#Lab Accuracy

[qualityclinicallabdbaexpress]

Urine PCR testing has revolutionized diagnostics with its high sensitivity and specificity. However, it’s essential to recognize its limitations to ensure accurate and effective use. In a medical laboratory in Holiday, Florida, the reliability of urine PCR testing can be influenced by several factors.

[sainz100]

quick Carlos & Charles collage ❤️❤️

| 📸 pumamotorsport + Esquire via sabrinabearzotti

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Wesgoesbrr: The Game

previous //// next

You take your time setting up your camera, ensuring the lense is able to catch a full view of the man---who's still tugging fruitlessly against the table's restraints. Once satisfied with the camera's placement, you grab a set of medical shears and begin to cut off his clothes, exposing his torso.

He doesn't say a word throughout the process; his breaths are short and rapid, and he seems like he's on the verge of hyperventilating. You roll your eyes as you tuck the shears away and prepare a syringe.

"Shut up," you mutter as you depress the plunger. "This stuff will keep you alive while I'm working." You pat his face with a nitrile-gloved hand. "You want to stay alive, don't you?"

He doesn't answer, his jaw so tightly clenched you can see the muscles twitching. You shake your head, depositing the expended syringe in a sharps box and reaching for your tools.

Tag list:

@whumpsday , @turn-the-tables-on-them , @onlywhump , @whumpyauthortm , @whump-in-the-closet , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpterful-beeeeee , @apokolyps , @whumpedydump , @isntthisblank , @sodacreampuff , @what-if-i-just-did , @whimpity-whumpity , @ladyjaye13 , @shywhumpauthor ,

[bahoreal]

i fucking hate taking vitamin tablets right i think thats nasty as hell so instead i have vitamin gummies and those dissolvable lads u slap in your water and get insta yummy fizzie vitamin drink from :-) being an adult means im healthy and i take my vitamins in a FUN WAY

[raskies456]

perhaps the most unexpected benefit of doing my own t shots is that the same skillset translates really well to loading samples into gels

[curiousquill1]

VJ Instruments Plethysmometer: Streamlining Lab Processes with Precision

"The quest for precision has always been the driving force of scientific progress." In volumetric analysis and fluid displacement measurements, the VJ Instruments Plethysmometer represents the remarkable innovation that is changing the current face of lab daily operations.

Understanding Modern Plethysmometry

The precision and reliability of measurement instruments determine the laboratory's efficiency. The Plethysmometer VJ Instruments is the epitome of a breakthrough in volumetric analysis technology, making it the real test-tube success tool for researchers and lab technicians to achieve accurate measurements while working effectively.

Key Areas Under Investigation

Pharmaceutical development and research

Testing of medical devices

Study of materials science

Analyzing biological samples

Quality control measures

Putting Great Design into Functionality

The VJ Instruments Plethysmometer shows excellent engineering, addressing many common laboratory issues. Its compact design optimizes bench space without sacrificing functionality or accessibility.

Design Feat Features:

Ergonomic control panel with intuitive interface

High-resolution digital display

Spill-resistant housing

Quick-release sample chamber

Vibration-dampening feet

The modular design guarantees quick maintenance and easy cleaning, minimizing downtime between measurements. This attention to practical details reflects a deep understanding of lab workflows and the need for uninterrupted operation.

Accuracy That Moves Forward

In terms of measurement, the VJ Instruments Plethysmometer sets a new standard for precision:

±0.1% measurement accuracy across the entire sample size range

Real-time temperature compensation

Automatic calibration verification

Digital data logging with timestamp capabilities

Export functionality in various file formats

These features ensure that researchers can trust their results while spending less time verifying measurements, leading to faster and more accurate lab experiments.

Overcoming Common Laboratory Challenges

Laboratories face several challenges that the VJ Instruments Plethysmometer tackles head-on:

Time Management:

30-second cycle of measurement for any sample

Batch processing capabilities

Automated cleaning cycles

Data Quality:

Built-in error detection

Sample tracking system

Automated measurement recording

Resource Optimization:

Minimal sample preparation required

Lower reagent consumption

Energy-saving due to efficiency

Investment That Pays Dividends

Investing in a VJ Instruments Plethysmometer is more than just acquiring equipment; it's an investment in efficiency and accuracy that yields real returns:

Financial Benefits:

Reduced labor costs with automation

Less sample waste

Reduced maintenance needs

Extended calibration intervals

Operational Benefits:

Improved throughput

Increased reliability of measurements

Enhanced documentation compliance

Simplified training requirements

Support to Your Success

VJ Instruments backs up its plethysmometer with robust support:

Initial assistance with setup and calibration

Staff training programs

Technical support hotline

Scheduled software updates

Preventive maintenance services

Model 1400 VJ Instruments Plethysmometer: Find Your Perfect Solution

When choosing lab equipment, consider whether the VJ Instruments Plethysmometer fits your needs:

Top Questions You Should Ask:

What sample sizes do you typically handle?

How important is measurement speed to your processes?

How crucial is high accuracy to your procedures?

How will automatic data collection transform your documentation process?

Typically, the answers to these questions highlight why the VJ Instruments Plethysmometer becomes the top choice for labs focused on efficiency and accuracy.

Future Outlook

The progress in laboratory equipment demands more advanced yet user-friendly tools. The VJ Instruments Plethysmometer strikes the ideal balance between cutting-edge technology and practical use, making it a valuable asset for any forward-thinking laboratory.

Enhance your lab's capabilities—get in touch with VJ Instruments to discover how their plethysmometer can revolutionize your measurements and ignite a new level of precision and efficiency in your research.

[cronengirly]

I second that I also would rather marathon Frank Henenlotter's entire filmography than sit through Oppenheimer at all…Oppenheimer will never be as good as the cinema masterpiece that is frankenhooker and I’m serious

I watched Oppenheimer last night and unironically, I'm being one hundred percent serious, you could watch Frankenhooker twice in the same amount of time and you'd get more out of it.

[lucyandthepen]

salted caramel | lmh ( m )

you hadn’t been aware that mark’s jealousy followed the rules of baseball — three strikes, and he snaps?

read the first part here!

pairing: barista!bf!mark x reader verse: college!au rating: r warnings&tags: unprotected sex, mentions of creampies (although not an actual one), hickeys, possessiveness and jealousy, exhibitionism, sort of phone sex in conjunction with said exhibitionism, oral (m!receiving), mark has an understated but unending obsession with mc’s stomach, tummy bulges, we always love an implicit bigdick!mark, donghyuck is kind of a little shit and basically he has to cross a few lines for this “plot” to get to where it gets word count: 20.3k

a/n: this is a bit rushed and panicked because I basically wrote it in a feverish 2.5ish days… i’m so sorry that the pacing might be a little off, especially since I can never tell if it’s actually too fast or not. this is also unedited and unbeta’d but oh well because i never edit my stuff before posting and just re-edit when I re-read! regardless, i hope it’s something that you can enjoy, and i couldn’t pick between sweetest bf ever!mark and hottest mf ever!mark, so i guess you get a little bit of both!

if you liked it, please consider reblogging to support (especially because this may get flagged for mature content)!

You should have noticed it the first time, but in your overall defense, you find most things that you take note of about Mark Lee to be more on the highly positive and greatly endearing side — or, maybe, you just have a tendency to paint him in that kind of light.

You can’t really help it; he’s still got that halfway shy, softly adoring look in his eyes whenever he sees you, which is more often now than ever before, and you just can’t do anything but reciprocate, if only to see his eyes grow a little brighter. You wonder if Mark’s aware that if this were a Shakespearean scenario, you’d easily fall on your sword for him without question, for as long as he asked, but you don’t think there’s any pressing need to remind him — not with the way you spend most of your free time figuring out ways to be with him. You’re certain he should know, what with the fact that every time he looks at you, even just a glimpse, your gaze is always on him, ready to make eye contact whenever he turns his head — something he often acknowledges with one of those signature blushes that spread like wildfire across his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears.

It also should be unmistakably clear that you’re head over heels for him, given how at least once a week, he’s got his face buried between your legs in an attempt to hear the thing he wants you to say the most (see: his name, in varying pitches and decibels) — but if he doesn’t notice then, you can’t hold it against him; Mark’s mouth is so attentive that you doubt his mind is anywhere else apart from what inch of you his tongue is going to meet next in that moment. At least, that much is true for you.

He should at least know, what with you waiting for his classes to end so you can walk to Starbucks for his afternoon shift; you even race the twenty-minute distance to the Department of Mathematics, still holding your European Renaissance History textbook from your last lecture, just to make sure you’re there right as he gets out — a fact he has to know is an act of devotion, considering how often he finds you heaving for air and leaning your back against the brick wall outside the Accounting 150 Lab. Even his professor knows you as Mark Lee’s admirer, which is all well and good, but if you had the breath to spare, you’d correct his terminology for accuracy. Girlfriend. You’re Mark Lee’s girlfriend.

It’s a fact you don’t mind reminding him of but that you actually have to do quite often, because when you call Mark the appropriate counterpart — boyfriend — his eyes still widen, like he’s hearing it for the first time. It’s cute, just like everything else about him. You just have to wonder, at times, if he doesn’t believe you.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter; you’ll just keep telling him.

You don’t have any classes with Mark this semester, which is a shame, considering your favorite pastime over the last few months had just been to stare at his side profile and wish he’d look over so you could kiss him, but the fact that you spend almost every day with him now, using that time to remind him of how much you want to kiss him and actually getting it to do it right then and there, pretty much more than makes up for your previous schedule of daydreaming.

However, hanging out with him doesn’t always mean you’re just with him; you came to learn this after the first week of the new semester, and you’ve now gotten used to the fact that with Mark Lee sometimes comes his band of tall, often loud friends.

The loudest by far is Lee Donghyuck, the mysterious figure last semester that you’d only known by one syllable, now easily recognizable (and no longer enigmatic by any means to you) by his booming voice and even more demanding personality. He’s supremely outgoing, a trait you can’t say you mind, but there’s an interesting contrast between Mark, who tends to say things after carefully considering his ideas, and Donghyuck, who seems to just burst out in fits of impulsive rambling that often leads to some kind of semi-structured debate. It kind of gives you whiplash, in a funny, slightly perplexing way.

The whole friend group likes to meet up at Starbucks while Mark is on his shift, and now that they’ve come to know you as that girl Mark didn’t teach a single thing in College Algebra to but still somehow got lucky with (something you’ve wasted immense efforts into correcting but have ultimately failed to do so), you now find yourself sitting with them, all somehow waiting for who appears to be the nucleus of this group to stop taking coffee orders and hang up his (cute, but you’re the only one that thinks so, actually) green apron.

Again, you don’t mind it; new people aren’t an issue to you, and you’re also interested in finding out more about Mark through those closest to him. You get to see the few ways they’re alike in contrast to the staggering number of things that make them amusingly different from one another. Despite the broad spectrum of their intersecting interests, you’ve come to learn, through the conversations you’ve had to sit through over the last month, that they have varying opinions on said interests. For instance, you know they’re all into video games, Japanese manga, and long-winding fantasy movies, but every conversation takes flight the moment there’s even a spark of dissent from one person — and the source, usually (and quite unfortunately), is Lee Donghyuck himself.

Today is no exception.

“Dude, you’re crazy,” Zhong Chenle practically seethes. Whether by sheer coincidence or actual desire, he’s the one who most often finds himself staring Donghyuck down, trying to bend the latter’s will into admitting defeat. Donghyuck, on the other hand, has mastered the art of looking supremely unperturbed, especially when Chenle is in the heat of his rage. “The ninth was the worst, hands down.”

“Art and rendering were so solid.” Donghyuck raises a finger, and you’re not sure if it’s to start off a list or to shut Chenle up. You don’t want to ask, anyway, too busy finding amusement in the shifting expressions of despair, rage, anguish, and murderous intent on the latter’s face to speak up. You presume that’s why everyone else isn’t stopping them — or maybe they’re just preparing their own defenses and points to raise. “Intuitive combat and flawless combo chains. The fucking open world? Which other installment in the franchise offers that much depth in the gameplay?”

“Depth? Do you even hear yourself right now?” Chenle grips his head so tightly that when he pulls his hands away, there are actual red marks across his forehead and temple, and his bangs are askew. “What kind of depth comes from cloned movesets? The character designs are so stupidly traditional too. And—”

“There’s a unique kind of beauty in familiarity.”

“The open world was a disaster,” Chenle plows on. “It was so empty, and the map was the farthest thing from intuitive. It’s quite literally the worst thing KOEI has ever done. That’s exactly why they went back to the limited map strategy in later installments. Even the spin-offs.”

“I thought the grappling and ambush systems were pretty intuitive. Ingenious, even.”

It’s a singularly amusing sight — Chenle is one insult to his pride away from imploding, and Donghyuck is just checking the dirt under his nails like he’s waiting in line to take his school ID photo. Park Jisung, one of the quieter ones in the bunch, tries to diffuse the tension by clearing his throat and going ‘I actually really liked the Age Of Calamity Zelda one they released with all the different campaigns,’ but that just goes unnoticed by either party.

“You once failed an ambush play just because you were stuck behind a wall you couldn’t scale. Don’t say shit about the ambush and grappling mechanics.”

“Unlike some people sitting around this table, I learn from my mistakes. That’s also probably why some people — not naming names — just can’t appreciate the artistic beauty that is Dynasty Warriors 9.”

Donghyuck doesn’t even look up from his cuticles when Chenle explodes.

“You’re fucking impossible!”

“Can you guys relax?” Lee Jeno, who had somehow miraculously found the space and silence in the breaths between the entire argument to doze off, opens one eye, only slightly irate. “You’re making a scene over a dead game franchise.”

“It’s not dead; they’re on hiatus,” both Chenle and Donghyuck chime in together, apparently finding a moment of unique solidarity to shoot Jeno down before going back to glaring daggers at each other. Jeno shrugs, gives everyone else at the table an I tried kind of exasperated expression, and settles back into his seat, the one eye already closing before he’s fully folded his arms across his chest.

Your eyes wander away from the group over to the counter. You’re thankful for the fact that most of the time, you just get invited to share a table with them without necessarily being trapped in the middle of a conversation — especially one as heated as the one Chenle is prolonging while jabbing his finger accusingly at Donghyuck, as if he’s trying to pin a crime on the latter instead of just explaining why Donghyuck’s opinion is ‘borne of ignorance.’ When they’re all caught up in their business like this, you end up being able to revel in your more or less unobstructed view of Mark behind the barista’s station, where he’s busy piping an extra helping of whipped cream on top of a strawberry frappuccino for a kid that’s already jumping up and down next to the pick-up station.

The biting winter had already given way to the first signs of spring, and the Starbucks Mark works at has a supremely effective central heating system that allows people to shed their coats. This works in your favor, considering Mark wears nothing but a button-up shirt over his apron while he works, and he’s got this habit of rolling up his sleeves so they don’t catch any stains. You’re pretty sure he has a second motive, though; surely, he’s aware of how the view of his arms, muscles tightening under his skin whenever he even lightly grips something, drives you crazy. You’d bet a month’s allowance he’s doing it on purpose so that you start entertaining the thought of yelling at everyone in the branch to fuck off so you can grab him by the front of his stupid shirt so you can kiss his stupid face. Or ride it.

And for some inexplicable reason, he still has the audacity to act like there’s nothing amiss. When he looks up at you right after pushing the frappuccino towards the little girl, his eyes still brighten, almost innocent in their gaze, the corners of his lips turning up surreptitiously, hiding the smile he seems to save for only you from everyone else in the room.

You smile back, but when he turns away to take someone’s order, you let out a heavy sigh and take a long sip of your vanilla sweet cream cold brew until you start reaching the last dregs of it under the ice. Your brain pretty much cries out in protest, but you know it deserves as much as a mental cold shower for entertaining the thought of asking him to bend you over the counter at five-thirty in the afternoon in a Starbucks.

Stupid Mark. Stupid brain. Stupid fucking people in the room.

The warm breath in your ear alerts you to a slowly approaching presence, but you don’t have the reflexes to turn back to its source before it starts talking.

“Got anything to add to either of our cases, ___________?”

“What?” Your palm comes up to rub your ear as Donghyuck pulls away, laughing lightly. You’re sucked back into the foreground of the conversation, but you’re just as lost now as you had been before you started tuning them out in favor of your lust. “Uh — no. Sorry. To be honest, I know nothing about… sorry, what were you guys talking about again?”

“See, that’s how normal people act,” Jeno grumbles, both his eyes flying open this time. “Instead of hosting a presidential debate about Dynasty Warriors.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” You’re quick to add, and Jeno looks mildly amused at your attempt to still mollify the rest of the group. “I’m sure I would have liked it. If, you know, I actually had been introduced to it at any point in my life.”

“And if you had, I’m sure you’d have the taste to assert alongside me that the seventh installment was revolutionary,” Chenle sniffs, but he’s looking more pointedly at Donghyuck, who’s still ignoring him, save for the fact that he’s now looking at you instead of at his nails (which doesn’t feel like such a great upgrade).

“Nah, she’d be on my side. ___________ looks like she’d appreciate a good, scenic open world and grappling system. Right?”

“Uh…” you say smartly.

“Man, shut up.” Chenle throws his hands in the air before he stands up, his chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back with astounding force. “Got me so pissed off I need to pee now.”

You have no idea what the correlation is between getting annoyed and needing to use the bathroom, but even if you wanted to bring up your doubts — which you don’t — Chenle is long gone before you can get your thoughts together. It’s only when he’s out of earshot that Donghyuck leans in, almost conspiratorially, to whisper to you again.

