that he wouldn't find anyone to love, but you…you were an obsession, that jealousy twisting around his mind, burning down every rational thought until he couldn't help but need to hear you say it, say his name, over and over again. 

And you didn't stop saying it, the reverberation of it pressed to his lips as he tried to hold back his moans but it was impossible when you felt this good under him. He didn't even realize it was happening, the kissing, until he was cumming, his breaths uneven, whines pressed right into your mouth as you came along with him. The warmth of his cum spilling out of you with each added thrust he made, his face pressed into your neck to try and hide what he had done. 

His mind was clearing, from the jealousy, from the orgasm, from you, and he needed to leave.  

It felt so unceremonious; so quick to move from passion to regret. He shouldn't be here, not when it wasn't just anger getting him off but jealousy, unreasonable jealousy that felt heavy and sick in his stomach. He had no reason to be jealous, not now when the both of you had made it clear that if the other found a partner you would stop seeing each other. That the two of you would let the other know when it was even close to happening. And maybe that's why he was angry, not over the fact someone had the opportunity to get you in bed but because it would mean he would be left alone with nothing but his hand.

Since being with you in whatever way it was you had, he hasn't even tried to look for anyone else because he didn't have to and he didn't necessarily want to. He liked the ease at which you put him. Even now, pulling out of you and cleaning you up it felt so normal until your phone lit up on the table. Minho's name flashed across the screen for the small second it needed to let you know he had texted you. So late at night when you don't usually text your project partner. 

You didn't even see it, too busy throwing your clothes in the hamper, warming up your shower, and asking if Seungmin wanted to hop in with you. It was an offer, not a plea he knew as much. 

He could still feel your kiss, the thrumming of the memory scaring him more than he would like to admit. So much so that he's gone with a wave, ditched from the situation like it was the first week of seeing each other and not two years deep. 

You knew he would do it, the second he kissed you he would be gone. It was rare he made the slip up but it wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last time and each time you knew he would be out the door no matter how much you told him it didn't matter. 

It was something you had trained yourself not to be hurt over but it's not as if you didn't see it getting easier with time but it only got disappointing. Seungmin had only stayed over a few times in your bed, sleeping over without realizing he was doing it, not realizing that you two found each other sharing a meal over the course of a few episodes of TV, sitting around on your phones, sending each other videos you found funny because he was right there and on your mind. 

So you climbed into bed feeling drained and wishing for just one time you could spend it tucked back into it, not even cuddled, with him after a night like this where it seemed like he wanted you so bad he couldn't stop himself from taking and taking. But you didn't care, or it's what you liked to tell yourself, you had signed up for it, knew what you were asking for, and had enjoyed it, loved the rules you had fit so snugly against, all until it felt like a straight jacket you could pry yourself out of. 

It kept you up most of the night, the chill of the air outside sinking in between your floorboards making your bed seem warmer than it really was, wanting you to stay in it and skip the day so that you didn't have to face the ride to school. But you fell into the monotony of the day, dressing and making sure your bag was packed with everything you would need for the day. Minho has texted you to tell you he wouldn't be in today because of his car, needing to take it to get checked out across town. It meant you could leave early and work in the comfort of your own home but it also meant you had to keep yourself accountable in getting the work done alone. 

It's halfway to campus that the first snowfall starts, the fat white puffs coming down like rain; fast and hard. You have to keep your annoyance in check at the sight. It was snowing so much earlier in the year, that the hassle of finding someone to take you on the worst days already makes you upset. You can feel the scowl set in on your brow, the tilt of your mouth taking its shape. It's how Seungmin sees you, locking up your bike with your hands in fingerless gloves, spinning the combination, the snowflakes catching in your hair. Scarf tucked close to your chin, nose scrunched as the wind sends a flurry of snow in your direction. 

The decision is easy, he knows when your class is out, your schedule memorized just like you had his down. And when the day is over, your last lecture out he waits next to the bike rack not caring if anyone sees him. Leaning right against your bike he wipes away the build up of snow that had already accumulated. You don't even notice him, head down as you try to avoid the breeze. 

“It's snowing,” the sound of his voice startling you, the obvious observation making you irritable. 

“I know,” you tug on the lock, fingers already falling numb as you put in your combination. The second it clicks seungmin’s hands are on the handlebars, pulling it from its spot, and rolling it away from you. “What the hell-” but you don't stop him, following after as he leads you to his car, already on and warmed. 

