#]req

Gonna be so real with you… he’d break every bone in his fucking body

your new puppy hybrid, choso, is so clingy!

your friends are so worried because of how possessive he is, but you say it’s probably just because you’re his new owner, although you’ve had him for a few years now.

whenever choso hears another voice coming through your phone, especially if you’re calling with someone, he whines and nudges your knees with his chin as he kneels on the ground, looking up at you with big brown eyes. he knows you’ll eventually lie and say you have to go, that you have a meeting of some sort, only because you know choso sulks if he doesn’t have your attention.

so he climbs up and shoves his head under your shirt, then lies on your chest as his tail wags. his big hands grab at you just for more physical contact, and he shrinks into himself with a whimper when you scold him for squeezing you too hard.

and whenever you’re doing something important that requires focus, it’s always broken by choso. sometimes you’re at the stove, stirring up some vegetables in a pan when large arms wrap around you and a long, fluffy tail is heard thumping against the cabinets.

although you tell him to get off because you need to focus, he pretends he doesn’t hear you, but he knows you won’t do anything about him misbehaving— nothing he doesn’t like, at least.

but he gets so jealous whenever you come home from the bar with your friends, smelling the lingering scent of alcohol and cologne from men trying to hook up with you, but to no avail. whenever you come home from events like that, he has to cover you in his scent immediately!

choso doesn’t mind that your friends don’t seem to like him very much. well, he has been the reason why you’ve been flaking so often. as soon as you get dressed after telling him you’re going out with the girls, he sighs and curls up in your sheets, though watching you at your vanity with teary puppy eyes, silently begging you not to leave— how could you say no to that adorable face?

so, maybe choso is a bit clingy, but you don’t mind, and that’s exactly how he likes it.

hope yall like this

love this trope ugh

warnings : MDNI !! jealousy, previous argument, angry makeout, established relationship suggestive but not very descriptive smut ~barely any smut really. Martin cameo.

You shut your computer in one smooth click, pulling your hair into a ponytail.

This wasn’t gonna work.

You knew you were an overall angry person— but knowing James was in the same vicinity, sleep soundly while you could quite literally feel your blood boiling and all the other side effects of rage— wasn’t gonna work.

The dorm was dead silent except for the low hum of the fridge— promotions had been brutal lately —endless schedules, fake smiles, and the pressure of pretending everything was perfect while you and James weren’t even speaking.

Three days of icy silence after that stupid fight about the choreographer.

God knows James knew how to hold a grudge— the bastard wouldn’t let it go.

You’d both agreed to keep your relationship hidden, but the jealousy had exploded— making every single trip outside your bedroom an awkward mess.

You couldn’t sleep. Again.

Slipping out of bed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that barely covered your thighs, you padded quietly to the kitchen for some water. Normally no one would be awake at this hour— so you took the … creative freedom to go out in your long tee.

Normally…

The under-cabinet light was already on— James stood at the counter in gray sweatpants, hair messy, glass in hand. He looked up and froze the second he saw you.

You stopped short, heart jumping.

“Ah seriously?” you whispered, voice sharp but low. “Out of all the nights, you had to be here.”

James set the glass down harder than necessary, stepping closer. “It’s my dorm too, y/n. Or am I supposed to stay locked in my room just because you’re pissed at me?”

“I’m pissed because you’re acting like a pussy,” you hissed, crossing your arms over your chest. “We have to do interviews and stages together tomorrow and you won’t even look at me. All because of some choreography you knew was nothing.”

His jaw clenched. “It didn’t look like nothing when his hands were all over your waist- you know how that messes with my head, especially when we have to act like there’s nothing between us.”

“It was choreography,” you repeated, voice low and furious. “You’re the one who wanted us secret, remember? Then you throw a fit and ice me out for three fucking days while we still have to perform together. Hypocrite.”

His jaw tightened. “And you’re the one acting like my jealousy is crazy when you know exactly what this does to me— should i remind you of last week? When you practically pounced me because i was talking to that random girl what’s-her-name?”

The argument vanished in the heat.

Alright maybe it didn’t.

The words were still hanging between you— unresolved- when James suddenly grabbed your face and kissed you hard. It wasn’t sweet or apologetic— it was more like angry, teeth clashing, more punishment than affection. You shoved at his chest for half a second before fisting his shirt and yanking him closer, kissing him back just as viciously.

“Asshole,” you breathed against his mouth between kisses. He answered by biting your lower lip, then soothing it with his tongue in a way that made your knees weak.

He lifted you roughly onto the counter, your legs wrapping around him on instinct. You could feel how hard he was as he ground against you, the friction making you both groan quietly— his hands shoved under your shirt, palming your breasts roughly, thumbs flicking over your nipples while you rocked your hips against his cock.

“Still mad at you,” you muttered, even as you tugged his sweatpants down just enough to free him.

“Yeah? Same,” James growled, voice rough and low. He hooked your panties to the side, sliding the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your entrance. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna fuck the attitude out of you right here.”

You were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, bodies tense with leftover anger and desperate need. He started to push in—

Footsteps echoed from the hallway.

You both froze. James pulled back instantly, yanking your shirt down as you slid off the counter. You tried to fix your hair and steady your breathing, but it was useless. Your lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, and James was still obviously hard in his sweatpants.

Martin walked in, rubbing his eyes. He stopped, took one look at the two of you— messy hair, flushed faces, the thick tension in the air- and let out a long, tired groan.

“Man, we can’t even have a second of peace around here, man. You’re always everywhere making out like fucking teenagers.”

© ptolemaeiia 2026

Manon Bannerman