“Actually, I think the ninth sucks too. But isn’t it kind of funny how worked up that fucker gets?”

“To be honest, I’ve never known anyone with quite your talent in riling people up,” you admit, and even though you’re not sure what kind of meaning you want attached to that, you notice that he decides to take it as a compliment all on his own, his chest puffing out in pride. “Too bad I have no idea which opinion is really right, or I’d weigh in, too.”

“Not a Dynasty Warriors kind of girl, then?”

“No one is, Hyuck,” Jeno snorts, shaking his head. “You two are the only people I know who still played that past the fifth installment.”

“Fair. I nurture a love for old franchises.” Donghyuck leans back, looking supremely satisfied at how he’s managed to tick off one of his most important ‘to-do’ points of the day. “So what’s your poison, ___________?”

“What’s that mean?”

“You a Gardenscapes kind of girl? Tekken? Maybe you like some good ol’ fashioned LoL?”

“I honestly don’t have the hand-eye coordination to play,” you confess. “I know Mark likes to play PUBG from time to time. I mostly just sit and ask questions, though. The few times I tried playing with him, I swear any normal person would’ve cried. He had to babysit me like crazy. It was a miracle he didn’t throw me out.”

“She even tries to play with him,” Donghyuck whistles lowly. “Dude, how’d Mark get a chick like you?”

“Meaning?”

“You’re way too good for that dope.” His laugh is light and good-natured. “Never thought a moony-eyed weirdo like him would actually wind up with his dream girl — which he’s called you, more than once, by the way. Fucking disgusting, but… I get it. Doesn’t make it less crazy or weird to hear, though.”

“Sorry to put you through that.” You smile, using your straw to stir the contents of your cup. A warmth spreads through your shoulders and down your arms to the tips of your fingers as you digest what Donghyuck’s just said to you, and you find your eyes trailing back to Mark, who’s pulling off his apron. His eyes are already fixed on you, and when you lock gazes, he mouths a wait for me that makes you want to squeeze the life out of something in pure joy. You settle for a soft sigh. “I guess it won’t help if I say your friend over there’s my dream guy.”

“It absolutely will not,” Donghyuck groans, faking a gagging noise that has you laughing. “But tell you what — if you ever get tired of Mark playing PUBG and ignoring you like the clown he is, I’ll find you someone else more your speed.”

“No thanks,” you snort, taking the last sip of your drink. “More than that, I’d just want to be some kind of helpful to him if I ever play with him again.”

“We can help you with that too,” Jisung volunteers. “Jeno taught me the basics. I’m sure he can teach you too.”

“Yeah, and I’m guessing you’d be a better student than mister “how come you didn’t tell me I had to focus the crosshairs myself” over here,” Jeno chuckles, surreptitiously pointing at Jisung when you cast him a questioning look.

“I’m pretty good at sneak attacks myself.” Donghyuck makes a show of pretending to slice your neck before grinning smugly. “We’ll take care of you. Mark won’t know what hit him next time.”

“What’s happening to me next time?”

You feel Mark before you see him, his hand landing on your head lightly and smoothing your hair back in an idle, gentle motion to announce his presence. You look up at him, already beaming, and he returns the favor as his hand settles on your shoulder.

“We were just talking about replacing you. Both as a friend and as a boyfriend, for your poor little dream girl here who’s just too nice to turn you down.” Donghyuck lies like it’s second nature; you wonder if that’s a Finance major thing or just a him thing.

“And you’re offering that to someone who didn’t ask for it?” Mark snorts, nudging Chenle’s bag over so he can sit in the empty spot.

“She’s so caught up in your sticky little web that she can’t struggle against you.” Donghyuck feigns a heavy sigh that suggests he feels sorry for you before he puts a hand on your free shoulder, shaking his head in a convincing kind of pity. “I’ll save you, so don’t worry. Mark can’t keep his grubby hands on you forever. Whenever you need to be saved, I’ll come a-running to free you.”

There’s a tightness on one shoulder that disrupts the balance of your torso, and you find yourself leaning closer to Mark. Your hand finds its way to his knee, giving it a light squeeze under the table, and his grip loosens by a fraction. Donghyuck’s as quick to let go as he is to hang on.

“We were just talking about PUBG,” you correct, and Mark’s eyes snap to you. “I was asking for help — you know, so I won’t drag you down the next time I join in?”

“I don’t mind whatever you do in-game.” He’s quick to comfort you, even if you don’t actually need it, but it feels warm and cold “I’m just glad you wanna try it with me.”

“No, but I kind of want to learn too. So it can be fun for both of us. Also so you don’t have to keep avenging me after five minutes,” you laugh. Mark cracks a smile then, and you don’t realize his expression had been slightly harder until it softens under your gaze.

“Then I’ll teach you next time.”

“No, I want to surprise you with how cool I get. And then next time, I’ll even beat you.” You turn to Donghyuck, slightly unsure. “Uh… I can beat him, can’t I?”

“If you play different teams, yeah,” he confirms. “Trust me. I’ll help you kick his ass.”

“Or we’ll both kick yours,” Mark chuckles, his grasp now tightening and loosening intermittently. He’s massaging your shoulder lightly, and you end up sinking deeper into his side. You don’t miss the slightly nauseated amusement that passes across Donghyuck’s face nor the way he mouths ‘sap’ to Mark, who ignores this comment in its entirety.

“Yo, hotpot at seven? Renjun’s asking,” Chenle announces as he returns to your table, his phone in one hand and a crumpled paper towel in the other. “Jaemin can’t make it, though. Study group or whatever shit he always says.”

“I’m down,” Donghyuck immediately replies, and Chenle’s eyes shoot heavenward, like he’s already asking for the divine strength to not sock Donghyuck in the face later.

“Can’t,” Jeno yawns, both his arms outstretched as he tries to move the sleep out of his spine. “Pre-test tomorrow.”

“Dude, it’s a pre-test,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to study if they’re just testing how much you know before studying.”

“Gotta study all the same.”

“I gotta pass too,” Jisung looks actually apologetic. “I promised my mom I’d help her move some stuff to my aunt’s place tonight.”

“Boring,” Chenle grumbles before turning to the both of you. “Lovebirds?”

“Rain check,” Mark shakes his head. “Family dinner. My brother’s home for the weekend. How about Monday instead? Most of us can’t make it anyway. At least Jaemin doesn’t have study group either.”

“If that’s even what that weirdo’s doing,” Chenle sighs, already punching in a message to send to Renjun. “Fine; I’ll ask about Monday. You guys better actually reply to the goddamn group chat. I can’t coordinate in six different private chats ever again.”

“You can put my name down already,” Mark casts you a sideway glance, and you nod immediately. “Two names, actually.”

“I’m good on Monday too. When we see each other again, I’ll bring some prospects for you to sift through,” Donghyuck adds to you, and you laugh. “Cool guys. Jocks. I know this upperclassman all the girls say is really hot. I think I still have his Messenger from when we did a group discussion last semester.”

“I’ll have Mark look at them so he can reject them all for me,” you promise. Donghyuck feigns affront before looking at Mark in utter disbelief.

“How the fuck did you snag a girl like this, man?”

“I’m pretty sure she once told me I… what did you say?” Mark glances at you amusedly. “I had some moves, I guess.”

“You mean stutter and blush in her presence?” Donghyuck can’t decide how to look at you without being even the slightest bit offensive; he just settles on incredulity. “And that won you over?”

“Most powerful move in the Mark Lee playbook,” you shrug, grinning. “Had me from the first ‘um,’ and he’s had me ever since.”

“You lucky son of a bitch,” Donghyuck snorts, and neither of you misses the slightly abashed but unmistakable smugness in Mark’s face when you lean in to rest your head on his shoulder.

The second time it happens is on that Monday, in a far more noticeable capacity. You just aren’t quick enough to read the signs, as usual.

But in your defense (again), it hadn’t felt all that significant.

“Fuck, this is spicy,” Na Jaemin sucks air in through his teeth and lets it out in a sharp whistle that’s broken by a laugh that’s not necessarily at anything funny. Maybe he’s just laughing at the sheen of sweat across his forehead that he has to wipe off with the other side of his napkin.

Miraculously, the hotpot plan pushes through, with no small amount of effort in coordination on Chenle’s part; he’d even texted you just to make sure he’d gotten the head count right, despite the fact that Mark had already confirmed your attendance twice over. Even the often elusive Na Jaemin, who always seems to have one or another study group to attend on most nights, manages to come and is currently busy mixing his peanut sauce in his little bowl with such vigor that you can’t help but wonder if he’s not trying to drown the mala-flavored strips of meat in it completely.

“That’s why I said you need a bowl of water for dipping, you dimwit,” Donghyuck points his chopsticks at Jaemin’s messy plate in a way you can only describe as nagging, even if that’s actually impossible. “You’ve got super mala breath now.”

“Don’t know about me, but I can smell yours all the way from over here,” Jaemin quips back with an easy kind of nonchalance, hastily ducking the balled-up napkin that goes flying across the table. It lands on the floor behind his chair harmlessly.

It’s nice, you think, that Mark’s friends like to invite you to their outings now; despite all the jokes they’ve made at his expense, they’ve been consistently open to having you around. You’re not necessarily the type of couple that acts in a way that disgusts people into moving to a completely different table anyway, and you allow their conversations to unfold easily without ever interrupting, so you think that this arrangement works for all parties involved.

They’re even louder outside Starbucks, you’ve come to note; the restaurant is significantly busier than the cafe anyway, filled with people on their company dinners, so Mark’s friends all seem to want to rival that boisterous energy. Weirdly, you like it, even when they’re already half off their seats and one (Chenle) is just about to strangle the other (Donghyuck). The laughter flows freely, and there’s a messiness to the whole affair that makes it impossible to feel uncomfortable.

Even Mark pipes in occasionally, offering his opinion on topics he knows much more about than you, and you can’t help but admire how everyone listens to him when he starts to speak, even if he has nothing realistically important to say. His friends might find it odd that you’d been so drawn to him, but they just don’t know that even they’re victims of Mark’s natural magnetism, also falling quiet and eager to hear his voice, his light-hearted laugh, in response to the things they say.

But even when he’s mostly distracted by conversation, there’s a part of him that continuously pays attention to you in his own way. He nudges his ginger and soy sauce bowl towards you with the side of his wrist so you can dip your beef in, even if you’d adamantly declined him giving you your own bowl of it in the first place (you’d always thought you were peanut sauce or nothing kind of girl, but one sneaky venture into Mark’s sauce proved you wrong). His hand hovers over your head when you drop your chopsticks and bend over to pick them up from where they’ve rolled under the table, making sure you’re bump-free when you resurface.

And his palms always, always settle somewhere on you, no matter what he’s doing. If one hand is busy feeding himself, the other is intent on warming your thigh, passing over the denim in slow, steady strokes. His fingers tickle your knee when you laugh, just to make you laugh a little harder — you’d even almost kneed the table at one point, much to Huang Renjun’s alarm. But the most common place for his arm is around you, fingers lightly bunched into the side of your shirt, like he’s worried loosening his grip on you further will cause you to vanish. It keeps him close to you, keeps his scent and warmth washing over you in gentle waves, so much so that you often have to remind yourself that he’ll be the target of much light-hearted mockery if you so much as lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder.

But it’s hard to resist it, especially when his hand seems to be intent on outlining every curve on that side, passing over your hip and dipping into your waist. The motion allows him to slowly but surely lift the fabric of your shirt, up until there’s just enough of an opening for his palm to slip under, and suddenly it’s much warmer on that side, with the light roughness of his hand grazing at your skin. His fingers always stretch apart, like he’s trying to feel as much of you as he can, and the pads of his digits have a tendency to graze the plane of your stomach — his nails sometimes even travel featherlight just next to your navel, etching out words you can’t really decipher. Like he’s writing a message just for you.

It makes you feel like no matter what he’s doing, a part of his mind is always on you.

“You guys want to see that new horror movie? The Ghost Within, I think it’s called,” Jisung asks the group from over at the other end of the table, having to raise his voice significantly to make sure it isn’t swept away by the raucous laughter from across the restaurant. “I think it’s coming out in a week or two.”

“I’d be okay with it,” Renjun shrugs, although he doesn’t look enthused. “Kind of looks like a cliche horror with all those cheap jump scares and shit, but I’m down if you all are.”

A wave of assent passes over the group in general, but you notice Mark doesn’t immediately respond. You take this opportunity to lean in and confess your stance.

“If I have to sit around and watch a ghost pop out at me from a big-ass movie screen, you may never again see me in the same wonderful light you do today,” you warn. “Remember me as I am, not as I will be, Mark Lee.”

He snorts, coughing lightly as a mixture of ginger and fishcake sticks in his throat. “Yeah — we’ll pass, I think.”

“Scaredy-cat,” Donghyuck teases, and you’re surprised that Mark doesn’t come to his own defense. There’s something romantic in him not wanting to be the one to sell you out, but you suppose there’s also a kind of chivalry in being the one to take the bullet.

“Actually, I’m the one who can’t handle it well,” you smile in apology. “Sorry. I don’t have much of a reputation, so to speak, but what elegance may be attached to my name, however misplaced, is something I really want to maintain. At least until I graduate.”

“In short, you don’t want Mark to see you scream and cry,” Chenle deduces. You can’t even find fault in him figuring it out so quickly.

“Bingo.”

“Well, we can solve the problem,” Donghyuck claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention for no good reason. “__________, you sit beside me, and Mark can sit on the far end of the row. With how dark it is, he won’t see anything, and I get to sit next to a cute girl in a movie theater. Win-win.”

“Thanks for the offer,” you laugh, shaking your head. “But it’s not a win-win if I accidentally grab your hand out of instinct.”

“It is to me,” Donghyuck winks, and you feel Mark’s hand stop brushing over your stomach. His fingers curl in lightly, almost like he’s trying to make a fist but can’t quite get to that point out of personal restraint. “Or better yet, you could do what we all think you should do and dump Mark for someone you won’t be ashamed to cry in front of. I, for one, would not even bother to comment on whatever emotions you’re going through in the middle of a movie, so what do you say? It’s a pretty sweet deal, in my humble opinion. Me versus Mark Lee. The showdown of the century, right here in Hai Di Lao.”

You’ve noticed that the more Donghyuck piles onto his little teasing rampage, the more forcefully Mark tugs you over; his fingers aren’t just skimming over your skin but have now grown into the habit of gently pinching it, as if begging for your attention. It feels nice but also a little urgent, although it’s hard for you to understand why; the whole foundation of this group is built on teasing each other until someone (Chenle) snaps and lobs a bottle cap at someone else (Donghyuck), so it should be normal for Mark to be at the receiving end of some light banter.

“Should we ask the hostess to referee the match, then?” You ride along with the joke.

“No way. You’re the one calling the shots.” Donghyuck sits up a little straighter, putting on a smug face. “Okay, pick, __________. Me or Mark; who’s got the better punches?”

You make a show of acting thoughtful, even tapping your chin to pretend considering it deeply, but there was never any doubt on your choice. Still, you can’t really decipher the sudden slowness, the light tremble in Mark’s palm as it travels to your hip, where it settles, heavy, over the curve.

“It’s a complete knock-out,” you finally announce, grinning. “Championship belt goes to Mark.”

“Man, if I had a girlfriend as straight-shooting about her feelings for me as you are about your feelings for Mark, I’d propose in a day, max,” Jeno groans, half-exasperated and half-amused all at once.

“Man must’ve saved a nation or something in his past life,” Donghyuck grimaces. “No way he deserves a girl this hot and crazy about him. Hey — got any tips on stopping natural disasters or something? I could use a sexy, loyal girlfriend in my next life. Or maybe I’ll just poach yours in this one and see what it feels like.”

“I would actually deck you, so don’t even try it,” Mark snorts, his arm now winding full around your waist. You’re flush against his side, and he uses this opportunity to do something he doesn’t often do in front of his friends: show explicit affection by pressing a light kiss just behind your ear. It tickles, his breath grazing your earlobe, and you giggle, squirming in his hold. All he does is smile and pull you in tighter.

The bill’s split eight ways, but Mark’s fishing out cash to pay for your share even before you can get your wallet out from the bottom of your bag; it’s one of those quick, instinctive moves he likes to use on you, where he pushes the money and sends the bill back to the staff before you can even protest in full, so you have to settle on thanking him by returning the earlier favor — landing a peck on his cheek, which flushes a warm and contented pink the moment your lips make contact.

You just pointedly ignore the snickers that run around the table, particularly from Donghyuck and Jaemin.

The group splits ways at the front of the school dorms; most of them head in after their goodbyes, while Chenle backtracks towards his apartment building off-campus, mumbling something about how he hopes his roommate’s in because he accidentally left his key in the bowl next to their doorway. Mark should be piling in with the rest into the dorms, but he has a habit of insisting that he take you to the subway station; you’ve long since given up on convincing him against tagging along, mostly because he looks slightly hurt whenever you try to get him to stay put. You’re not going to complain anyway; for as much as you like being around Mark’s friends, it’s even better when you have this little slice of alone time despite the hassle it brings him.

Your fingers are linked when you walk under the street lights, the campus road leading to the station entrance significantly less busy at this time of evening; it’s cool enough for you to have an excuse to press yourself into Mark’s form, and he accepts this additional burden with an immense amount of grace, his arm finding its way around you again. Two minutes later, his palm is pressed against your bare skin once more, rubbing small, gentle circles just above your pelvis.