The suv was completely oversized and obnoxious, the kind of car that was made for families or people with entourage, not a college student. But it was Seungmin’s prized possession, the only thing he put all his care into, and he was proud of it. You had made fun of it before, the spot in front of your apartment hardly big enough to fit it between the other two much smaller cars next to it. But he took no criticism of it, completely blacked out with its heated seats. It was a blessing when the road's reflection of the winter sun bounced off the blinding snow. 

You had only been in it a few times, that first night being one of them, his hand on your thigh as he drove you home. Even now it was a welcome warmth as you got in, body instantly feeling the effect of defrosting as you buckled in, seungmin lifting your bike to place in the trunk like it was something he did all the time and not the first occurrence. 

And for the first time, the air was stale between you two, not the usual understanding, not after last night when both of you couldn't get the feel of each other's lips to go away. The radio was low, your hands twisting together as an excuse to do something besides sit still; eyes dancing over the oncoming snow, raining down harder than it had been earlier. The soft thumps of the windshield wipers keep up with the pace of your thoughts, say something- don't, say something- don't.  

It's not until he pulls into his usual spot that you speak up, the light, “thank you,” fading into the background. The wind is howling, beating the flakes against the windshield at a rate the wipers can't keep up with, the inside of the car keeping the two of you in a reverse snowglobe, watching the world shake as you ask, “do you want to wait it out inside?” 

“If you don't mind,” he doesn't even share a glance your way, eyes passing you to look out the window before looking over his shoulder into the backseat, “we can just leave the bike in here for now,” 

The two of you rush out of the car, huddled close as you fumble for your keys, Seungmin standing in the way of the wind, taking the brunt of the weather before you push open the door. The two of you shedding clothes without the intention of fucking for the first time in a long time, your school bag falling to the foot of the couch as you move to turn up the heater.“Do you want anything to eat, i have a few snacks and things if you're hungry,” 

He already knows where the pantry is, pulling open the door to look inside. It's casual and yet you feel the distance, not only in the way you had been before, the barely talking had been comfortable, but now the barely talking felt heavy. But you wouldn't be the one to break it, it wasn't you who came around to take you home, it wasn't you who had kissed him. But you knew exactly why you wouldn't say anything. Somewhere the worm of thought was wiggling around your brain, telling you that you weren't as casual as you had hoped to be, you were in some way friends at the end of it all, even if no one knew about it. 

Seungmin pulled out a bag of popcorn, still folded nearly, ready to be popped. You sat back down on the couch, getting under your blanket and ignoring your work as you reached for the remote to the TV. The air filled with the buttery scent of fresh-popped kernels, seungmin reached for a bowl in the cabinet already having seen you do this exact task before. 

“I didn't know you knew Minho,” you don't even turn in his direction when he makes the statement, watching the TV shows and movies flip past, looking for something to watch. 

“Yeah we’ve been working together for most of the year,” you watch Seungmin’s lips pursed, nodding to your answer lightly before moving over to sit next to you on the couch. He kicks his socked feet up onto your coffee table and you click on a random show that neither of you care much about. “I didn't know he was one of your roommates, I knew you had them of course it's why you keep me away from your coveted apartment,” 

“It's not coveted, they are just nosey,” you lean over to grab a handful of popcorn as he chews, “and your place has no one else we have to worry about, if we went to my place yesterday and tried to fuck on the couch we would have a lot of explaining to do, and the decor is better here,” 

“So it's the decor and convenience that keeps you coming,” you're leaning on the armrest of your couch, half turned to him so that you can push your foot into his side. Toes cold as you tuck them under his thigh. 

“You know that's not the only reason,” but it's the way he looks at you when he says it that makes you freeze, the soft tilt to his eyes and the quick realization that he was doing it in the first place. But you knew it wasn't the sex, not when he was quick to flush about the statement. He never got embarrassed to talk about your sex life, seungmin was the most open partner you had, slowly pulling that same confidence out of you. He was easy to talk to about what you wanted and when you wanted it, his one-month-long journey to get you to speak up in bed worked wonders on the way your sex had evolved. 

But this, the blush on his cheeks staining your mind as you knew turned over the meaning in your mind. He knew the same comfort that you did, felt the same relaxation settling over him as it did you when you could just strip back to someone who was entirely yourself and yet hidden from so many other people. “I know,” it's a whisper because anything more would make him run, just like a kiss, anything more and he would be out the door in seconds, snowstorm be damned he would sit in his car. And you were starting to hate that truth, that fear he was feeling. So you kicked him again, “and you can't resist my-” 

“Do not start right now, I'm eating,” he cracks a smile, the corner of his mouth turning up as you fake shock. 

