you’re lying on the couch, half-on, half-off, limbs tangled and a blanket somewhere but barely doing its job.

she’s scrolling on her phone. focused. concentrated. you’re bored. dangerously so.

so you lean in and kiss her neck. just a soft one, under her jaw.

she flinches immediately, pulling her shoulder up like it’s a defense mechanism. “don’t.”

you blink. “what?”

“you know what,” she says, turning to glare at you, eyes wide, almost offended.

you grin. “what did i do?”

she shifts, like she’s trying to escape, which is ridiculous because you’re both still under the same blanket. “you know that spot is evil. i have things to do. i was being productive.”

“you were doomscrolling,” you point out.

“and now i’m doomed thanks to you.”

you kiss her again, just a little lower, and she lets out this betrayed gasp like you’ve started a war.

“babe.” she sits up a little, eyes narrowed. “if you do that again, i swear to god—”

you kiss her neck again.

she freezes. you can feel her stop breathing.

“i hate you,” she whispers, visibly losing her grip on sanity.

“no, you don’t.”

“yes, i do. passionately.”

“you’re blushing.”

“i’m boiling with rage.”

you smile, kiss the curve of her neck one more time, slower now, and she actually throws her phone across the couch.

“okay!” she snaps. “you want to play?! fine! you started this, you’re responsible for the consequences!”

“consequences?” you ask, absolutely delighted.

“yes. you don’t get to walk around all smug after ambushing me with neck kisses.”

“ambushing?”

“you’re a criminal.”

she pounces on you — in that chaotic way she does everything — half-slap, half-hug, full disaster.

and somehow, you both end up horizontal again, her face buried in your shoulder, muttering curses under her breath while you hold her tight.

“you’re mad,” you say.

“fuming.”

“you’re also cuddling me.”

“it’s for heat regulation.”

you smile, press a kiss to the top of her head. “mmhmm.”

she sighs dramatically, but you feel her melt just a little.

"don’t kiss my neck when i’m trying to focus," she mumbles.

"noted," you lie.

and she knows it. and forgives you anyway.