A part of you wonders if you’ll be able to do this — lean in, flush against him — when the summer heat starts to stick, but rather than really worrying about the logistics, you realize you’re more hung up on the idea of spending this summer with him.

“Sorry,” Mark murmurs out of the blue. Your eyebrows shoot up, and he looks down at you sheepishly. “Isn’t hanging out with my friends kind of driving you crazy?”

You hum in thought before shaking your head in resolution. “Not really. Not in a bad way, at least. I like how close you guys all are — and how big the group is. It’s usually just Yeji and Jisu with me, and they’re definitely not as rowdy. The change of pace is pretty fun.”

“Yeji and Jisu,” he echoes. “Your best friends. I haven’t met them yet, have I?”

“Not yet. Jisu started a part-time job across town, so we can’t get our schedules to align right just yet.” Your hip collides gently with his. “Should I let you, though?”

“One day… I think it would be nice to hang out with a less migraine-inducing crowd for a change.”

“I’ll tell them, then. They want to meet you.” You crane your neck up slightly, lowering your voice into a hushed whisper that’s completely unnecessary. “They want to know if you’re as cute as you look in your pictures.”

Mark draws back, laughing incredulously. “How do they know what my pictures look like?”

“I stalked your Instagram and showed them,” you answer simply. He throws you a funny look that’s equal parts disbelief and amusement. “They liked that one with the Spider-man costume.”

“Please don’t,” he groans, passing a hand over his face. “I should have taken that down, but I didn’t think anyone would care.”

“Why? I like it.” Your hand’s the one that manages to slip under his sweater this time, fingers trailing down his stomach; you feel him suck it in for a second in surprise before he lets out an exhale.

“I can’t ever understand what’s going through your head,” he chuckles, and you think it’s unfair that he manages to extract your hand from under the fabric while his is still firmly pressed against the side of your stomach. “You saw that and still wanted to date me?”

“Mark Lee, you simply underestimate how much I adore you. It’s kind of hurting my feelings at this rate.”

You’re just a few inches shy of the circle of light cast by the subway station sign. Your feet try to bring you forward, but Mark lingers behind, just outside the curve of soft white on the pavement, and his hand slips from under your shirt. You turn, and his hand skims down your arm instead, fingers locking around your wrist. With the slight distance between you, it looks like you’re caught in motion.

“I still can’t wrap my head around it sometimes.”

“What?”

“I just look over at you and feel like it’s not real. Like you’re going to disappear, and I’m just going to wake up from a dream and see you the next day, just some other stranger who doesn’t even know my name.” He licks his lips, and you want to reach out and kiss him already, but you know he isn’t done talking. “And I’m going to remember how much I liked you in that dream, but you won’t ever feel that same way.”

“You know I’m right here, though, don’t you?” Your fingers mimic his, squeezing around his wrist. “You can feel me. I’m here with you.”

Hesitation flashes across his face even when he nods, and you notice his eyes flit down to his shoes before looking back up at you — a habit of avoidance you know he’s trying to correct. “Sometimes I have to wonder if they’re right.”

“If… who’s right?”

“Them.” He jerks his thumb back in the general direction of the school dorms. “The guys. You know — when they ask me how I got a girl like you… the truth is, I don’t even really know. They can’t believe it, and it’s so crazy to me that I still sometimes can’t myself. So I start wondering if—”

You don’t let him finish this time; it’s rude to interrupt, you know, but you also know that what he’s about to say is probably something neither of you wants to hear anyway. Your lips connect with his, firm and demanding, and his words die in his throat, melting into a soft groan that vibrates against your skin. When you pull away, you don’t create the same distance, and Mark’s hands find their way to your waist, slightly trembling.

“They’re wrong,” you murmur, a quiet strength in your voice. “So stop wondering and just be with me.”

A smile starts tugging on the corners of his mouth, and the next moment, he’s nodding in assent, in wholehearted agreement, and the next kiss you share is one he starts, far more gentle than earlier.

“Next time I catch you entertaining nonsensical thoughts, there’ll be consequences.”

“Are you threatening me?” His laugh is colored with incredulity.

“Yes.” Your tone is firm, but your grin gives away too much of the jest. “Maybe I’ll ground you for a week, or something really childish.”

“I’d take it if you were with me.”

“That’s not how it works,” you snort, gently flicking the tip of his nose. He scrunches it on impact. “You’d be in solitary. You must reflect on your actions and all that nonsense. Meanwhile, I’ll be out having some good hotpot with everyone else.”

“If that happens, promise me one thing, then.” He maneuvers your stance until you’re both back in the blanket of darkness, just out of reach of the subway entrance. “Don’t sit next to Donghyuck.”

“And let him and Chenle give me an earful about how bad-slash-good the first Human Centipede movie was all over again? I think not.”

“No, really.” Mark buries his face into your neck, and you hear the quiet inhale as he breathes in your scent. On instinct, your hand comes up to thread through his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. “I don’t want you sitting there and hearing him talk your ear off about how much I don’t deserve you or that he’ll help you find someone better.”

“You know he’s just joking — and I’m just joking, right?”

“Just promise me.”

You pause, wondering if it’s in your best interest to tease him for whatever act he’s pulling, but there’s a shortness to his breathing that makes the whole situation feel weirdly tense. He’s really waiting for something — an answer. The right answer, maybe.

“I promise,” you finally say, and you know you’ve said the correct thing when Mark’s lips press a soft kiss to your collarbone, like he’s sealing in your vow.

On the third time, Mark pretty much gives up.

The strangest thing is that it starts at a time when you’re not even actually together; if you had to pinpoint the exact moment, it probably had to be when Donghyuck had walked you to the dorm from library. No — maybe even before that. Somewhere in the time you’d spent in there, he’d thought up yet another way to push Mark’s buttons. You just didn’t really know the exact minute he’d first seen you with Jung Jaehyun.

You don’t know how Jaehyun does it; he skips half his classes and somehow doesn’t even get in trouble, let alone fail. You’d only met him last semester, but he was just about the only person who was halfway familiar in your Anthropology 120 class, so you thought you could at least feel comfortable enough to chat with him about the weather or what had happened in the last meeting. You don’t expect him to strong-arm you into being something of a literal proxy for him; the first week of the semester, you’d spend almost each lecture period gnawing on your nails and fretting over the fact that your signature for attendance looked nothing like his. By the second week, you’d already come to realize that it doesn’t matter because he had only attended one lecture — the first one — thus far and your professor was as clueless about Jaehyun���s handwriting as you. By the fourth week, you had resigned yourself to being his slightly unwilling associate for his random escapades, allowing him to copy off your notes and turning in his homework for him.

Now that you think about it, that’s probably how he does it.

You sacrifice your free time for him today, caged up in a library for pretty much the afternoon. You can’t help but resent him, not just because the whole room is stuffy and the librarian keeps passing by, clucking to remind people not to litter between shelves, but also because you’d much rather do things that are important to you — like pretending to flirt with Mark for the first time when you place your order and watching him act like it’s the first time you’re saying something so sweet to him, except he’s definitely not pretending. Instead of watching Mark’s face color that cute shade of pink and that sweet little smile pull at his mouth until he’s basically biting his lips back to stop himself from grinning, you have to bore yourself with the sight of Jaehyun trying to decipher your handwriting.

“You should really be more legible with your strokes.” He has the audacity to chastise you as if he’s the one doing you a favor by giving you constructive criticism.

“You should really come to class more often,” you bite back, although there’s no real heat to your words. You just look out the window and watch the sun sink down behind the university hospital building, wondering if there’s a chance you’ll still be able to catch Mark before his shift ends.

“Would if I could.”

“You actually fucking can,” you say tiredly, and even the way he turns the page is so impossibly slow. “Can’t you just take a picture?”

“Nah; writing it down carefully really helps my retention of this kind of stuff.”

“So take a picture and then write it down carefully.”

“With your ridiculous handwriting? I’d probably fail.”

“So come to class and write it yourself!”

Your hiss increases in pitch, and it calls the attention of the librarian over to you. She swoops in, clicking her tongue, but she’s not even looking at you. Her eyes are zoned in on Jaehyun, who meets her gaze with so much innocence it’s hard to imagine you’d wanted to smack him two minutes ago.

“Jung Jaehyun,” the librarian snaps in an undertone. The slow, punctuated way she says his name suggests she knows him fairly well — and not in a great way. “I see you’re back in here after your probationary period.”

“Sorry for the trouble, Mrs. Park.” He grins up at her, looking anything but apologetic. “I promise I won’t get in your way again today.”

“And this one—” She points to you, and you point to yourself in shock at being pointed to, and Jaehyun’s pointing at you and mouthing ‘this one’ with excessive mirth in his eyes. “Isn’t another one of those girls you plan on defiling my sacred space with?”

Jaehyun says ‘we didn’t defile anything’ at the same time you say I’m going to throw up, and the librarian just adds to the noise by shushing you on top of that jumble of words.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you two,” Mrs. Park warns before stalking away, tutting at a library assistant for wrongly shelving a volume of Encyclopedia Brittanica.

“Please, Jaehyun,” you groan, crossing your arms over the table and flattening your forehead against them. “Just hurry up. Release me.”

He ignores you, still leaning closer to your notebook to decipher your handwriting. “I would like to set the record straight and make it known I didn’t fuck anyone in the library.”

“What’d you get probation for, then?”

“Just making out.” You notice he has the energy to grin wickedly even without meeting your eye, even while he’s still scrawling on his own notebook, and you groan something incoherent and irate once again. “What are you in such a big hurry for, anyway?”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you grumble, raising your head. “That some people might want to do better things than sit here and watch you write stuff for ages?”

“No,” comes his simple reply. You bop your head onto your arms a few times in the hope that the impact will shake you out of this nightmare and you’d find yourself waking up in Mark’s arms instead, but you have no such luck. “By better things, do you mean fucking Mark Lee in someone else’s bedroom? That’s real defilement, by the way.”

“How’d you hear about that?” You squeeze your eyes shut and growl under your breath. “Fucking Youngho.”

“You doing that too?”

“Shut — please, would you hurry?”

He pointedly purses his lips in an effort to keep himself from letting out what you can only assume is, by the glint in his eyes, a witch’s cackle. “Almost done, man. Relax a bit. So did you guys get together — like, together together?”

You initially contemplate not telling him, but Jaehyun’s nosiness is probably going to reveal the truth to him sooner or later anyway. “Yeah. What’s it to you, though?”

“Nothing. You’re lucky.”

For the first time today, you feel like Jaehyun has finally said something right. “Yeah — yeah, I am.”

“I bet his friends don’t seem to think so.”

“Is this something you know because it’s a guy thing or because you’re so nosy that you just can’t help but listen in on every other juicy conversation around you?”

“A bit of both,” he chuckles. “Mostly just because I know Lee Donghyuck was giving him a hard time about it last semester.”

“I noticed that too — a bit, anyway. But it’s just banter, I think.”

“Probably. Imagine being his friend and getting a girlfriend; it’s like… the perfect ammunition for teasing. But I’m pretty sure half of the things that come out of his mouth are jokes meant to annoy.”

“What about yours?”

“I get it,” he sighs, shutting your notebook resolutely. It makes a thud that alerts the librarian two tables away, and she glares at you like you’re climbing onto Jaehyun’s lap in the middle of the References on the Korean War aisle. “I’ll set you free. Thanks, by the way, for letting me copy from you. Same time next week?”

“Or how about you look up the schedules for our classes and actually come instead of piggybacking off of my efforts and making snarky remarks about my handwriting while you’re taking advantage of my goodwill?”

“Sounds like too much effort on my end,” he yawns, waving you off as you stuff your notebook into your bag. “Later, ___________. Say hi to Mark for me. The normal way — not the girlfriend way, please.”

You stick your tongue out at him before you make a mad dash for the door, ignoring Mrs. Park as she shushes your footsteps on the marble. You’re so intent on fishing your phone out of your bag that you almost ram the door into the person standing behind it.

“Oh, fuck— Jesus, I’m sorry, I wa— wait, Donghyuck?”

“Great to see you too, ___________.” He rubs his jaw where the edge of the door grazed it. “You in a rush?”

“I was just about to go see if Mark was still at Starbucks.”

“His shift’s probably almost over. I’m headed back to the dorm if you wanna tag along.” When you nod, he starts leading the way, breaking the silence again soon after. “Were you in a study group, or something?”

“No,” you jerk your thumb backwards towards the minuscule form of Jaehyun, who’s now busy wasting time and space playing something on his phone where you’d left him. Donghyuck’s eyebrows shoot up. “He’s my classmate who never comes to class. I was just lending him my notes.”

“Oh, Jaehyun, yeah.” Donghyuck snaps his fingers. “We were classmates last semester. He never went to class either, but I don’t know who he mooched off of to pass. You guys close?”

“Not really. I just fell into the trap of being too nice to him.”

“It’s funny,” he hums, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Jaehyun seems more your speed. On paper, at least.”

You can’t help but look taken aback, and Donghyuck laughs at your expression. “What do you mean, my speed?”

“Not sure.” He pauses, trying to find the right words to explain himself. “Someone who’d fit more into your social circles. Someone who probably likes Formula One and considers men’s health magazines to be classic literature.”

“That’s your impression of my social circle?”

“You know what I mean. People like Jung Jaehyun or Seo Youngho. I literally thought you were dating him last semester, so it was totally crazy to hear you asked Mark out.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Like… you asked him out. Not even the other way around. That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?” You know he doesn’t mean anything bad by it; Donghyuck has next to no filter, and something about him being unable to process your relationship is honestly a little funny. “A girl can’t ask a guy out?”

(You try not to think too hard about the fact that up until you’d cornered him in Youngho’s room, you had been praying to whatever god could hear you to convince Mark Lee to do the romanticist thing and ask you out.)

“Nah, dude. Like… a girl like you asked a guy like him out.”

“I didn’t ask him out because he was a guy like that,” you say pointedly. “I asked him out because he was a guy I liked. I wouldn’t have asked anyone else out if it weren’t him.”

Donghyuck falls quiet for a while, and only the crunching of the leaves underfoot accompanies your walk. “You really like him that much, huh?”

“I’m crazy about him.” His nose scrunches up like he’s been hit with a horrible smell, and you laugh. “Can you stop giving him a hard time? Or tone it down? I know you probably don’t like it—”

Donghyuck’s chuckle is light and easy. “I’m not teasing him because I hate it; let’s be clear on that. I actually really like that you guys are together. I’ve never seen him this happy with anything or anyone.”

“Then why are you—”

“Because he’s Mark.” A devilish grin creeps up his features as he holds the door to the dorm lobby open for you. “And teasing him is my favorite thing to do.”

You shake your head; you can’t help your amusement, but you’re not sure you fully understand this kind of friendship. You suppose if Mark is okay with it in its totality, then there isn’t much you can say to change it either.

The next twenty minutes pass in comfortable back-and-forths; Donghyuck is, as you already have learned, an expert conversationalist, and while he doesn’t aggravate you the way he does Chenle, he does manage to navigate a quick-fire kind of exchange of thoughts and information that allows you to see the speed at which he thinks. There’s barely any lag between when he digests what you say and when he responds. You suppose there’s a measure of wit in that, but it’s also a little bemusing to see someone speak without at least running it through the conscience checker every once in a while. You decide you’ve never met anyone quite like Lee Donghyuck before.

He’s in the middle of asking you what the Anthropology professor is like because he’s planning on taking it as an elective if he can when you notice a familiar figure pushing into the lobby, backpack swinging on a folded elbow.

“Mark!” The brief confusion on his face morphs into a surprised joy when he spots you on the couch, even though a bit of it lingers upon recognizing that Donghyuck is seated next to you. He walks over in long strides, and your posture straightens to meet his palm as it comes down gently against the crown of your head again; it bumps lightly, causing the both of you to laugh.

“Hey, you.” His voice is warm and fond in its greeting, and you beam up at him. “Did you have a busy afternoon?”

“Unfortunately. Did you just get back from your shift?”

“I passed by the co-op to check out the new university letter jackets. Design’s pretty dope.” He nods towards the elevator. “You wanna head up for a little bit?” You almost get to respond before your companion cuts in instead.

“Hey. Can’t you see we’re having a riveting conversation over here?” Donghyuck sniffs, making a show of hitting Mark’s shin lightly with the heel of his shoe. “Have some respect.”

“Is the conversation so riveting that I can’t take my girl for the evening at all?”

You mouth out a no, but Donghyuck’s flair for dramatics has him humphing and shoving Mark’s hand away from your hair. “Yeah, man. At least let us finish up.”

“What’s this even about?”

“How Jung Jaehyun asked her out in the library today,” Donghyuck replies easily. You start, shaking your head immediately, but Mark’s jaw slackens a little upon hearing this. Donghyuck continues loudly over your protests, and you can’t keep your voice straight because you’re adamant and yet, somehow, still laughing incredulously in your shock. “Oh, dude, let me tell you. He had his arm around her like this — and he was giving her the bedroom eyes… I wouldn’t have blamed her if she folded, honestly.”

“Mark, no,” your stupid gasp comes out as half a giggle as a result of Donghyuck trying to reenact his imaginary scenario. He’s slung his arm across your shoulders and pulled himself in, doing his best expression of a pleading dog’s gaze, which is both perplexing and hilarious. “He’s just kidding—”

“Then he got all close like this—” Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, and the view he allows himself blocks him from having to look at Mark. You, on the other hand, are still trying to resist a misunderstanding, your palms up and every part of your body that can move shaking vehemently, but you can see Mark’s face turn a violent shade of red you can’t remember having seen from him before. “Spoke all low — you remember he had that sexy, husky voice, right? ”

“He’s just messing with you,” you wheeze out, trying to extract yourself from Donghyuck’s hold, but he only tightens his arm around your neck, almost to the point where you can’t inhale properly.