“I was going to say personality i have no idea where your mind was going,” 

“Your personality makes me sick,” his tongue poked out for a moment as you shoved your feet further under him, toes wiggling in the cramped space. 

“Your attitude makes me sick,” you quip, rolling your eyes as he leans over, hand sliding up your calf. 

“You love my attitude,” it's the kind of moment that would have led to sex, you could see it, him leaning over to kiss you,if he let himself. Spilling popcorn but neither of you cared as you fell into each other. But that wasn't the way things felt for you two, because that would have been too close to a couple and you could see that in his eyes when he pulled away.“I should head out soon before the roads get too bad and it looks like it's clearing up a bit,” he nods to your window, the curtains pulled back to see the light snowfall. 

“Yeah, let me get my bike-” 

“I'll just pick you up tomorrow, you're seriously not going to bike in the snow again,” he passes you the bowl of half eaten popcorn, setting it in your lap as he stands. 

“You don't have to do that-” 

“But I am, you don't have to worry about it I don't mind, and you can't deny you don't love the heated seats,” and you want to ask him to stay, and spend the night. He had clothes here, ones he had left and forgotten. He knew where in the drawer they were and put them occasionally, it wouldn't even be the first time he used your shower whether alone or not. Even sharing your bed wouldn't have been too much. But you let him go without asking. Too scared to be turned away, too scared to think about why you wanted him here this close when you swore to yourself that you wouldn't let that happen, he had told you it wouldn't happen. But the lines felt so blurred when he was being nice even if it was the bare minimum. 

So he left, took your bike along with him, and you found yourself alone in bed again, turning and turning as you tried to find the right spot to lay. You had accounted for the bad sleep to that, the constant moving, and yet the second you made it to the bathroom you found your period had started. Your groan sank into your stomach as you got ready. Seungmins knock on the door was punctual and all too much a reminder of not having enough time to crawl back into bed and skip. 

“You look like shit,” it's the first words out of his mouth and you're not sorry for the look you land on him. 

“I hardly slept,” you mutter, locking up and following him back to the waiting warm car. The few steps down were slick with a mix of melting snow and salt, Seungmin’s hand helpful as he hovered it just slightly next to your hip without actually touching you. It made you want to shout at him for being nice, for blurring lines you didn't think would ever be spotted with questions. 

It felt like he was toying with you, pulling on the little string on your back to hear you, all before he left again. It was tiring and you already felt drained. Especially when he was back to not knowing you on campus, the library filled with people, and there he sat with his friends, ignoring you when everyone else said hi when Minho introduced you, picking up notes he needed from one of them. It felt like falling backward, hurtling in a different direction than you had been going when on the couch together less than a day ago. 

And it was so easy to feel annoyed today of all days, when your cramps were starting to work their way through your body, and make you more uncomfortable than sitting silently in a car with seungmin as he took you home. But you did have to agree about the heated seats being the perfect makeup for not having to bike to school. 

But as you sat there trying to focus on the warmth under you all you could feel was pain in your lower back, that hollow ache pressed right against your pelvis. 

Seungmin could see the way you were trying to hold back a whine, eyes squeezed shut as you rested your hand over your stomach, leaning back with a frown on your mouth. He didn't say anything, just followed you back into your apartment unasked, and you let him too tired to care. “I don't feel like it today,” you muttered while he followed you into your bedroom, already halfway undressed as you slipped on pajamas. 

“Neither do I,” he shrugged, pushing out of his coat. “If you want me to leave I can,” 

But you don't tell him to go and you don't really tell him to stay. Groaning as you fall into bed, face pressed into the pillow trying to find some way that relieves even a bit of your pain. Seungmin climbs in after you, but not next to you as if he was going to nap but straddling the back of your thighs, hands warm as he pushes the back of your sleep shirt up, fingertips pressing into your lower back as you whine. 

He knew your periods would get bad occasionally, once you had texted him to come over just so that he could help you to bed, your body curled up on the bathroom floor, head pounding with a headache and nausea making it hard to want to stand at all. He hadn't said anything, helped you up, and took you to your bed without questions. It had been one of the truly personal moments you had shared and didn't care that he had seen you like that, didn't care if it had made you seem less sexy because it hadn’t, he had been back just as often as he had the week before. 

Now he massaged you, hands kneading slowly as you tried not to think about what it meant to have him here with you now. It would have felt embarrassing to have anyone else around to see you like this but at the same time, it was natural. And Seungmin liked to know he could make you feel good, not only when he was having sex with you but that he could make you feel good in a way that was similar to how you made him feel. He liked to know you were okay, liked to see that he could provide as you had for him when he was in his nastier moods. Because sometimes he felt bad that he used you, even if you had used him right back it left him feeling like he owed you an apology, even if you would never accept it. 

So you let him stay, let his warm hands work you to sleep. And when you woke up with the lights dimmed, curtains pulled closed to let you sleep in you felt like crying. Your bed empty but your bedside table dawned a full glass of water, a few painkillers, and crackers. He was gone but he hadn't left like it was nothing. 

You climbed into the shower trying to wash away the feelings that had started to cling to your skin, your mind. It felt wrong to hear his knock on your door and know the second you saw him you wanted to hug him and say thank you. You wanted to let him know how much it meant to you, how much it was affecting you. The only thing you could come up with as a thank you that didn't seem too much was to gift him your apartment spare key, shoved in the back of a junk drawer where it should not have been, the little heart keychain getting tangled in a bunch of old changing cables you had no use for anymore. 

It was a long overdue gift, one you should have given a year ago in the winter where he would stand next to the front door with his hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders to his ears. But you had been so used to avoiding your feelings that it was easy to write them off as nothing more than a complication. But now it feels silly to think that. This isn't even the first time he was nice, much less the last time seeing as he was already leading you down to his warm car. 

“Here so you don't have to freeze your ass off and so you can deadbolt my door when you leave now,” it was another casual dismissal like it meant nothing to hand your house key over to someone you only slept with when you needed to take a load off. But it was the way you knew wouldn’t make him run, if you had said it any nicer he would leave and you wouldn't see him for a week or more, damn it if you're cold or not. 

“Took you long enough, didn't I ask for a key once and you told me if I didn't make one there was no way of me ever getting one?” he slipped the key into his back pocket, the little pink heart made of easily shattered plastic hanging out right against his dark jeans. 

“Well you have it now so no need to complain about how long it takes me to make it back from campus,” you were setting yourself up for the morning when he didn't show up, did not knock or let himself in so that he could take you, snow or not you knew it would sting. 

“You love it when I complain,” your answering eye-roll enough to make him chuckle. 

You didn't think that he would use the key so soon, the weekend rolling in, no reason for him to pick you up, no reason to come over. He had even dropped your bike off right outside your door on Friday so that if you needed it you had it. Spending most of the day hunched over your books working on your project that you and minho would have to submit by the end of the week and present. 

It was late enough that Minho had logged off the shared doc and retired for the night and you knew you wouldn't hear from him until he was ready to put in work again. So you stood going over your presentation trying and failing to work your way through the parts you had to memorize. You got more points if you didn't use flashcards, and even more points if you only gestured towards the board and didn't need help to remember plot points from it as you flipped through slides. But you kept having to look down and remember the parts you had to interject in between Minho's parts. 

The task was distracting enough not to hear the door open behind you, your hand falling over your heart the second you turned and away Seungmin coming in, the flashcards holding Minho's parts of the presentation fluttering to the ground,“you scared me you asshole-” 

“I texted you like an hour ago that i was coming over,” and you know your phone is on the charger in the other room, turned face down to try and keep you from flipping it over and going on it to procrastinate. 

“We can have sex after you help me with this,” picking up all the notecards you file them in order shoving them into his unexpectant hands. 

“I don't really want to do homework this late at night, it's not even my homework,” fingers deftly working through the cards, “and it's not even your work i’m reading, shouldn't minho be working on this with you?” 

“He was busy and i didnt even know you were coming over so, wrong place wrong time, now help me,” you wave seungmin to sit on the couch, standing in front of the coffee table, closing your eyes to try and remember the first line in your speech. 

“He is back at home watching TV with the guys,” Seungmin says leaning back as he reads over his half of the cards. “And you know sometimes I come for the company,” it was the truth, or at least as much as he was willing to share. He didn't know why he had texted that he was on his way, he knew less as to why he couldn't think of what to say when he finally put his key in your lock. He was glad to have found you somewhat shocked to see him so that he wouldn't have to jump right into your bed but had time to do what he really wanted; just sit around in your presence. 