“And he said ‘you’re the hottest chick I’ve ever seen—’ then you know what he did, Markie?”

Mark doesn’t respond; you’re not even sure if he can, considering his Adam’s apple is bobbing dangerously like he’s one misstep away from exploding. You laugh again, stupidly, because you don’t know what else to do; you know Donghyuck’s teasing him, and you know Mark usually takes it in stride, but you’ve also never seen the latter look so focused on anything that didn’t involve a math problem or eating you out. “No, really, nothing hap—”

You don’t even have the space to finish your sentence. Donghyuck’s too quick when he grabs your face and plants a comedically sloppy kiss on your cheek, bursting out in laughter when he pulls away. You can only sit there, probably as stunned as Mark looks, raising your hand slowly to wipe the spittle Donghyuck left behind in his wake.

“Oh, Jesus,” Donghyuck rasps out between snorts. “Your face is priceless, man.”

“Not funny,” Mark grumbles, and there’s a hoarseness to his voice that makes you feel like it’s barely controlled.

“Also not true. I just bumped into her on the way from the library. We were talking about one of her classes or whatever.” Donghyuck dramatically wipes the tears from his eyes, and you sigh, nudging him. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist. Man, don’t even worry. She’s downright crazy about you. Even if Jung Jaehyun had asked her out—”

“Anyway.” Mark reaches down, lacing your fingers together, pulling you up and closer to his side like he’s worried you’ll catch Donghyuck’s crazy. “If that’s all of it…”

“Yeah, yeah. You two lovebirds go moon over each other already. I just love seeing your face like that.”

Mark snorts, yanking on Donghyuck’s earlobe punitively, and the latter cries out sharply (and a little exaggeratedly) at the pain. Mark doesn’t even seem to care; he leads you to the elevator and punches in his floor. You barely have time to call out a belated ‘bye’ to Donghyuck, who acknowledges it with a raise of his palm, before the doors slide shut.

It’s a slow elevator, given that it’s an old building, and the first couple of floors pass without much noise between the two of you. You’re not unaware of how tight Mark’s grip is on your hand, but you don’t comment nor take it against him. By the fourth floor, you’re raising his hand up to your lips and pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

“Nothing happened.” You confirm his unasked question, and you see a modicum of tension leave his shoulders. “He was just messing with you because he thinks it’s funny.”

“Yeah, I know.” Even if he says it like that, there’s still lingering doubt in his voice. “Were you with Jung Jaehyun today, though? Is that why you didn’t show up?”

You nod. “He was copying my notes for Anthropology. Guy barely shows up to lectures, so he borrows my stuff. I can’t believe he hasn’t been suspended yet. Or punched in the face by the people he leeches off of.”

“No kidding.”

You step out on the sixth floor with him. Even if you already know where Mark’s dorm is, you let him lead the way, and he ushers you into an empty and dimly lit living space while taking his shoes off. His roommate barely seems to be around; you’ve seen him all of two times, and it doesn’t look like he’s here either right now. You pause anyway, listening to any signs of life just to be sure, but when you both confirm that there’s no one but the two of you, you busy yourselves with turning on the lights and plugging in the water dispenser.

You work in relative silence; it isn’t anything unusual since you’ve done this a million times, and you’ve come to learn that small talk isn’t necessary when you’re just washing your hands or opening the refrigerator aimlessly even if you know you both plan on ordering in. But there’s a weird aura around Mark that you’re not sure how to place; he doesn’t seem like he’s mad, but there definitely seems to be something off — a problem, at least, that you’re not sure you know how to ask about.

So you just try to diffuse whatever it is by completely ignoring it.

“Pizza or Chinese?” You ask, flopping onto the couch as he plugs the television into the outlet. He looks up at you, and you notice his eyes are slightly dazed, like you’ve just woken him up from a dream. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse the first time he says it, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, sorry.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“We just had pizza, so I’m thinking Chinese is the better option. Cream shrimp? Fried rice? Not the salted fish one, though, maybe.”

You hum in assent, but when he straightens up from behind the television, you extend your arm to him, attempting to clarify yourself. “I mean, what are you thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing.” His answer’s a little too quick. A moment of awkward silence passes where you telepathically tell him you know he’s lying and he has to come to terms with his horrible lying skills, and he sighs, crossing over to the couch and settling beside you. Immediately, he tangles your fingers together, belatedly returning the favor from the elevator and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “He didn’t ask you out, right?”

You know he knows the truth, so you decide to bat your own question back at him in an attempt at rhetoric. “What would it matter if he did? The answer would have been the same, real or imagined.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly. There’s a red flush on his neck that’s only started fading, it seems. You reach out and skim your finger along the vein that runs down the side of his throat. “I know. I don’t like it all the same. I hate… even thinking about it, actually.”

“Really — nothing happened. If you don’t count the fact that I almost strangled him for keeping me there — which I’m sure you’d agree doesn’t count as anything in favor of him.”

“I heard Jung Jaehyun’s kind of a playboy.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.” His head lolls to the side, and his eyes hold a sadness that pulls at your heart. “It means he really could have made a pass at you. Or you could have — I don’t know. In the end… I just worry.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Your lower lip juts out, and his eyes widen slightly, his head shaking before his mouth can even work out a proper response.

“No — I mean, yes, absolutely. It’s — I mean, it’s just—” He inhales again to gather his wits, two fingers still rubbing his forehead. “I trust you, without a doubt. I don’t trust other people — not around you. Not Jaehyun, or Youngho, or—”

“Or Donghyuck?” You smile a little apologetically at his embarrassment, clear on his face when his eyes stray from yours. “Mark, you know he’s only messing with you, right? I thought it was a funny thing for you guys.”

“It’s not funny if it’s about you,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He looks up at you again, chewing on his bottom lip. “I know. I’m trying to control it. Sometimes… I don’t know why it gets under my skin. I guess it’s because it could happen — you… finding someone else. I kind of hate the thought of that.”

“And if I said I hate it even more than you?”

His gaze softens, something like relief passing over his features, but the rest of his body still holds a significant amount of tension; you know by the way he’s running agitated circles on the back of your hand. You gently tug on his arm, allowing yourself to use it as an anchor to shift your weight. Mark makes a soft noise of inquiry but says nothing more, waiting until you’ve maneuvered your body to settle on his lap.

The view is reminiscent, and you can see that the core memory you share flashes through his mind too. A small smile, still somewhat reluctant, plays on Mark’s lips, and you hate that it’s all you get right now, so you rectify this by leaning down and leaving a small, chaste kiss on them. You pull away much too soon, and his head follows in response to the distance, chasing your lips until you’re realistically too far to reach. His arm extends instead, swiftly tucking your hair behind your ear.

Your fingers close around his wrist, and your head turns, continuing the kiss against his palm — short and firm.

“Stop doing that.”

His eyebrows fly upward in questioning, his other hand freezing in its trail up your thighs. Even his breath seems to catch, and what’s left of it comes out as a raspy whisper. “Stop being jealous? I’m… I’m trying.”

You shake your head. “Stop being sexy when you’re jealous.”

The ‘what’ he seems to want to ask dies in his throat, his mouth only able to form half of the word before you interrupt, your lips taking in the rest of the syllable. When you kiss him this time, there’s a slow hunger to it; your teeth find his lower lip even before he’s able to get into the rhythm of kissing you back. You just want him to know — everything about him drives you wild, even when he doesn’t know it.

You’ll never grow sick of the taste of him, you’re sure; today, he tastes even more enticing, the hint of something rich mixing in with the stronger flavor of coffee on his tongue. It’s familiar and comforting, and it’s only when you break away, both your faces flushed from a prolonged lack of air, that you puzzle out what the taste is — the lingering aftermath of a vanilla sweet cream cold brew, one he must have prepared in anticipation of you this afternoon.

You briefly squeeze your eyes shut and thank whoever’s listening for the gift of Mark Lee.

“Mark,” your murmur, your voice much softer, intent on coaxing him into releasing his worries. “You know, right?”

His ‘hm’ is only half-there in focus, the rest of his attention on his hands, which have found their way to your ass and have started digging his fingers into the flesh beyond your jeans. You have to tilt his head up with one finger under his chin, and there’s a whirlpool of emotion in them: curiosity, desire, and, interestingly, a quiet, almost suppressed kind of anger.

“If it isn’t you,” you whisper. “Then there’s nobody else.”

You see his jaw tighten, feel his grip against you do the same, and his brow furrows, like he’s trying — much too hard, and for no good reason — to stop himself from tipping over. You don’t like that either; if he’s there, you think, you should take him over the edge.

“But if you want them to know so badly, then…” You tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck, bringing the expanse just a little closer to his mouth. “Why don’t you go ahead and put your claim on me?”

You swear you see his pupils dilate right before he presses his mouth to your skin. With a low, almost pained groan against your neck, he latches his teeth in lightly, and you feel the soft sting, the increase in pressure the moment he starts sucking a mark just above your collarbone. There’s a wet, messy pattern to his movements, always punctuated by the sweep of his tongue to soothe your flesh. Even with that, his movements are slow and careful, still gentle in the way he’s handling you, but you feel it anyway — all of his tension’s concentrated in his grip, the way he keeps you close, hips pinned against him as if he’s worried anything less will cause you to disappear.

“Every time you worry, remember you can do this.” You pause, your breath catching in a lilt as his teeth dig in a little more fiercely. “You’re the only one that can.”

His lips detach with a soft groan, fingers squeezing your ass tight for a moment. Warm breath cools against the damp patch on your neck, and a second later, you feel his mouth graze against the few inches of skin, sensitive and slightly raw. “I know. It’s just not fair.”

You hum in questioning, but he doesn’t answer immediately; his mouth busies itself just under the mark he’d surely left, already starting up the same routine. You’d let him, and you want him to, but you want to hear his voice more. Your fingers tangle into his hair, and you use that hold to ease his head back, urging him to look up at you. It’s almost a mistake, seeing him like that — lips slightly swollen and definitely slick with his own saliva, parted just a little to reveal teeth he’d been desperate to nip your flesh with again. It crosses your mind that Mark has a mouth made for kissing — no, that isn’t accurate.

A mouth made for you to kiss.

“What’s not fair?” You ask softly. Even now, he takes his time in answering, his eyes falling close for a second; you watch him swallow, lick his lips, breathe in before he speaks, and all of those mundane things he does somehow make you lose your mind all the more.

“How badly I keep wanting you,” he breathes out, his eyes slowly opening. “And how it makes me think everyone wants you just as much.”

His hands leave the curve of your ass, traveling up your shirt, resting against your sides. He holds you like he’s careful in trying not to break you, his fingers spread wide to make sure his thumbs almost meet against your stomach, but there’s a smoldering headiness in his gaze that tells you he’s thinking a little too hard about wanting to break you.

“I touch you like this, and I think that everyone would kill to do the same.” His fingers squeeze against your flesh, inching upwards until they rest just under your breasts; his thumbs stroke the curved underline of your bra. “I think about kissing you and it feels like everyone’s thinking it at the exact same time. I look at someone next to you, even if you don’t know them, and I wonder if they want to pull you close, if they want to feel you against them just as much as I do. When I—”

He inhales sharply between his words, and the exhale comes out somewhat shaky. For a moment, he grits his teeth, jaw flexing in an attempt to keep himself in check. You worry he doesn’t want to continue — doesn’t want to let you hear it, but it feels so important that you can’t let it go. “Tell me.”

“When I think about fucking you,” he breathes out, voice barely audible. “Whenever I look at you and think about how much I want to feel you around me, feel you cum around me… I just know everyone else wants the same thing, and it’s driving me crazy because… because they can’t.”

It’s there again, flashing in his eyes — a determination that reads almost like fury.

“They can’t,” he repeats, his voice firmer. “I won’t ever let them. Never.”

You don’t stop him this time when his mouth reclaims your skin. You let his thoughts fuel the need in his movements, allow yourself to move only in reaction to what he does — the tilting of your head to give him more room, the tightening of your fists against his shirt to keep yourself steady. A surprised mewl leaves you when you feel his teeth pinch against your flesh again, and it’s harder, sharper this time, his quiet anger finally dictating his strength. You grapple for words, but they come out in weak gasps.

“It doesn’t — doesn’t matter,” you manage to whimper out. “How many people think that way, how much they want me that way. I only ever want you.”

His breathing is caught, warm, in the pocket of space just between you and his mouth; it tingles against your skin, tickles your senses into heightening. Your fingers unfurl, pressing against his chest, and you can feel his quickened heartbeat thrumming under your palm.

“God, please,” he murmurs, the soft peck of a kiss landing against your collarbone. “Please, tell me.”

“Mark, I’m yours.” There’s no teasing in how you say it; it was never meant to rile him up. It even escapes sweetness, the romanticism it usually comes with when you remind him on any other occasion. This is a promise to him, something you’re reinforcing as fact, something that can’t ever change. “I’m always going to be yours — no one else’s. I’ll never let anyone have anything that’s yours. Ask anything, take everything you want. I’ll never say no to you. Only you — always you.”

You know something’s different in a number of ways; his arms circle around you, but instead of keeping you firm and stable in his lap, they’re tight, squeezing a whine out of you, holding your torso flush against his. His face never leaves the crook of your neck, but you hear — feel — something there — a soft growl of need, of frustration that begs release. Suddenly, you find yourself off the couch; you barely have the presence of mind to wrap your arms around his neck and tighten your thighs against his sides before he’s carrying you to his room, kicking the door open and letting the rebound of the impact against his wall slam it shut behind him.

You’ve been in Mark’s room before, so there’s absolutely no need for you to take in the scenery when he sets you down on his bed. It doesn’t matter anyway, even if this were your first time; Mark’s crawling over you, his face flush and eyes sharp with hunger, and he looks so enticing that you wouldn’t want to pay attention to anything else around you anyway. His limbs cage you in, arms on either side of your shoulders and his knees just by your thighs, and you don’t really know why he’s already panting, but it just makes you want him all the more.

“Never,” he groans out, leaning down to nose against the patch of skin his mouth had worked on. “I’m never going to let anyone take you, ever. You’re all mine.”

His name fades on your lips, carried away by a moan when his mouth reattaches itself to your neck; it moves, almost frenzied, to renew the mark he’d left, make it a deeper red, a slightly bruised purple. You’re usually careful not to do anything that will require any attention or cover-up after, but Mark seems a little too far gone to care, and you realize you like him best this way.

Even with all the attention he gives your neck, his fingers are busy; they work on the button of your jeans, sliding them down with the help you offer by raising your hips. They only reach halfway down your thighs, his reluctance to come back up for air stopping him from peeling them off completely, but it’s all he seems to need for now.

Eager fingers ease between your thighs, two at once, pressing against your folds. You’re unable to spread your legs like you usually do, but this tightness makes you all the more sensitive, and you keen as his digits fit themselves into your slit. Frustratingly, they don’t move right away, and you have to raise your hips again just to get some sort of friction. Even then, Mark doesn’t take the hint — or, perhaps, the bait — keeping a light pressure against your clit without doing anything else. His focus is still on your neck, now slightly aching under his lips, and when he finally pulls away, you see a look of triumph on his face. He tilts his head back slightly to admire his work — the blooming dark patch you’re sure he’s left where your skin tingles the most.

“If I said I wanted to mark you all over, would you let me?”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t ask for it?”

He chuckles, tightening the pressure of his fingers against your clit; you say something that sounds halfway between ‘Mark’ and a sob.

“I want to, so badly.” He admits, gaze still fixed on your neck. “I’d want to see you walk out of here, walk into class covered in them. I’d want people to ask you how you got them, and who gave them to you. And I’d want you to say it proudly — that it was me who did it. That I fucked you all night and made you mine over and over again.”

“Why don’t you?” His eyes snap up to you, a small smile forming on his lips. “I want to say that too. Let me brag about having you. Let me tell everyone how good you always make me feel. Then you can tell everyone who doesn’t believe you, too — how I let you take me every single time. Show me off and tell them to look at how you made me yours.”

Another laugh escapes him, but there’s more disbelief than humor in it; he seems to find it amazing, that you can just agree with what he says, no matter how strange he thinks it is.

“Show you off? If I mark you in other places, do I have to show them every part?”

“Do you not want to?”

“I want to, and I don’t.” He pauses, slightly amused, and you know he’s remembering the first time you fucked. “I don’t them to see your body, but I want them to see what I did to it. I don’t want them to look at what’s mine, but I just want them to know it is.”

“Then you can fuck me in front of everyone and make them watch you ruin me completely.”

He shakes his head, even if desire flashes clear across his features. He busies himself with actions while he mulls it over, tugging your jeans down alongside your panties and casting them aside before he straightens up. His eyes rake over your form; you’re bare from the waist down, your shirt halfway ridden up, the underside of your bra peeking out from under the hem. Again, his eyes land on your neck, and his smile widens slightly.

“Can’t.” He decides finally. “You’re too pretty for that.”

You hum thoughtfully, and he raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t move, even when you sit up, shifting yourself so you can tuck your calves under your thighs — not even when you reach out to undo his belt or tug down his zipper. He only reacts a little when your hand presses against his hardness through his boxers, the girth now easily familiar to your palm.