“Well either way I want a very nice reward for doing so much school work so late into the night,” and it had been a while since you had found each other twisted up together, especially after seeing each other around more often than usual these past few weeks. “For now I need you to read those when I get to the breaks,” 

Seungmin picked up the pace easily enough, pointing out the grammar mistakes that had been rushed over in haste to get the cards done. But you were thankful to have him help you. His easy chuckle and smooth cadence helped more than you thought you needed. Even halfway you order food to be delivered, taking a much needed break and calling it a night for work. You had been standing the whole time, looking for a way to make it seem less awkward talking with nothing in your hands. Now your legs were tired, your groan leaving you the second you laid out on the couch not caring about putting your feet into his lap while you did it. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, eyes covered with the back of your hand as you sighed through your nose. “I know it sucks to come over for sex and get this instead,” 

“I didn't come over just for sex, believe it or not. Sometimes I like your company enough to not be inside you,” but it didn't matter about him trying to brush it off when now all you could think about was sex. And with him looking the way that he did, half disheveled and relaxed was enough to make you want to sink to your knees for him. So you did. Sliding from the couch so that you could be in front of him, hands gliding over his thighs, looking up from under your lashes. 

“I mean we don't have to…” but just the sight of you like this on your knees for him was making him grow hard, his hands reaching out for yours, capturing them before you could find his zipper. 

“Sit with me,” but the words themself felt like a ‘no’, a direct denial that he could read over your features as they sink into you. But it wasn't the way he wanted you to take it, not when he couldn't get the idea of your lips out of his mind, not wrapped around him but pressed to his, chasing his mouth as he tried to catch his breath. So when you got up he pulled you down to the couch with him, pushing you into the fabric and finding your mouth without warning. 

He knows he shouldn't, knows it goes against the quasi-distance he puts between you two, and yet all he could think about was the last time his lips were on you, kissing you, trying to hide his truths right against your mouth. And you were so willing, arms pulling him in, needing him closer, wanting to be here, and not pushing him away like you should have. But even you couldn't deny how good it felt to have him this close to you, semi-hard just from the sight of you. And there was something about breaking the thin rules you two had in place like his need was more than his conscience. No longer able to resist himself. 

It was a slow kiss, exploring the way you fit together as if you hadn't learned each other's bodies before this one bit. All his kisses turned intense, dripping with desire as you spread your legs, letting him sink in closer to you, rolling his hips as he caught his breath on the edge of a whimper. And he was looking at you, really catching you in his sight, blinking down at you. His hair hanging around his brows that you couldn't help but push it back, fingers running through the strands as you tucked them behind his ear. “You look so pretty,” 

It was the truth, one you didn't know you had said aloud but you had, and now he was pulling away. Sitting up and leaving you laid out, disheveled, and feverish from a few kisses. “I have to go,” 

“Seungmin-” 

“No i should go, i need to go,” and it was a switch, that boyish smile cleaned from the surface like a stain he didn't want visitors to see, and you were just a visitor he allowed to see it occasionally but not one he let stay. Now his scowl was set in, his shoulders set as you sat up. 

“Fine, go, run away,” his eyes flickered at the dismissal as if he could be angry at you for kicking him out so willingly. 

You watch the way his eyes roll, “we have rules for a reason,” 

“Rules,” the word feels foreign in your mouth, arms crossing, “you're the one who came over, you're the one who told me it wasn't for sex, if it wasn't for sex what was it for? Huh? Think about the rules next time you want to stay a while,” 

“We said no kissing,” 

“You said no kissing, and I never kissed you first, think back to every time it's happened, you did it, take up the rules with yourself,” 

“You should not let me-” 

“Let you, you're acting like a child, get over it, people kiss all the time, go if you want to, act like you don't like me,” 

“Fine,” he mutters grabbing his coat, “and it's not an act,” you don't even try to stop him, let him walk right out and even listen to the sound of him locking the door, deadbolt slamming like the shutting of a heavy book, echoing in the room as you fall back where he had pressed you, heels of your palms pressed to your eye sockets, sighing. 

He was scared and you didn't help it, didn't want to push him so you pushed him away. The both of you are childish and cold to the other, running around like you don't know that this would one day crack so much so that you wouldn't be able to glue it back together. But you had never predicted it would be over a kiss or even the friendship you had started with one another. And even that made you want to cry, now alone on a warm couch soon to grow cold because he's not here anymore to keep you warm. 

He doesn't call or text you, doesn't even come to pick you up Monday morning. The snow already settled and mostly shoveled away from the roads and sidewalks, and a lot of other people from campus were already back to walking. And you had prepared yourself for this, your sadness turning to anger more than anything else. The walk filled with a scowl and half pouty stomp, cursing Seungmin under your breath knowing that if it was anyone else making you feel this way you would have called Seungmin over to work you out enough to let it go. And now you have no one to help you, having to find more conventional ways of getting your anger out. And so you turned to overwork on your projects. 

You spent more time at the library and the cafe, calling Minho to practice so that you knew in some way Seungmin might know that you were busy. The whole week you poured over every little note to take your mind away from his and his rare smile and soft kisses. And when you did see him at the cafe ordering a coffee neither of you acknowledged the other, brushing past each other like true strangers, like it had been before when you first set your rules.

But it did sting, like an ember that only aided a fire and didn't put it out because you bottled it up and didn't wallow over it. You wouldn't be the first one to crack, not when you didn't see what you had done wrong besides letting him do what the both of you were thinking. 

Minho had picked up on the irritation, “everyone is having a bad week, some of my roommates are in a pisspoor mood,” he commented while you waiting for your turn to present your project, “you should come out with us tonight, we are celebrating the end of the quarter with lots of drinks and dancing but mostly drinks,” 

Most of your time had been spent indoors and now would be the perfect time to get out. The much needed time away from your apartment, letting go and not thinking about Seungmin on your couch, and if he wanted you he would text you,or wait for you to come home. “That sounds perfect actually,” and Minho planned to pick you up for your place, texting you when he was outside and watching you lock up from the comfort of his car, headlights shining over you as you walked across to get to the passenger side door. 

Both of you had done great on your project, the time you spent pouring over your work and not worrying about boys with commitment issues helped tremendously. Now without a care you wore the shortest skirt you owned and didn't care if Seungmin saw or not. Until you made it to the bar and watched his eyes find you. Minho's hand in yours led you through the crowd to the table they had all gotten, seungmin’s jaw tight as he held his glass of water, gaze trapped on the way Minho helped you get into the booth. 

It felt liberating to be ‘allowed’ to talk to him in this sense. He couldn't hide behind the fact he didn't know you after this, you would now know of each other publicly even if he never did break and text you again. For now, you would sit and let him stew for as long as he wanted. And stew he did, watching every little move you made although he was trying not to seem obvious about it. He listened and didn't talk, nodding along to what his friends were saying and yet still treating the room like it was only you two and your fight between you. 

And when Minho asked you to dance you didn't stop yourself from agreeing, taking his hand and letting him hold you, standing as close as he wanted knowing exactly how angry it would make Seungmin to see. He traced the path Minho'shand had made on you, from the underside of your rib cage down to your hip, catching your eyes as he fumed. His tipping point when you caught him looking you knowingly blew him a kiss, the taunt going too far for him. His scowl set as he stood grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. 

“I think I'm going to head home,” your hand cupped near Minho's ear, “I'm going to call a bad I'm a little lightheaded,” 

“I can wait with you-” he started, concern written over his face before confusion.

“I can wait with her, Chans asking after you,” Seungmin’s voice was a cool balm over your flushed skin, hot from the crowd, the lights. His face had an indifferent cold exterior as you nodded, “Yeah, you stay, have a good time,” 

Minho gave you one last final look over, nodding with a quick,“Okay, text me when you get home,” before you were walking out the same way you had come in. the chill sinking into your bones the second you left the stuffy club. Your phone in hand, fully prepared to call a cab just like you had claimed you would. 

“You could sleep with him if you wanted to,” Seungmin wasn't even in front of you when he said it, your head snapping to look at him over your shoulder, his brow raised like he was waiting for you to take the bait waving in front of you. 

“Oh I know,” the sarcasm dripped from you like venom. You didn't want to sleep with anyone, not when the one person who you enjoyed getting your anger out on was being an ass. 

“Go sleep with him, you have my permission,” he tipped his head in the direction of the door, goosebumps rising along your arms from the anger, the cold. 

“I don't need your permission to sleep with anyone, you don't do relationships, remember,” you were standing right at the edge of the pavement, where the sidewalk met the parking lot. “Go home,” the words felt heavy as you said them, hitting him with each syllable. You felt so silly standing here before him, both of you dancing around each other but you could see the cracks in him, watching the way the water bubbled to the surface ready to spill out between the two of you. 

“I'm just reminding you,” it made you sick, the arrogance, the casual brush off as if he wasn't the one who started the conversation over nothing. 

“Maybe I will sleep with him,” but you're bluffing, crossing your arms and stalking closer to him, your breath fanning white in front of you like smoke, “maybe he will actually invite me over and not run away from his feelings,” 

But he's angry even at the thought, “no,” the word like a slammed door at the unwelcome proposal. He looks disgusted, nose scrunched, shaking his head, “No,” as if repeating it would make it stick.  

“didn't you just say I could? Go back so easy on your word when people play with your toys, if you like me just admit it- stop acting like a toddler and fess up,” you're standing so close to him now, it didn't matter what height you were when in this conversation he knew you were right anyways you looked you would be the one on top. You just wanted once for him to admit it, say it without having to reduce yourself to begging him. You wanted him to say yes, to tell you, even if you had to stop seeing each other you would live with it because you could live with him being scared but not dishonest. 