“What about something like this?” You ask, inching closer to the edge of the bed. You’ve started slow strokes against him, the fabric creating extra friction, more heat under your palm, and you watch his jaw clench as he swallows back a soft grunt. “Would you let them watch me do this for you?”

“Let me think about it,” he chuckles softly, and you nod, letting your fingers work to make your point. You don’t have to undress him completely to get what you want; all you need is to tug down the front of his boxers to free him, and you already have him wrapped in your palms, stroking his shaft to full hardness.

“Think faster,” you urge, and he shakes his head, slightly bemused. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t even want them to watch me jerk you off?”

“At least give me a full minute.”

You laugh lightly, whispering a ‘fine’ before you press a soft kiss against tip. He inhales sharp through his teeth, already sensitive, and you waste no time in letting your tongue flick out against the smooth head. He doesn’t need the lubrication, realistically; his precum’s already leaking from the tip, mixing in with your saliva as you run your tongue around it. All you do is make him a little messier, a little slicker, your spittle running down his length.

Taking Mark in your mouth is a demanding task, but one you’re always up for; there’s something uniquely satisfying about letting him fill your mouth, inch by inch, and watching his breathing hitch and stutter until your lips are closer to the base than to the head. What you can’t reach, your hand always squeezes around, eager to make sure he feels good completely. His expression is sublime when you draw your head back the first time, sucking as you do so — his eyes are half-lidded, and he doesn’t stop the moan that falls from his lips. His gaze is fixed on you, hazy but still able to drink the sight of you in, and you’re not sure how, but you almost feel like you could get off to watching him watch you taste him.

You try, somehow, vaguely conscious of the movement of your hips; you’re grinding at nothing at first, so your knees give way just enough for you to press yourself against his sheets. It’s slightly uncomfortable, a strain in your thighs that you’re not really used to, but you don’t care; Mark’s sharp inhale at seeing you attempt to grind your pussy against his mattress is pretty much as arousing as anything else. His cock twitches hard in your mouth, and you suck just a little harder, a little messier, your head bobbing down to meet your hand, still firmly wrapped around his girth.

The room’s filled with nothing but slick sounds and soft groans; Mark’s hand has found its way into your hair, tangled into a makeshift ponytail, and while he isn’t guiding your mouth to do anything, you can feel his hips stutter then start to move, pulling back when your head does. He tries to hide it, tries to keep himself steady, but pride blooms in your chest when you note that he can’t; he wants to feel like he’s fucking into your mouth, into your hand, the way he does when he takes your pussy.

It’s relatively quiet for that time, nothing but muffled moans from you that mix in with his noises, but you only realize you’d been waiting for an answer to something when he speaks up again.

“It’s… still a no for me.”

Your movements slow, your gaze lifting to communicate your mild confusion to him. You don’t want to ask; you just don’t want to lose the taste of him on your tongue just yet. He looks down at you, smiling with overflowing tenderness, almost like he’s apologetic.

“Even just this — you’re too pretty when you do it.” His hand reaches down, thumb stroking over your cheek. “I can’t let anyone see what you look like when you’re like this. They’ll keep thinking about you doing it for them. And you’d only do it for me — right?”

You nod immediately, your response causing your mouth to slip down his shaft just a little more. It elicits a guttural noise from him, one that fuels you into sucking him just a little harder, your enthusiasm overtaking your restraint. His fingers have let go of your hair, stroking it back into smoothness, almost comforting in their movements.

“God, I wish you could see yourself; you’d know what I mean,” he continues to murmur, his voice just a little louder over the eager, wet noises you’re making. “How pretty you look with your mouth wrapped around me. How perfect you are when you’re kneeling like this for me — how happy you look when you’re sucking me off. I can’t share that with anyone. Fuck — not ever.”

Your mouth draws back, completely this time, and your tongue presses against the underside of his cock. You lick a long stripe up his shaft, moaning softly at the light throb you feel, and you watch him tip his head back. The groan that follows soon after is almost close to a frustrated growl, ending in a whispered ‘shit’ before his eyes land back on you. He watches you press kiss after kiss against his tip, coaxing the precum out even more, and you take special care to leave more down each inch of his cock until you’re finally able to release your hold on his base so you can leave the last one there.

His hand combs your hair back before it falls to cup your chin, his thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to gently clean up the froth of spittle there. You smile up at him in thanks, and his thumb sweeps over the seam of your lips to follow the slight curve.

“So pretty,” he repeats, and your cheeks glow pink under the palms that caress them. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Pretty as hell, fucking perfect — and you’re all mine.”

You kneel up again, chasing his lips with your own, and he locks you in his arms as his tongue slips its way past your teeth, the aroma of coffee still on it. He leaves today’s taste of him against your tongue, on the ridges of your teeth, until you feel like you’ve all but consumed him, and you whimper softly when he pulls away, urging you to turn around and lean back into his chest.

His mouth reattaches itself to the same spot; it’s like a home base for him, and he breathes in your scent from there before giving the same patch of skin a light suck, almost as if he’s worried it’ll fade in a few minutes’ time if he doesn’t give it attention.

“Show me.” Hands slide down to your hips, squeezing them lightly, like a prompt for your response. “Show me how pretty you are for me.”

His palms never leave you, not even when you detach yourself from his chest and bend down; your elbows meet the mattress, but your hips stay raised, giving him a view of your pussy. Your gasp easily turns into a moan when his digit dips into your wetness again, his other hand pushing gently at your asscheek to keep you open.

You think he’s about to slip his finger in, the tip brushing against your entrance, and you tense in anticipation, but it doesn’t happen; he continues to run his finger down your slit, careful not to linger against your clit for too long. The result is that you tighten around nothing, and you hear him suck in a breath as he watches your hole grow smaller for a second. You laugh breathily, resting your chin against the backs of your hands, one folded atop the other. “Pretty enough for you to fuck?”

“Do you have to ask if you already know?”

“I want to hear it anyway.”

His finger slips into your hole, finally, and you keen softly as he breaches the first ring of tightness. He doesn’t really move it, just tests your tightness, feels you contract around him as if to know what his cock will feel in a few moments.

“Your pussy’s too pretty not to fuck,” he manages out, and his throat sounds as tight as you feel. “Seeing it like this… makes me think there’s no way anyone can resist. It’s exactly why I can’t let anyone see you like this.”

You hum as his finger presses in deeper, and you know it’s nothing in comparison to the real thing, but you like feeling that mild stretch, the depth it reaches all the same. “How should we let them know, then? That I’m all yours.”

His finger stills, and you hum softly, swaying your hips to shake him out of whatever trance he’s in. He’s grown quiet, but there’s a thoughtfulness in this pause, like he’s seriously considering your question. You laugh lightly, ready to tell him you’re just egging him on until he fucks you, but he slips his finger out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing again. You can’t help the confused noise that comes out of you, but you at least know he isn’t completely backing away, his other hand still firmly on your ass.

“Mark, what—”

You get your answer in the thud that interrupts your question — he’s tossed his phone onto the bed, having it land next to you. Something in your blood runs hot, and your fingers tremble when you pick it up. You see yourself reflected in the blackened screen — excitement in your eyes, your lips glossy from your blowjob.

Mark’s silent as you let the meaning of his actions settle; wordlessly, he slips his finger into you again, followed by another one this time, and you shudder in pleasure at the difference in the stretch. He doesn’t ask, but you can tell he’s wondering if he’s gone too far— if you think he’s crazy. He lets his fingers stay anchored in you, unmoving, waiting for you to say something, but from where he is, he just can’t know the smile that passes your face.

Finally, he tries to speak up. “We don’t have to— I just meant—”

“What’s your passcode?”

He breathes out, the exhale quivering as much as you probably are. “Your birthday.”

Your smile only widens when you tap the screen to life and see a picture of you — you don’t even remember when he’d taken it, but it’s a shot of you sprawled on his bed, bundled in his blanket and reading something that looks oddly like your textbook for your European Renaissance History class. It’s grainy and dimly lit, a stolen photograph of you, but it makes your heart swell, and you laugh lightly as you key in your birthday; the screen unlocks, allowing you access to all his applications.

“What’s funny?”

“Just thinking about how you should replace this wallpaper.”

“To what?” He sounds bemused.

“The view of me you have now.”

His fingers curl in you, pressing down against your walls, and you push your hips back in a bid for more friction; you hear him hiss out a ‘fuck’ under his breath, and his hand digs harder into the flesh of your ass.

You open Mark’s contacts, scrolling down aimlessly. Most of the names, you don’t recognize, but you see a few familiar ones crop up here and there. He doesn’t ask, only starts pumping his fingers into you in quiet anticipation, wondering how far you’re willing to take it, how much you’ve bought into this crazy idea.

“Mark,” you call out, and he hums in response. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“With my life.”

“So if I called Donghyuck right now—” His fingers hook into you, the delicious pressure on your walls making you squeak instead of finish your sentence immediately. You twist your torso to meet his eyes, and you’re slightly surprised but not at all displeased to see something crazed lingering in his gaze. “How much of a show would you want to put on for him?”

He shifts his weight, his knee sinking into the mattress as he slots it between your legs. This change in position allows him to angle his fingers a little differently, driving down into you with a force that makes you squirm. You almost forget you’ve asked him something again until he leans in closer, his murmur almost drowned out by the slick sounds of his finger pressing into your hole.

“Just… enough for him to know you’ve always been mine.”

Your thumbs are shaking when you scroll through his contacts again, up and down until you find the right name — Lee Donghyuck — and Mark watches you intently, wordlessly, as you press his number, start the call, and put it on speaker.

The wait feels like an eternity, with Mark’s finger slipping in and out of you in a steady, languid pace as you watch the line connect, but in reality, Donghyuck really only answers after the fourth ring. “Yo, Mark.”

His voice is casual, lacking in any sort of expectation; you can hear explosions and gunshots in the background, and you’re willing to bet he’s in the middle of an action movie. You’re proven right when you hear random English babbling soon after.

“Hi, Hyuck.”

“___________?” He sounds genuinely confused that it’s you that greets him. “Where’s Mark? You okay?”

“He’s right here with me; don’t worry.” Your voice is a soft croon, and he has to lower the volume of the television to be able to hear you better. “We’re totally fine. What are you up to?”

“Watching Resident Evil. Uh, is there a reason you called?”

You want to draw out the lie of something casual for as long as you can, but Mark doesn’t let you. His fingers push, suddenly forceful, into you, and you let out a soft cry into the receiver. You look back at him, eyes wide with amusement, and he shrugs, having at least enough sense to look slightly abashed at his experiment.

One moment, you’re listening to a female voice shout something, and the next, Donghyuck’s side of the call is silent except for his breathing. When you don’t bother explaining what had just happened, he takes matters into his own hands.

“Hello?”

He sounds equal parts affronted and amused, like the shock of it has tickled him. You can’t help it; you laugh too, but it’s quickly cut off by another whine when Mark pulls his fingers out. Donghyuck makes an incredulous noise.

“Now, what the fuck is all this about, you freaks?”

“You kept wondering why I ended up asking Mark out,” you evade his question with another one. “Should I tell you why, if you’re that curious?”

“No way. Have fun, weirdos,” he laughs, and the line goes dead a second after.

You snort out a laugh, and Mark mumbles something that sounds vaguely like that was crazy before he leans down and presses a kiss to the small of your back. You make to turn so you can finally face him, but you’re distracted when his phone screen lights up again, and Donghyuck’s name flashes across it.

You exchange amused glances before you pick up the call, and you don’t even get a ‘hello’ out when his voice rings out, sharp and clear.

“But pretending I am,” he says, as though he hadn’t hung up the call a few seconds ago. “Exactly what kind of answer would I get?”

“The kind that’ll hopefully shut you up for good,” Mark pipes in instead of you.

“What’s that even going to sound like?” Already, Donghyuck’s activated whatever toggle in him that gets him to push Mark’s buttons. This time, though, you can’t say it works against you; you feel Mark inch closer to you, and a moment later, the fat tip of his cock nudges against your entrance. “I bet you can’t even get her to yawn, man.”

Mark doesn’t have to respond; you do it for him when he pushes in, torturously slow, as if to draw out your moan. It works a little too well, with you keening into the phone, and yet no part of you is acting for his sake. As familiar as the stretch is, it’s not something you’ve ever been able to commit to memory fully, and it feels like a new breaching of your tightness each time. Your legs fold in slightly, a useless movement that attempts to get you adjusted to his size faster, but Mark interprets it as discomfort, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You okay?” He sounds genuinely worried for a second, forgetting that Donghyuck’s still on the line. Your cheek brushes against his sheets as you nod, trying to meet his eye even in this position to let him know you’re being honest.

“Fucking big, Mark.” You hear Donghyuck tsk from his end, and you laugh breathlessly. “You don’t like knowing he’s big?”

“I just hate that fucker,” Donghyuck quips back easily, but there’s no seriousness in his voice. If anything, it sounds a little raspy, with him clearing his throat soon afterward.

“Well, I’m crazy about him,” you whisper into the call, and your breathing hitches as Mark finally bottoms out, groaning at your tightness. “I’m crazy about the way he touches me, the way he tastes. I’m crazy about how big his cock is, how deep it gets when he’s inside me, how he stretches me out — fuck—”

Your verbal rampage is cut short by a loud moan as Mark draws his hips back and pushes forcefully into you; you haven’t fully adjusted, and you’re even tighter now from what you’re saying, so the friction inside you is nothing short of delicious. He starts a pattern of thrusts, not bothering to build up from his usual slow and steady pace — hearing you talk that way and knowing that Donghyuck is listening is enough to get him to abandon self-imposed restrictions.

“Mark,” you whine out, accidentally pushing the phone a little further away as you reach out blindly for him behind you, and he catches your wrist to let you know he’s there. “Mark, fuck, it feels so good—”

You tighten around him as if to prove your words, and he growls in response. You find yourself having to press your cheek in a little harder into the mattress as he gathers your wrists together into one hand, pinning them to your lower back, and it’s with that hold on you that he leverages his thrusts, pumping into you a little harder each time.

You’re not completely unaware of your surroundings, but it takes a while for you to process the sounds coming from the phone’s speaker — labored breathing, the sound of a zipper being pulled down. You want to wonder if this is working a little too well, but nothing comes from your mouth apart from soft whimpers, and it’s all the cue Mark needs to be the one to fill in the relative silence himself.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, and you feel his lips press between your shoulder blades. It feels like a chaste kiss at first, but he leaves his breath there, still flitting over your skin as he continues to speak. “I’ll never get tired of how pretty you are — how pretty you always sound for me. Doesn’t she sound pretty, Hyuck?”

“Fucking pretty,” Donghyuck agrees, though his voice sounds somewhat distant. You can only sob back a quiet ‘fuck me, harder, harder,’ in response.

“Can you imagine how much prettier she looks under me?” It’s almost a full-blown conversation now, but even if Mark’s addressing Donghyuck, the rest of his attention’s fully on you. He adjusts his stance, still keeping his hold around your wrists as he angles himself deeper into you, causing you to cry out and squirm in pleasure. With your face pressed against the bed and his weight driving down into you, you feel utterly trapped, in the best kind of way. Mark, in the way he is now, is inescapable, almost incorrigible, and he pistons deeper into your pussy, his free hand brushing your hair away from your shoulder so he can leave a kiss against it. “Bent over, legs spread just a little, all for me to take. Pretty little hole wet for me, and so fucking tight. Can you imagine that?”

“I’m doing it right now.”

“It’s a thousand times better in person. Trust me.”

The same hand slips between your thighs, two fingers spreading your folds apart; the middle one circles your clit in a pace that matches his thrusts, sudden and shocking, and you arch your back upwards slightly with a choked noise. He finally releases your wrists, and you claw at the sheets helplessly to keep yourself somehow upright as the force of Mark’s hips, their impact against the backs of your thighs, pushes you forward, closer to the phone again. The stimulation is merciless, endless, and in the haze of your pleasure, you wonder if you should make Mark a little more jealous everyday if it gets him to act this way.

“Mark, I…. I’ve been— s-since—”

“Not yet,” he whispers, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as if to bring you back to reality. You shudder at the pain, the pleasure that accompanies it, and when you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, you notice that a few tears escape your eyes. “Hold out for me a bit, okay? Please. It’s not enough. Not yet enough.”

You wonder if ‘enough’ is a concept the both of you even understand when it comes to wanting each other; already, you feel desire pooling in your stomach, threatening to spill from you, and clenching around him isn’t helping you stop it the way your body seems to think it’s supposed to. It also doesn’t help that Mark’s fingers are relentless, one still drawing tight, heavy circles around your clit, and the other creeping up under your shirt to tug down the cup of your bra, letting a breast spill into his warm palm. He kneads with an unusual — but not unpleasant — roughness, and you squeak out incoherently as he tweaks at the hardened bud of your nipple, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Hold on for me a little,” he continues murmuring, even after you shake your head and whisper ‘can’t’ to him over and over. “Do it for me. Tell Donghyuck — tell him how good it feels. How much you want to keep feeling me inside you.”

You don’t even know what to say; the pleasure that washes over you, the new kind of roughness that Mark exhibits has you drawing a blank, and you can only whine in a last attempt at protest, only for your tongue to start moving on autopilot, fueled by your want.

“It’s not enough,” you echo — and even if it feels like it is, even if it feels even more than you can possibly handle, something tells you that it’s true. “Not enough — need to feel you more, Mark. God, I want to feel you stretch me out, fuck my little hole into the shape of your cock— until no one else can fuck me but you—”

“What,” Donghyuck breathes out, his exhale coming across as static. “The fuck.”

You don’t have to explain; your babbling’s doing most of the work in that regard anyway, and you can tell by the wet, staccato noises on the other end that Donghyuck can easily piece together the scenario anyway. He’s jacking off to the both of you, something in your mind whispers, and the notion of that alone has you tightening around Mark’s cock. The change doesn’t go unnoticed, and his fingers sink deeper into your flesh; you cry out softly when you feel a jolt of pleasure as he gives your clit a sudden pinch.

“How much tighter can you get?” He sounds incredulous but also, interestingly, proud — there’s a smug tinge to his voice that arouses you even more. “Does it feel that good?”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe out, the syllables quivering in your throat. “So good I’m going to lose my mind. Let me — God, please, let me—”

“Not yet,” Mark mumbles, and you whimper as he slows and slips out of you, his hand gently rubbing your folds in what feels like comfort — a small apology for his overt enthusiasm that you don’t even really need. “Just a little more. I need to see it.”

“See what?” Donghyuck’s voice is barely above a whisper, hoarse and pretty much muffled by the sound of his hand pumping his own shaft. Your head’s light, so your body moves on its own when Mark inches away slightly, giving you room to turn yourself around and lay on your back. You’ve barely even settled when he lifts your hips, dragging you closer to him and easing your thighs apart to slot himself between your legs.

His cock weighs heavy, pressed up against your folds, and he pushes his hips in a superficial thrust to get them to spread. His eyes fall briefly on your swollen clit, the wetness that you left on his shaft, even more of it still leaking from your hole. When he looks back up at you, there’s something triumphant in his gaze.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he coos, so lovingly it’d be hard to imagine his cock still sliding against your folds if you couldn’t feel it yourself. “I’ll never get enough of your perfect pussy — so perfect that it was made to take me.”

“See what?” Donghyuck presses, an impatience now coloring his voice. Mark chuckles, nodding at you and mouthing silently. Tell him.

Your inhale’s shaky, quivering like the rest of your body, and you don’t ever break away from Mark’s gaze, even as you speak.

“His cock fucking me in my stomach.”

Donghyuck’s ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ is drowned out by your cry of need as Mark pushes back into you. There’s no lag time now, no wait for any kind of adjustment; he takes you in one motion, until you feel his hips hit the backs of your thighs again. Your walls flutter around him, unable to process his size fully, and all that comes out of you is a string of messy mewls that’s constantly interrupted by the wet sounds of his thrusts.

Your body feels almost weightless, the only thing you can understand being the feeling of his cock pumping into you, stretching you out further. You’re only able to shake yourself out of the reverie when you feel his hands push back against your thighs, folding you in half, before they crowd atop your stomach.

“God, I need to feel it,” he groans out, his palms skimming under your navel, searching. “Please — do it for me.”

Even with your brain muddled, you don’t even have to try to figure it out; you let him feel it every time he asks. You inhale, deep and slow, until your stomach sinks, and the walls of your stomach flatten against his cock, which pauses briefly in its movements as he revels in the newfound feeling.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and you flush in pleasure, in satisfaction at his praise. “Love seeing my cock inside you.”

He adjusts himself before he starts pumping into you again, burying his shaft all the way to the hilt each time; each thrust is followed by a soft sob from you, and you reach out, planting your hands on top of his. You obviously can’t feel his cock under your palms, but you don’t have to anyway; the fit’s tight enough that it feels, ridiculously, like he’s fucking your whole body, like he’s pressing into the deepest part of your core. You just want him to feel it more — the movement of the bulge under his hands, the resistance it has to push through to get to your stomach.

“Love feeling me inside you,” he continues, and his breathing stutters then, signaling that he’s also barely hanging on. “Love seeing how pretty you look when I rearrange your insides.”

You mouth out a disbelieving ‘what the fuck’ that earns you a simple smile, but Mark’s unrelenting in his movements anyway, his palms completely covering your stomach.

“Dude, I wanna see it too,” Donghyuck reminds you both of his presence when his voice comes through the speaker. “Put her on video.”

“No way,” comes Mark’s swift, firm reply. Donghyuck makes a noise of protest. “This is just for me.”

“Selfish as hell, calling me without really sharing.”

“The point wasn’t really ever to share.”

Mark’s hands suddenly press down on your stomach, and you stifle a soft scream; the pressure increases tenfold, as does the tightness of the fit, his cock brushing against your walls in a way that makes you feel breathless — it makes you feel used. Your hands fly up, fingers locking behind his neck, and you squirm under him, knowing fully well that you can’t escape anyway — not that you really want to, anyway.

“Mark,” you warn him again, your voice thin and airy. “I can’t anymore — I really—”

“I got you,” he murmurs — something you’ve come to learn he always says, always wants to let you know. He’ll be here until you break, until you can’t take anymore. “One second, okay?”

“Bro, what? Are you serious—” Even Donghyuck sounds confused, although his voice is tight too; he must be close, your mind weakly registers, but it doesn’t matter. Mark, albeit reluctantly, slips one hand away from your stomach — for a good cause, he must think, and you learn what it is when he ends the call, effectively cutting off Donghyuck’s complaints. Your eyes widen in confusion, but all Mark’s gaze is to you is reassuring, gentle, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips before he answers your unspoken question.

“Can’t let him hear you cum,” he murmurs against your mouth. “That’s only for me, isn’t it?”

You nod, letting the movement of it brush your lips against his. “You’re the only one I’ll cum for — the only one that can make me.”

Above your head, his phone is trilling noisily; the vibrations course through your back, weak but persistent, and for some reason, it heightens your arousal all the more. Mark ignores it completely, single-mindedly focused on pistoning into you with the bulk of his strength. His hands push down just under your navel, increasing your awareness of the feeling of his cock, him fucking you, coaxing out your climax.

“Do it. Show me how pretty you look when you cum for me.”

You don’t think it’s possible for him to inject any more strength into his movements, but he proves you wrong time and time again; the wind’s knocked out of you as he braces himself and fucks you harder, sharper into the bed, and the only noises you can make are weak whimpers and choked sobs. Your mind’s so overrun with pleasure that your climax hits your body first before your mind fully parses it; your back arches again, and you mewl out something broken, something that sounds like his name as you come undone.

Mark still doesn’t relent, the tremble in your legs somehow only inspiring him to put more power in his thrusts. Even through the dazedness that comes with all the stimulation, you can see the fine details you’ve come to know so well — the tightness in his jaw, the growing flush across his collar, the quick heaving of his chest. He’s close too, so close he’s just holding himself back out of sheer force of will to make sure he can watch you come down from your climax completely. You don’t know why he has to, but you want to see him let go too, and you scramble for words, for more touch — pressing your thighs firm against his sides to keep him close, locked — just to get him there.

“Will you mark me up one last time?” You breathe out. He reacts almost instantaneously, moving to lean down and press his mouth against the still-untouched side of your neck, but your palm on his chest stops him from doing so. Surprise crosses his face, followed by slight confusion. You squeeze your thighs against him, trying to make your point, but even then, his brow furrows. “Mark me — inside.”

His eyes widen, and his hips stutter before they resume pace, his fingers digging into your stomach almost painfully as he tries to keep himself in control. “I— no, you know I can’t…”

“Do you want to?” You egg him on, your hand dropping from his chest to land on top of his again, adding to the pressure until you’re sure he can feel every small movement, every throb of his own cock inside you. “You can, you know — make me yours, from the inside out.”

“God — we can’t; you know we’d be in so much trouble.”

“But I’d let you anyway, if you wanted to. Do you ever think about it, Mark?” Your fingers toy with his, almost like you’re having a casual conversation instead of a situation in which he’s deep inside you, already aching for release. “Fucking your cum deep into me, letting it seep into my stomach — making sure no one else can fill me up?”

“Jesus,” he growls, and he reluctantly slips his hands out from under yours to grip your thighs. Realistically, he has enough strength to peel them away, have you release him, but his hold just tightens, not really making any motion to do so. You see the thought flash in his eyes, serious even just for a moment. He thinks about it all the time.

“Think about it,” you urge, your voice soft but close to a demand. “And every time you do, remember one day, you will — because you’re the only one that can.”

He tilts his head back, letting a growl rip from his throat, and he finally manages to push your thighs apart. You let him, let them fall apart so he can slip out of you. You watch him shift upwards, his knees on either side of your torso, and you’re met with the erotic sight of him fisting his cock in front of you, urging himself into completion. You do the only thing you can think of to help; you open your mouth wide, pushing your tongue out, silently asking for his load.

“Even when you do that, you’re fucking pretty,” he groans out, and his thumb presses his cock down, resting the underside flush against your tongue as he rocks his hips. “How much prettier are you going to look with my cum all over your face?”

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out, and you don’t have to respond; he gets the answer he wants with one last thrust against your tongue, and you close your eyes briefly, allowing yourself to drink in the taste, the smell of his cum as it streaks across your cheeks, all over your lips. You hear his release as it comes too — the soft rumble from his chest, the release of air that gently whistles through his teeth.

When you open your eyes again, Mark is looking down at you, a warm flush creeping up his cheeks and ears again; he’s breathless, panting as he comes down from his high. From the daze of his climax, a slightly sheepish look of apology crosses his face, and he reaches down, seemingly without any real plan, to clean you up, only to withdraw, slightly bemused, when you shake your head.

A laugh escapes him when you shimmy out from under him, straighten up, and extend your arms upward, puckering your lips in slight demand. You think he might reject you, but Mark doesn’t even hesitate longer than a second. He swoops down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, and your thighs press together tight as you enjoy the feeling of his tongue swiping away his cum from your bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth, sucking softly as if to clean you completely.

When he pulls away, his head dips into your shoulder; again, his face turns to press against the mark he’d left, and his teeth nip at the soft bruise that’s already begun to blossom. Satisfied by the soft noise you make at the sensitivity you feel from the contact, he breathes out, long and steady, against your skin.

“Just… can’t get enough of you,” he finally exhales, pressing another kiss to your neck; it’s gentler, situated just under your jaw.

“You don’t ever have to think about having enough,” you whisper, leaving a light nuzzle against his shoulder. “Just always think about having more.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, but he nods, accepting your offer anyway. A moment of silence passes, where you’re wrapped up in each other, his weight against you in a blanket of heat, and it stretches to what almost feels like an eternity — if not for the phone suddenly ringing again, Donghyuck’s name coming up on the ID. You both start, and Mark reaches over, fumbling with the sides of his device before he finds and toggles the silent switch.

“Seriously,” he grumbles, watching the call drop just for it to start up again, the screen flashing.

“We kind of left him hanging, to be fair.”

“No fairness.” Mark tosses the phone to the foot of the bed, where it lies, facedown and buzzing. “He got more than he deserved today.”

You watch him as he slips off the bed, rearranging himself before clipping his jeans button back into place. He whispers a gentle ‘be right back’ and exits the room, leaving the door only slightly ajar. You hear the water run in the bathroom, and a few moments later, Mark returns to your side, holding a damp towel.

He leaves a kiss after each light swipe across your face, as if to apologize for the pain he thinks he might be causing; you laugh, partly because it’s ridiculous, but mostly because you like it. He cleans your mouth last, even though there’s already nothing left, just so he has an excuse to leave a long, lasting kiss there.

You think it’s the last you’ll get for now, but he surprises you by bending down even further, hiking your shirt up your torso again. His hand rests on your thigh, keeping himself balanced as he presses a flutter of kisses around your navel, lingering at the exact spot that sits above where he knows his cock hits every time he bottoms out in you.

“One day,” he whispers into your skin before he looks up at you, his eyes shining. “I’ll really make you all mine.”

“Dummy.” Your voice is just as low, and you pull his head up again, enjoying the brush of his hair against your hand, the swoop of his jaw under your palm. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Every single day, considering I’ll never get tired of it.”

You hum, not one to deny him of what he asks anyway; you push him back onto his calves, climbing back onto his lap; it’s your favorite way to be near him, you decide, with almost nothing between you, almost everything of yours touching everything of his — like you fit in him perfectly. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling their soft rise and fall as his breathing steadies, and you squirm a bit, if only to make sure his arms are locked securely around you — to make sure he won’t let go. Just like that, in his arms, you say it again — a truth, a fact, and a promise.

“I already am.”

[peachetteprice]

CW: dark themes, kidnapping, assault.

Neuroscientist!Price wishes to explore the established neurological link between sex and fear, to better understand the heightened state of sexual arousal present in abduction victims who have experienced symptoms of Stockholm syndrome at the hands of their kidnappers. 

He files an advertisement in the morning paper and tapes his research proposal form onto the faces of street-lamps, urging women who may be interested in his project to rip a strip of paper from the bottom, a phone number – his phone number – advising anyone who fits the criteria of his sample to call it; it states you must be over thirty and under forty-five, have been sexually active for the previous five years, and have natural brown hair. You don’t quite comprehend enough about neuroscience to discern the relevance of asking a woman for the colour of her hair, though you assume it is the simple reasoning of an intellectual with much more expertise than a lowly accountancy firm receptionist, and, fitting the description with enough accuracy and curiosity to wish to take part: you call the number.

Three days later, you receive a voicemail asking if you’re available to meet him in his office. The man's voice is warm, woody; it has the exact qualities that would warrant you fantasising about him requesting that you get on your knees, like the good slut you are, and keep your hands to yourself as you throat him. His office is in the centre of London, you learn, within a building you’ve never heard of before, though it seems to be across from a quaint café that requires you stop off at an hour before the scheduled meeting, arriving in the building's empty foyer with a latte and a croissant. 

The research will take place not far from his office, he explains, and leads you down a set of stairs, indented from the rear of the caretaker’s workroom, though you’re hardly paying attention to his words, nor the path you’re taking when his hips are swaying so seductively, biceps flexing against the constraints of his lab coat as he opens door after door, descends step after step, all the while a fragrant and tantalising scent keeps your mind hazy.

Poor thing. You don't stand a chance. Neither did the four other women before you.

By the time your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, to puzzle together a set of metal chains and leather straps hanging from the ceiling and a cold, wet, stone interior, you’re thrust to the floor with a deft slap, nostrils free from the smell of his cologne to settle, instead, on the faint, rustic scents elsewhere, coalescing together much as the damp and mould in the corner of the room, that not a soul would be able to guess incorrectly: blood, sweat, and cum.

No one quite understands what Doctor Price does in the evenings: why the back-up generator in the basement ticks overtime long after every employee has left the building, why his office remains vacant and his name and photo stripped from every company poster and website listing, or why he has such a friendly rapport with the building's sole cleaner, a man who goes only by the moniker of Ghost, but they know exactly how he elicits such darling noises from the women he passes in the street during the daytime – for he has the sort of mind that drives women insane.

| Masterlist |

[burstfoot]

Figured I'd make a post outlining Arknights' auxiliary material for those who want to see more of the universe and aren't aware of all that's out there! ANIMATION Arknights Prelude To Dawn (S1) and Perish in Frost (S2, currently airing): [Crunchyroll]

A straight up adapation of the main story, up through Chapter 0 to Chapter 6! It's much more fast-paced than the story, so I wouldn't use it to replace actually reading it, but it's very cool to see some of these scenes in full animation. Lee's Detective Agency: (Youtube)

A mini-series animated in a chibi-style with a comedic tone focused on the adventures of the Kuroblood-illustrated Lee's Detective Agency! Distributed by Crunchyroll globally, but entirely free to watch.

Closure's Secret Files: (Youtube)

A cut-out styled series of shorts hosted by Closure which outlines a lot of the game's basic mechanics!

Holy Knight Light: [Youtube]

A short Youtube OVA focusing around Penguin Logistics delivering a package, celebrating Arknights' first anniversary!

[Upcoming]: Kay's Daily Doodles: (Twitter Annoucement)

Another free youtube mini-series that starts airing December 1st, focused around Ceobe! Here's some additional animations! Each event usually also has a 15 second 2D animated preview of the event, but there's so many of those that I can't list them all. Official Anniversary Event 3D Animations: Lone Trail Where Vernal Winds Will Never Blow Il Siracusano Ideal City Stultifera Navis Invitation To Wine Near Light Dossoles Holiday Under Tides Bonus 3D Animated Shorts: Legend of Chongyue Arknights Special - IL Siracusano Lo Scontro Youtube Shorts: Ch'en and Lin's Watermelon Splitting Game Part 1 Ch'en and Lin's Watermelon Splitting Game Part 2 Amiya's Siracusan Food Guide Part 1 Amiya's Siracusano Food Guide Part 2

Comics, Manga, Manhua

Officially Translated Rhodes Island's Records of Originium: Rhine Lab: (Offical Website)

A canon manhua centered around the circumstances that lead to Silence falling out with Saria and joining Rhodes Island with Ifrit, as well as Ifrit's attempt to save a dying infected stowaway on the landship. Essential reading for understanding the Rhine Lab storyline and characters - read it right after Mansfield! One of the characters, Darya, is mentioned in both Ifrit's module and briefly in Lone Trail.

Rhodes Island's Records of Originium: Blacksteel: (Official Source)

A short story focusing on the lives of the Blacksteel operators aboard the landship. While it often gets overshadowed by the Rhine Lab manga which is bigger in scope, this is a great read especially if you're interested in Franka or Liskarm.