But he just blinked back at you, mouth pinched closed like he knew it would drive you insane. Sometimes he loved to deny you, wait it out because it was better that way than just giving in to losing. “Let's go, you can't walk home it's too far,” the words felt like a clear wave of his hand, taking everything you had said and swiping it off the table into a drawer that was easy to slam closed and ignore for later, or never open again. 

You turned around, arms crossed, fiddling with your phone as if you weren't too angry to look at the screen properly. You would walk all the way home if it would fuck with him, just to say you did as petty as it was. You would be the only one at a loss and still, it didn't matter, you knew it would piss him off nonetheless, or if you went back in and asked Minho for a ride, that would hurt him even more. “I'm going to get a ride,” you throw over your shoulder, the angry padding of his following steps right behind you. 

“You already have one,” he holds up his key and you see your keychain as the only other one on there besides his house key and car key, the small heart dangling in his fist, “come on, get in,” 

“Admit it,” you don't care that you are stopped in the middle of the parking lot, standing there in what felt close to nothing, numb from the cold. 

Seungmin watched the way you shivered, hated that he knew you would torture his mind until the end if he didn't get you into the warmth of his car, no matter how badly he wanted to keep his mouth shut. Because he did like you, hated that he was backed in the corner to say it when he could hardly think about it when alone, less when he was with you and the idea was right over him. He was so good at ignoring things, he had been doing it since that first night that he had you. “Fine, get in the car,” it was already on and warm. 

“Say it,” your hip dips, ready to hold out. 

“I like you,” he says it like he hates the words, the tone chipped as you pull it out of him, but you know him, know him best when he's on the edge of anger and desire, “now get in the fucking car,” 

“Fine,” both of you headed for the car, Seungmin reaching out around you so he could pull your door open. He even helps by keeping his hand right on your lower back as you step up to get in, closing the door behind you as you reach over to turn up the heater. The seat was already warm and welcoming. He doesn't say anything when he gets in, putting the car in reverse, hand on the back of your seat as he twists to get a good view behind him. You sit watching outside the front windshield, arms still crossed as you ignore the way his shirt rides up across his waistband. 

“You could have cleared up so much if you had just said something sooner,” you mutter, “hell even if you didn't want me because if it did, it would have been better than sitting around thinking about how I must be a horrible kisser-” 

“I never said that,” he cuts you off, watching the road as the snow starts to come back down. The roads had been cleared and it was only a light dusting, flurries that would melt as soon as they hit the pavement. 

“Exactly you never say anything, you come, you fuck, you leave. I don't even mind it, I welcome it, but then you come over and just hang out, kiss me, and leave but deny you have feelings for me-”

“I never said I didn't have feelings for you, you never asked,” 

“I shouldn't have to ask,”

“I shouldn't have to be the one to start the conversation, you're just as much to blame as I am,” it shuts you up, lips twisting closed as you sink into the seat knowing he's right. But it didn't matter, what's done was done, and you were never the one to run away from him, annoy him yes, but you never ran. 

The two of you sat in silence, watching the snow fall, the anger slightly dissipating as you let the thoughts of him take over. You knew you were a hypocrite, and felt it as easily as you felt the feelings you had for him. You didn't want to push him away, you didn't want him to take you home to drop you off and ignore you all over again. Not when it would feel closer to breaking up than him not coming back to pick you up from school. “I like you and I don't care about the stupid rules, not when you like me too. I like you more than just the sex and that's saying a lot because you can be distant. And I like it when you kiss me, even when you don't mean to, I like it when you come over just to hang out, and I like your stupid car and its heated seats, and I like your smile,” 

The words came out in a rush, “I used to like that you ignored me and now I just hate it, and I hate your stupid jealousy over nothing at all, and I hate the way you make me feel sometimes,” 

“Like when?” His grip on the wheel was tight, knuckles white from the hold. 

“Like when you pull away from kissing me and leave me alone, when you don't show up to pick me up the next week and walk past me like you don't know me anymore, when you watch me dance with someone else and you don't admit when I'm right. And I hate it even more that when you kiss me and it doesn't make you want to stay but run,” your throat felt tight, your teeth working into the flesh of your lip, trying to ignore the way this conversation was making you feel. You didn't even notice him pulling off the shoulder of the road, not until he was putting the car in park. 