Rhodes Kitchen -TIDBITS-: (Official Source)

An anthology story related to the cuisine that's important to a variety of operators. While it might seem unassuming, the art is gorgeous and it's really well-written. I particularly recommend the Goldenglow (Chapter 4) and Rosa (Chapter 5) chapters.

Unofficially Translated

Arknights Comic Anthology: (Mangadex)

As the title says, a series of non-canon anthology stories regarding the cast of Rhodes' Island! Note that the link provided only has complete translations up to Volume 4 (and Vol. 4 is missing Ch. 7), and most of the chapters avaliable after that point were MTL'd, so I can't vouch for their accuracy. Chapters I'd recommend are: Volume 1: Chapter 12 (focused on Myrrh trying to improve her medicine), Chapter 14 (focused on Saria and Silence trying to put apart their differences to take Ifrit on vacation, afaik the only place where they are directly referred to as her "moms") Volume 2: Chapter 1 (Manticore tries to make friends), Chapter 3 (The LGD gets drunk), Chapter 11 (Texlapp and Mosexu yuribait), Ch. 13 (Magallan tries to find a pet), Chapter 16 (Ethan spies on the interior lives of Rhodes operators) Volume 3: Chapter 6 (Snowsant, Ifrit, Nian and Shaw are forced to make friends), Chapter 7 (Gummy flashes back to Chernobog), Chapter 10 (FEater and Shaw yuribait), Chapter 13 (Blackout on the landship, as well as Ayerscarpe and Leonhardt yaoibait)

Volume 4: Chapter 4 (Thorns tries to make friends with Weedy [this one is my favourite]), Chapter 6 (Tomimi tail spankings), Chapter 9 (Elysium helps Frostleaf get along with Dur-Nar) Volume 6: Ch. 1 (Whisperain opens up to others) [this one isn't MTL'd afaik]

123 Rhodes Island: (Mangadex)

A series of non-canon gag 4komas! Many of the games' offical stickers are done in this series' art style.

Arknights: Operators!: (Mangadex)

A compilation of 4komas posted on the official ArknightsJP twitter account! Thank you to @sleepywoodscans for their work on translating these, please show them some love!!

[Edit: For clarities sake, the only stuff here that has used MTL is later chapters of the Comic Anthology! Sleepywoodscans’ work on Operators! is all done by hand (they’re a native Japanese speaker). Again, I really appreciate their work!]

Arknights: A1 Operations Preparation Detachment: (Mangadex)

Part of the Terra Historicus website and not yet officially translated, focusing on Fang, Kroos and Beagle, and a catastrophe striking the Columbian city of Tkaronto. Unfortunately, only translated up to Chapter 6, but one of the characters (Elba) has a brief cameo in Light Sparks in Darkness! Edit: Chapter 7 has been translated by @pooce-art, and they're working on Chapter 8!

Angelina: Sketches of THIS Messenger's Journey: (Mangadex)

Also published as part of the Terra Historicus website and not yet officially translated, focuses on the adventures of Angelina travelling across Terra as a Messenger! Recent chapters relate to the upcoming Sami event & IS4, as well as the upcoming So Long, Adele.

Prelude Suite: Unrestrained Play: (Wiki)

Unfortunately, I can't find a full translation for this one - an epilogue to Hortus De Esscapismo focusing on Arturia's background. Of course, major spoilers for Hortus apply - if you can find a full translation yourself.

As well, an upcoming manhua focused on the Break the Ice cast was annouced during the 4.5 Anniversary stream. As far as I'm aware, chapters have not begun releasing yet!

Other:

Arknights Ambience Synesthesia: (Youtube)

A series of concerts (3 so far), focusing around Arknights' music! A live performance has been done every year, with skins released in-game for the concert's theme & 3D animations produced featuring the skin's cast in 2022 and 2023.

Monster Siren Records: (Spotify) (Official Website)

Arknights' official (and-in-universe) record label publishing game OSTs, themes for almost every 6 star operator that releases, and occasional bonus songs.

Arknights: Endfield: (Twitter)

An upcoming 3D action gacha game from Hypergryph, set in the far future of Arknights' universe on another planet. Currently in closed beta testing for their CN servers!

Arknights: Nomad City: The Founders: (Youtube)

A to-be-released CN Arknights board game! Unclear of if it will ever be translated or released globally, unfortunately...

Terra: A Journey: (Wiki)

An upcoming CN lore book focused on the intricate details of Terra's worldbuilding. As well, unclear if it will be translated or released globally.

UNOFFICIAL:

Some fandom-developed tools that might be of use to you are the Arknights Terra Wiki - which just transferred from FANDOM to wiki.gg, and has very detailed information on both game mechanics and world-lore.

As well, the Arknights Story Reader can help you catch up on stuff you don't want to or can't read in game!

Finally, Aceship's Toolbox provides access to a variety of tools, including a levelling calculator, a calculator to ensure the best recruitments, and all the CGs, backgrounds and character sprites that are avaliable in-game.

Conclusion:

Thank you for reading! I hope this provided some new information to you or at least provides an easy reference resource in the future. There's a lot to check out even outside of the game, and I hope you find some stuff you enjoy!

[runariya]

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 2

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn fic rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, detailed description of external autopsy and working with cadav€rs, mentions of underground fight club and mafia, mention of rap€, trauma, blood, detailed description of physical violence such as punch!ng, k!lling someone, mentions of wounds, detachment, a little bit of fluff, lies, please lmk if I forgot something word count: ~ 6.4K

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • 01 • masterlist • 03

The autopsy lab falls silent as everyone takes in the sight of the bodies, but your thoughts are circling around like a roundabout, gaining in speed with every turn while your gaze drifts back to Jungkook. His earlier joy has mellowed into a focused determination, the same look you’ve seen in him so many times before, but now, knowing you’ll be working side by side with him for the foreseeable future, it feels different—more intense, more charged, more dangerous.

You drag your eyes away, forcing yourself to focus, but even as Mr. Choi starts giving more detailed instructions about the cadavers, your mind keeps circling back to the same thought: how are you going to survive the next few months without losing your grip on the carefully maintained but broken facade you’ve still got somewhere in you?

The answer, as always, remains elusive, slipping through your fingers like water, leaving you with nothing but the cold certainty that this will be harder than any other project you’ve faced before. And yet, a small, treacherous part of you can’t help but look forward to it, to the chance to be near Jungkook, to see if whatever this is between you will grow or wither under the weight of the secret you carry. 

As Mr. Choi's instructions continue to wash over you, you can't help but steal another side-glance at Jungkook. He's focused, his eyes still warm but clearer as he listens intently. The sight sends a pang through you—admiration, yes, but also a deep, gnawing worry. He’s everything you used to be and somehow to the outside world still are: open, kind, brilliant in a way that shines like the sun after a long night. What would he think if he knew the truth? If he knew about the nights you spent in darkness, longing to be bathed in the blood of the guilty, driven by a vengeance that had long since consumed you, rushing like heroine through your veins?

You take a deep breath, trying again to steady yourself. There’s no room for weakness now, not when you’re about to step into a new role for him—partner, confidant, equal. You can’t let your feelings for him, whatever they might be, get in the way. You have to be stronger than that, for both your sakes.

Mr. Choi finishes his speech with a final, ominous reminder about the importance of accuracy and thoroughness in your reports, his gaze lingering on each of you as if to drive the point home. Then, with a curt nod, he gives a go for the class, leaving you all to your thoughts and the quiet hum of the cooling units.

As the group begins to disperse for the assignment, gathering their materials and exchanging murmurs about it, you find yourself rooted to the spot, your mind still whirling with everything that’s just transpired in less then thirty minutes. It’s only when Jungkook’s warm hand touches your back, giving you a gentle push, that you’re pulled back to the present.

“Come on,” he smiles, his voice light, though you can sense the excitement in his tone. “Let’s get it, yeah?”

You nod still a little absentmindedly, allowing him to lead you to your designated body. Lost in your thoughts, you barely registered that Yoongi and Hope have already begun their examination, their movements synchronised like the ticking of a clock. A few feet away, Jennie and Taehyung are absorbed in their own conversation, voices hushed but animated as they discuss the immaculate condition of their cadaver’s skin, debating whether it had once belonged to a model or beauty influencer. Ben and Juan however stand frozen before their own table right beside yours, staring at their lifeless cadaver with wide, frightened eyes, unsure where to begin.

Taking a deep breath, the sterile, cleansing scent filling your lungs as you take your designated place beside the cold, metal dissection table, your eyes trained on the white cloth draped over your cadaver, hiding it still from view. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, a silent question hanging in the air between you as he now stands tall on the other side of the dissection table.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice soft, almost hesitant as he slips his hands into the sterile gloves, the latex snapping softly against his skin, while you follow suit, your fingers sliding into the cold material as well. 

You meet his eyes, offering a small, almost mechanical smile as you nod. “Ready.”

With a careful, almost reverent motion, Jungkook reaches out and lifts the cloth, revealing the body beneath. His movements are gentle, as if the man lying there might still feel something, as if he might stir awake at the slightest disturbance. You watch him with a detached curiosity, wondering why he bothers with such care. The man on the table is dead, a lifeless shell. Whatever humanity he once had is long gone. Would you have handled death as gentle as Jungkook does if you weren’t who you’ve become? You don’t dwell much on it, seeing no point in feeding into an alternative reality long forgotten.

The face of the man is revealed, his features slack in death, and something unfeeling and calculating clicks into place within you. There’s something familiar about him, something that triggers a buried memory. You shut down, pushing away the remnants of the smile you’d forced moments ago, your expression hardening as you’re consumed by the darkness that lurks within you. 

It’s that darkness that seethes repeatedly in your mind that the man lying before you resembles the first man you ever killed. And it’s that same darkness that forces you with an iron grip around your throat to look back. You try to resist, suffocating the flicker, but it only burns brighter until you’re engulfed in the burning flames of your past. 

The room was barely lit with a single desk lamp, the air suffocating your young airways with the acrid scent of cigarette smoke, walls stained with dampness, dark streaks creeping down like veins in a dying leaf. The sound of muffled cheers and shouts echoed through the small, grimy office, a space tucked away in the bowels of Seokjin’s underground fighting club. 

Seokjin stood by the window, shoulders broad and imposing even if he wasn’t doing much but looking outside and smoking silently. His dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms that hinted at his strength, occasionally flexing with every drag of his cigar. His black hair was sleeked back as usual, and his face—sharp, chiseled, almost inhumanly perfect—void of any emotions, trained to be a mask of cool animosity. He had a presence that commanded everyone's attention, fear, power, a dangerous allure that drew you in and held you captive years ago.

“He raped her,” Seokjin grumbled through the smoke slowly escaping his lips, his voice low, honeyed, yet laced with something so much more darker. His eyes, like shards of obsidian, glinted with malice as he glanced from the moonlight at you. 

You shifted uneasily in your seat, the worn leather creaking beneath you, you were acutely aware of the dampness in the air, of the smoke curling from the ashtray on the desk, of Seokjin’s piercing gaze that seemed to strip you bare like it always did. 

He continued then, his voice becoming more and more compelling, “So, for your plan to be fruitful, it’s time to learn how to capture a man much stronger and taller than you.”

“Right,” you responded, though your voice wavered with uncertainty. You knew he was right, but the prospect of what you have to do made your stomach churn and your heart scream. 

Seokjin’s lips curled into a menacing smile, one that you’d grown familiar with during the time spent together. It was the kind of smile that promised pain and pleasure in equal measure, a smile that told you he saw you as something to be moulded, shaped, and honed into a weapon of his design. A trophy to be displayed, a beautiful raw diamond ready to be cut and polished into something lethal.

“Don’t worry, angel,” he murmured, his tone deceptively gentle as he stepped behind you, massaging your tensed shoulders with his cigar resting between his full, rosy lips. “My men and I will be nearby. If something goes wrong, I’ll be right behind you.”

The words were meant to be comforting, but the smile he sent your way twisted them into something else entirely. You nodded, swallowing your doubts and fear as you steeled yourself for what has to be done. You had no choice; you were too deep in and too close in being ready for your revenge. 

Later that night, you found yourself standing in the shadows outside a small, nondescript grocery store while its neon sign flickered weakly in the foggy cool air. You watched your target—a middle-aged man with a weathered face and a gait that spoke of confidence, of someone who didn’t fear the dark nor what’s hiding in it. He paid for his groceries with a bored expression, and headed down a narrow, barely lit alley, all while oblivious of the predator lurking in the darkness, of the eyes that followed his every move.

You slipped into the shadows, your steps silent, your presence undetectable. You were like a wraith, moving fluidly through the night, your breath shallow, your heart racing, charged, pounding like a drum calling for war. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. 

The man turned down another alley, this one narrower, darker, foggier, the perfect place for an ambush. You quickened your pace, your fingers tightening around the rough rope coiled in your hand. 

When you were close enough, you struck. 

Without warning, you lunged forward, the rope slicing through the air as you aimed to wrap it around his neck in a swift, decisive swing. But he was quicker than you’d anticipated, his instincts catching you off guard. He spun around just in time, his hand shooting out like a snake, his fingers clamping around your wrist in a punishing grip that restricted your arm, the muscles pulsating, signalling pain where you didn’t feel any. The force of his grip made you stumble, your balance faltering as you struggled to regain control.

Your mind raced, calculating your next move even as your body fought to keep up. The rope slipped from your grasp, useless now as you twisted your body, your free hand striking out towards his throat. The hit connected, and he grunted, his grip loosening just enough for you to wrench your wrist free. Your joint locked from the point of contact, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the man before you.

You circled him like a cat to its mouse, your eyes narrowed, every muscle in your body coiled tight with anticipation. He was bigger, stronger, his broad frame still towering over you despite his slouched form. You knew you had to be smarter, faster—use his size against him. With a growl, he lunged at you, his massive arms swinging in a wide arc meant to take you down in one blow, but you were quicker this time, slipping under his arm without a second thought.

Turning, you landed a swift kick to the side of his knee, your foot connecting with a satisfying crunch. He staggered, his leg buckling slightly, but he didn’t go down, his resilience unnerving, his strength seemingly undiminished by the hit. He growled, a low, guttural sound, and you saw the flash of anger in his eyes. He was done playing games.

But so were you.

Before you could fully react, he charged, his body flashing before your eyes as he slammed into you with the force of a freight train. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, sending you crashing into the brick wall behind, the rough surface scraping against the skin on your back, but you barely registered the blood seeping through your shirt. You ducked just in time to avoid his fist, which smashed into the wall where your head had been a split second earlier, leaving dust raining down the brick wall.

Blood roared in your ears as you ducked and weaved, dodging his powerful blows by inches. He was relentless, each punch fuelled by aggression, each missed hit only making him more furious and faster. His fist finally connected with your ribs, a sickening crunch echoing through the alley as air rushed again out of your lungs. You gasped, your vision blurring momentarily, but you couldn’t afford to stop, not when you had the advantage of not feeling the damage he has done to you. Another punch grazed your jaw, the force sending you spinning to the ground like a puppet.

Your lip split open then, the taste of copper pooling in your mouth as you hit the cold pavement. He hovered over you, his shadow silhouetting against the faint light. Desperation crashed through you, adrenaline drowning out any other thought as you rolled to the side just as his boot came down where your head had been. You scrambled to your feet, ignoring your locked muscles and the numb throbbing in your side, the blood dripping from your mouth.

You feigned a retreat, backing away to lure him in. He took the bait, rushing at you with all the ferocity of a wild animal, too dumb to think clearly but only on instincts. But you were ready. As he closed the distance, you sidestepped at the last moment, using his momentum against him. Grabbing the rope again, this time with both hands, you swung it over his head, catching him around the neck as he stumbled past you.

His hands flew to the rope, trying to pull it away, but you were already behind him, tightening the noose with every ounce of strength you had left. He thrashed, his body convulsing as he tried to shake you off, but you held on, your grip like an vice, your mind focused solely on bringing him down and capturing him.

He swung his arm back, his elbow connecting with your side, right where he’d punched you earlier, but it didn’t faze you the slightest. You twisted the rope tighter, using his own weight to pull him off balance. His breaths came in ragged, desperate gasps, the sound like a wild animal caught in a trap with nowhere to escape.

He managed to land another hit by pure luck, his fist slamming into your shoulder, but his movements were growing weaker, more desperate. You felt the rope digging into your palms, the coarse fibres cutting into your skin. Ignoring the blood tickling down from your hands to your elbows, you twisted only harder, faster. His struggles slowed, his movements becoming jerky, uncoordinated.

“KILL HIM!” Seokjin’s voice boomed from the shadows, echoing around you from wall to wall. 

“I CAN’T!” You screamed back, the severity of the situation and the order settling into every pore. 

“I said, KILL HIM! You won’t be able to kill anyone else if you haven’t done it before!” 

Sweat dripped down your face, mixing with the blood trickling from your lip. You knew Seokjin was right—he was always right—but the truth of it twisted something deep inside you, making you want to cry, to run, to abandon it all and disappear forever and never look back. But you couldn’t. And you wouldn’t. The muscles in your arms protested from the effort, your joints locking even further in protest, but you didn’t stop. The man’s resistance finally began to fade, his hands falling limp at his sides. With one last, desperate gasp, his body went slack, collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.

You stood over him, panting, spent, your breath coming in ragged bursts mixing with the fog engulfing the whole scene. Bending down, you grabbed him by his head with both of your small bloodied hands, and with one forceful move, turned it sideways until his neck broke. Your vision swam as the adrenaline began to wear off, the numb pressure in your ribs and shoulder intensifying with a vengeance, making moving hard. You were battered, bruised, bloodied, but you’d done it. The man lay dead at your feet, the rope still wound tightly around his broken neck.