Unbuckling his seatbelt he leans over, catching your chin in his hand, pulling you to meet him halfway across the center console to press his lips to yours. You know he's doing it to prove a point, the slow kiss weakening you. Breaking the kiss, you're only just ghosting your lips over his still searching ones, “Seungmin-” 

“I like you, a lot more than I care to admit, and I-” he doesn't even open his eyes as he says it, brows coming together as if it pains him to admit it, “I want to spend all my time with you, I want to kiss you over and over until we can't breathe and I want you to want me as badly as I need you,” his nose bumps yours, the whispered, “please,” pressed right against your mouth, so close its as if it came from your mouth too. 

And you can't help yourself from clinging to him, pulling him by his shirt, hands fisted in the fabric as he devours you. His hand slid behind your ear cupping your skull to get you as near as he could and still he needed you closer. With his free hand, he clicked your seatbelt button, needing it off of you. It was easy enough to follow his instructions, even the silent ones after so long of knowing each other in movements instead of words. 

Pushing out of your seat you made the climb over to his side, his chair pushed back to give you room when between him and the steering wheel. Your skirt bunching around your hips, now short enough to be a belt in this position; arms wrapping around his neck as he holds your waist, keeping you steady as your knees dig into the sides of the seat. He doesn't give you much time to wait before his mouth is back on you, his control slipping as you meet him with the same need, his exploration of you turning messy in seconds. 

It's when he starts to kiss down your jaw, mouth open and hot against your skin that you feel how hard he has gotten, pressed against your thigh as you roll your head back for him. He drags his teeth over your neck, kissing away the trail, groaning at the taste of you. He wants more, needs more, hips rolling up into your as if that bit of friction would fix anything. It didn't matter how many times he had you, he would need more, needed to hear you say his name like you did now, meeting him with a slow tantalizing grind back down on him. 

Your nails scratched along his scalp, gripping his hair with one hand as the other wedges between you two fiddling with the button on his pants. “We don't have to,” he's gasping, the car steaming up. The snow thickened against the windshield, the wipers cut off once he had pulled over.

“I want to,” you say against his mouth, relishing in the way he gasps as soon as your hand grips him. He's never been so whiny before, vocal as you rise on your knees, panties pushed to the side as you drag his tip through your slick folds.“Tell me if you want me to stop,” but he's shaking his head, nose brushing your cheek, hips pushing up to try and catch your entrance before you can think about stopping. 

“No, don't stop,” hands on your hips holding you hard enough to bruise the second he slips in an inch. “Please don't stop,” 

The stretch makes you gasp, forehead to his as he tries to keep himself from pushing all the way in so fast. But you don't care, you want him as deep as he will go, as close as you can get him. Sinking down you take in the overwhelming feeling, hand falling to your stomach as you moan, “You're so-” the words won't even form anymore, brain finding it hard to make connections to your mouth now that you had him this far in.  

“You always feel so fucking good,” Seungmin groans, body melting into the seat, the warmth of the heater only making the two of you flushed and easily pliable. “I knew it that first time that your pussy was made for me,” he rolls his hips finding any room that he can to give his shallow thrusts, his pelvis pressed to your clit making you blink hard. “Can you feel it?” 

“Yes-” the word a confession as you find your own pace, grinding your hips, finding a rhythm that would have you finishing without much effort, but you know it's because it's him, the way he knows your body, fits you so well. His nails scratching at your clothes, finding a grip so that he can use you as leverage to rock into you, tip pressed right to your g-spot at this angle. 

“You're so fucking perfect, how could I not like you, how could I not think about you and only you,” his puppy dog eyes watching you, his hair a disheveled mess, brows close together as he whimpers again. “Look at you,” his sweet mewls fill up the space, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the back of his seat as you drag your hips back and forth on him.“So pretty riding my cock so desperately,” 

“I want you to cum for me, please, please,” you can't even keep yourself up anymore, crowding his space, pressing your lips back to his as he takes over, and you know he's cumming the second he starts to tremble, mouth frozen in a moan as you catch the sound in the back of your throat. Your own climax triggered by the sight of his, by the feeling of being so full. He can't even stop himself from using your hips to ride back down on him, wanting to keep you right where you were, full of him in every way. 

You wrap your arms around him, his face tucked into your neck, the light kisses over your still hammering pulse only making it flutter longer than calm down. It's not until you pull back to look at him that you see that hazy smile on his features. “Come home with me? Spend the night,” 

His smile only grows, spreading across the expanse of his face until he's nodding, “I do have a key, maybe I could stay longer than just the night…” his eyes caught on the way you smile right back at him. 

“As long as you want, since I happen to like you, I could keep you around for a long, long time,” both your smiles caught against each other's lips right before he's back to kissing you. 

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