The night was silent once more, the sounds of your struggle already fading into the darkness. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing and keep the tears at bay as you wiped the blood from your split lip. The victory felt hollow, the darkness that followed after a kill creeping into your mind, suffocating your weeping heart and soul.

Then, from the shadows, Seokjin finally emerged, his face lit by the pure joy he felt seeing you kill for him. He surveyed the scene with a sparkling gaze, as if he was gifted the most precious present in the world.

“Well done, angel,” he nearly cheered, his voice dripping with wicked pride.

You nodded, but there was no triumph in your heart, only the echo of violence and the chill of the night. The darkness within you had grown, fed by the blood spilled, the life taken. As you stood there, the rope and body to your feet, you couldn’t help but wonder how much more of your soul you’d have to sacrifice before it was all over.

The memory fades, leaving you indifferent and withdrawn as you stare down at the body on the autopsy table. The resemblance to the man you’d killed all those years ago is uncanny, but you push the thought aside, knowing better than to let it distract you. 

Jungkook, unaware of the dark thoughts swirling in your mind, begins reading the personal information from the file in his hand. “Beomseok is a forty-year-old male, found deceased in his apartment. No signs of forced entry, cause of death undetermined. He had three children, two daughters and a son. All go to college. His wife is thirty-seven years old, her name is…”

“Jungkook?” you interrupt, your voice cold, devoid of any warmth.

He looks up at you, his eyes wide with curiosity, maybe even a touch of concern. “Hm?”

“I don’t care,” you say flatly, cutting him off. The look on his face tells you that your tone has caught him off guard. He’s never seen you this detached before, this devoid of the kindness you usually radiate.

He hesitates, searching your face for an explanation, but finds none. “Okay, yeah, right,” he finally says, his voice tinged with confusion, not knowing what to do or say. He quickly sets aside the clipboard, his demeanour shifting as he realises you’re not in the mood for personal talk. 

You step closer to the body, your gaze clinical as you begin the external examination. “Let’s just begin.”

Jungkook nods, following your lead as you start with a careful inspection of the outer appearance. 

You begin with the hands, lifting them to examine the nails, the skin, the joints. “No signs of defensive wounds,” you note, your voice steady as you turn the hand over, checking the palms. “No calluses either. He didn’t do much manual labor.”

“Right,” Jungkook agrees, leaning in to inspect the hands himself. “His skin is smooth, well-maintained. Maybe he had an office job, something that didn’t require much physical work.”

You move on to the arms, examining the veins, the muscle tone. “The veins are collapsed, consistent with post-mortem changes. No track marks, no signs of intravenous drug use.”

Jungkook nods, jotting down notes as you speak. “Skin turgor is decreased, typical of someone who’s been dead for at least twenty-four hours. No petechiae on the conjunctiva, so it’s unlikely he was strangled.”

You shift your attention to the torso, running your fingers along the chest, feeling for any abnormalities beneath the surface. “No broken ribs, no bruising. The sternum is intact.”

Jungkook mirrors your actions, his touch gentle as he presses down on the abdomen. “No distension. Rigor mortis is fully locked in the limbs, but I think it’s starting to resolve soon. Livor mortis is fixed, so he’s been dead for several hours.”

“Skin shows no significant lesions,” you add, your voice detached as you lift the man’s head to check the scalp. “No signs of blunt force trauma to the head…nor neck.”

Jungkook watches you carefully, his brow furrowed. He can tell something is off, that you’re more distant than usual, but he doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he continues with the examination, his voice softer now. “The pupils are fixed and dilated, no signs of hemorrhage in the sclera.”

You nod, acknowledging his words as you move to the legs, checking for any signs of injury or abnormality. “No edema, no signs of deep vein thrombosis. He was healthy, at least externally.” 

“Initial external examination of the front shows no obvious signs of trauma,” Jungkook summarises for you to write down. “No petechial haemorrhages, no contusions, no lacerations… he looks peaceful, doesn’t he?”

You don’t answer, your attention focused on your notes, but still noticing Jungkook watching you closely, his gaze following the movement of your pen. 

“He does,” you finally reply. “But looks can be deceiving.”

Jungkook glances at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he tries to lighten the atmosphere. “Always the pragmatist, aren’t you?”

You give him a brief nod, not meeting his eyes. Instead, you focus on jotting down the notes and handing him the clipboard.

"Let's continue with its back."

"His," Jungkook interjects, his gaze surprised, stunned even, tinged with a light sheen of anger. You can see in his eyes that he doesn’t comprehend this detachment of yours, and perhaps he never will. So you pull back, meeting him not just halfway, but where he stands, knowing it’s a small concession you’re willing to make. And at the and of the day, it truly doesn’t matter to you. 

"His back," you correct, watching as his expression shifts again, returning to his default warmth and care.

Jungkook gently shifts the body on the table, his movements careful, almost reverent, as if not wanting to disturb whatever peace the dead might still hold. "Let’s see your back," he whispered softly, his voice low with a subtle mix of respect and anticipation. You look on, switching your eyes from Jungkook to the body. It’s remarkable how respectfully he handles the dead, his personality still deeply ingrained and showing despite this environment. 

It triggers something deep within you, your kind self clawing and pounding against the locked doors of your mind, desperate to break free, to surface and take control again. But you push it back with a force that betrays your fear, making certain the locks are secure, fastened tightly so that part of you never escapes when it’s not needed. 

The body rolls onto its front with a muted thud, and you both fall into a practiced rhythm, your mind secured into that distant space where emotions need to be  locked away. 

"The scapulae are intact, no signs of trauma," Jungkook murmurs, his fingers gently tracing the bony ridges beneath the skin. The taut flesh stretches over the spine, the vertebrae visible like a faint chain beneath the surface of dead skin. 

"Livor mortis is pronounced along the lower back," he continues, pointing out the purplish mottling that has settled, staining the skin in uneven patches. "Consistent with the body lying supine after death."

You nod, leaning in to inspect it more closely, your fingers gliding over the skin beside Jungkook’s, checking for anything out of place. "No signs of movement post-mortem," you add, your voice clinical. 

You pause, catching a slight tremor in Jungkook’s voice, the faintest hint of something personal creeping through his professional exterior, but the flash in his eyes disappears as fast as his tremor. "I don’t see any indications of a struggle, no bruising or abrasions."

He nods, his eyes scanning the back with a careful intensity. "No obvious signs of external trauma," he echoes, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Time of death estimate aligns with the rigidity and the lividity. Likely around eight to ten hours ago."

Your fingers continue their examination, pausing at a small blemish—a freckle, now just another detail in the report. "The muscles are indeed stiff, rigor mortis fully set in as you said,“ you observe, your tone matter-of-fact, as if discussing a routine case of a textbook, though your mind is miles away. "This aligns with your estimate. The body’s been undisturbed."

Jungkook glances at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes as he asks, "Do you ever wonder about who they were? What their life was like?"

You meet his gaze, the question hanging in the air like an unwanted intruder. A part of you wants to answer, to slip into the role of the person he knows, but the darker side of you has already taken over and doesn’t back down. "No," you state, your voice cold, dismissive. "It doesn’t matter now. We’re here to determine how they died, not who they were."

He blinks, surprised by the sharpness in your tone, but nods, accepting your words. "Right," he agrees, though there’s a hesitation there, a moment where you see the empathy in him, something you can’t afford. 

Each question from Jungkook reverberates through the hollow chambers of your mind, calling again and again for the part of you that you’re trying so desperately to cage while handling death. His words are like keys, unlocking the doors you’ve bolted shut, making that lighter side of you stir and rise, stronger, louder, more insistent with every syllable he utters. 

It’s a delicate dance, this push and pull within yourself, a balance you have to master if you are to navigate the semester by his side. You realise with a growing sense of dread and exhaustion that you must learn quickly—how to respond to him without slipping too far into the gentle persona he knows, for your own sake and mind, and without letting the killer within emerge fully from the shadows. The lines are beginning to blur, the edges of your dual selves bleeding into each other, and you wonder if and how long you can keep them separate.

Without a warning, a deafening slap echos through the room, the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting tile. Instinctively, you turn to find Ben and Juan standing helpless beside their dislodged cadaver, its lifeless body sprawled across the floor. The clumsy attempt to turn it had clearly gone awry in all its glory. 

Jungkook, always quick to lend a hand, rounds your table, but you halt him with a firm, “Stop.” He freezes mid-way, eyes wide as he looks back to you, and the room stills. Everyone’s attention hovers on you, suspended in the silence as if waiting for some deeper explanation. 

You break the tension, your voice the coldest it’s every been. “It’s their body. They need to learn how to handle it properly themselves—and if not, they should learn how to correct their mistakes.” 

The words leave your mouth without hesitation, even though your lighter side inside you protests at the detachment. Jungkook, visibly taken aback, stares at you as though he’s seeing a stranger. Still, he returns to his place beside the table, not leaving his eyes stray from you as you  watch as Ben and Juan awkwardly manoeuvre their cadaver back onto the table.

Once everything resumes and you turn back, Jungkook leans in, his voice soft but filled with disbelief. “What was that? You always help. That wasn’t like you.”

You meet his gaze, your expression hard, impenetrable. “This isn’t a textbook, Jungkook. It’s a human body. If they can’t handle it, maybe they should reconsider their career.”

Jungkook stands there, visibly shaken by your words, mouth open, his brows furrowing as he wrestles with the dissonance between the person he thought he knew and the one now standing before him. Sensing the weight of his confusion, you steer him back to the project, eager to salvage him from the spiraling thoughts that threaten to cloud his mind and risk further questions.

"Let’s move on," you say, already stepping back from the body, the examination of the back complete anyway. "We’ve got a report to do as well."

Jungkook’s eyes linger on you for a moment, as if trying to read the thoughts behind your composed exterior. "Yeah," he says finally, his voice softening. "How about we grab some coffee? We can work on the report together."

You pause, the unexpected offer catching you off guard. But then you nod, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

"Sure," you say, already pushing the darker thoughts to the back of your mind. "Coffee sounds good."

You strip off your gloves with a smooth flick of your wrists, the latex snapping as it peels soaked with sweat away from your skin, the cadaver’s earthly remains now tucked into the cooler's sterile abyss. The faint metallic hiss of the door sealing shut behind goes unnoticed by you as you gather your belongings. Jungkook is at your side, silent but watching, his eyes following your movements with prying concern that he doesn’t bother to hide. As you both step into the corridor and finally onto the park, the oppressive air of the lab seems to lift like a spell, and when the afternoon sun greets your frozen skin, it is as though in an instant a switch is flipped inside you. The darkness within you recoils with a hiss, retreating like a vampire scorched by daylight. And it’s when you inhale deeply, that the warmth of the sun floods your senses with clarity, like fresh air filling a long-forgotten room.

Jungkook falls into step beside you, slowing his pace, though you notice his mind is still wrapped around the events of the past class. The two of you head towards the coffee shop on campus, a quiet cozy stroll that allows the tension of the lab to dissipate off your muscles. You glance over at him, catching his profile, the way his dark hair shifts in the light breeze while his arms swing softly with every step he takes. You’re the first to break the silence, sensing the need to soften the edges of your awkward interaction.

"How was your weekend, by the way?" you ask, keeping your tone light, as if the lab and its strange, unsettling energy was years behind you both.

Jungkook blinks at the question, almost as though he hadn’t expected it. „Huh?“ 

"I noticed your absence in the group," you try softly, gentle, like the way he knows you. "Even though you're mostly quiet, you're always… there, you know? Present. But you weren’t this weekend.“ The words linger for a while, your honesty catching him obviously off guard.

„Oh, it was good," a small smile tugs at his lips. "Spent it with my family. My brother came home from overseas, so it was a bit of a reunion."

You nod, your eyes sweeping over the campus as you walk the short distance, enjoying the moment with Jungkook to its fullest. His cheeks flush a faint shade of pink, but he masks it by pushing open the door to the coffee shop, holding it for you with an air of politeness that feels almost bashful. Inside, you step up to the counter and place your orders, the familiarity of the ritual, despite your friend group not being complete, settling your nerves entirely. You slide into a worn booth, Jungkook across from you, his gaze soft but still attentive as it always is.

And for the first hour, the two of you dive into the report, dissecting the details of the external autopsy while joking occasionally. As the work dwindles down, you lean back in your seat, stretching slightly mirroring Jungkook. With the weight of the first part of the report lifted, the conversation between you begins to shift into something lighter, more personal. It’s a natural transition, easy in a way you hadn’t expected after the tension of the lab or rather being alone with him. Jungkook talks about his family again—about his brother’s plans job, about the little traditions they’ve maintained. You find yourself smiling at the warmth in his voice, enjoying him having a complete, healthy and happy family.

"You know," you tease, a small smirk on your lips, "this feels a bit like a date, doesn’t it?"

Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly, his cheeks once again dusted with that faint blush. He shifts in his seat, chuckling nervously. "It could be… if you wanted it to be," he replies softly, eyes locked steadily onto yours, though there’s an unmistakable shyness in the way he looks at you, as if he’s bracing for rejection but daring to still hope.

For a moment, you falter. The thought lingers, hangs in the space between you, tantalising in its simplicity, but the weight of your split reality crashes against it like a tidal wave. You can’t afford to entertain such possibilities—at least, not now, not when your plan isn’t executed and completed. Your mind whirls with the implications, the future, the darkness still lurking inside you, waiting for night to fall again.

Instead of answering, you look down at your coffee, watching the way the light reflects off its surface, wondering what drove you to even tease him in the first place. It’s easier to ignore the undercurrent of feeling, to push it aside. But Jungkook, undeterred by your silence or just hoping to save what’s left, continues the conversation, his voice mellow despite not receiving an answer. And tt’s easy, this back-and-forth of conversation, the small confessions of likes and dislikes of mundane things, the simple joys of everyday life. Without you noticing, he’s peeling back layers with each sentence, not realising himself how dangerous it could be if he got too close.

His next question catches you off guard. "I never asked," he begins, his tone curious, light. "How did you get into medicine?"

You glance up, your heart stuttering in your chest. You should have seen this coming. Jungkook’s eyes are wide with expectation, with a yearning to know you, perhaps the you beneath the layers of control and masks. But you can’t give him that—not yet, not ever, if you can help it.

"Medicine?" You feign a thoughtful expression, playing dumb as if you hadn’t already anticipated where this conversation was headed.

"Yes… no, just generally. What brought you here?" His eyes are earnest, filled with the desire to understand. 

It hits you, he wants to hear your story, wants to hear which arrows have pierced you, which made you bleed, sometimes less, sometimes until no blood was left. For a fleeting moment, you want to, you want to tell him all, offering the the broken pieces of your heart and soul up with trembling hands for him to take. You imagine him standing before you, fixing them how you know he’d be able to, letting him be the one, who fights your battles where you’re too weak to even protect yourself from the blows. To stand tall before you, so you finally can heal. 

But it’s only a fleeting moment that passes like the seasons, and so you hide away and lie „I’ve always been fascinated by the human body. I guess it just seemed like a natural choice—to want to help people."

It’s the safest answer, the one that reveals nothing of the truth.

Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, as though he senses there’s more, but before he can press further, a sudden commotion draws your attention. A girl nearby stumbles, her books scattering across the floor in a chaotic mess and without hesitation, you rise from your seat, moving to help her gather them up. 

„Here let me help,“ it’s instinctive, the part of you that seeks to protect and aid still very much alive despite it all.

"Thank you," the girl breathes, her voice filled with relief as you hand her the last of her papers. She smiles up at you, eyes shining with gratitude.

"You're welcome," you reply warmly, returning to your seat right after. Jungkook watches you, his expression caught somewhere between admiration and the newfound confusion. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze lingering on you as though he’s trying to piece together the contradictions you continue to present for the first time to him.

You settle back into the booth, your thoughts swirling again, but you catch sight of the setting sun and the time on your phone, and pack your things, briefly looking him in his dark eyes. „I have to go.“

Jungkook’s brow furrows slightly. "I thought we could grab dinner, maybe…?" His voice is hopeful, laced with a quiet plea which makes your heart squeeze on itself.

„I really can’t,“ you reply, the smile on your lips wavering. "I’ve got something to take care of." Before he can protest, you add quickly, "But another time! I’d love to…if you would still like to…“

„Of course!“ He stands with you without much thought. His hesitation is clear in the way his hands fidget at his sides, but after a short moment he steps closer, and for the first time, he pulls you into a hug. It’s brief, tentative, but warm, his arms wrapping around you with a gentleness that nearly breaks you in half.

You stiffen slightly but manage to return the gesture, pulling away quickly before the contact lingers too long. "Goodnight, Jungkook," you say, not meeting his eyes but offering him one last smile before turning on your heel and heading out the door.

The campus is quiet as you make your way back to your dorm, the sun now beginning to dip behind the horizon. And as the darkness creeps over your path, so too does the other side of you—the side that laughs menacingly within the corners of your mind, knowing that tonight, blood will be spilled. The first name on your list awaits, and nothing will stop you from striking.

prologue • 01 • masterlist • 03

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

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[fl3shm4id3n]

ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴀᴘᴇ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ): ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴀᴘᴇ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐩𝐞𝐬. 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 '𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝' 𝐡𝐚𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 '𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐬' 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐯𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭?

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ʙʟᴜᴇ ᴇʏᴇꜱ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ? ᴀᴘᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴏɴɢ: ᴋᴀɴʏᴇ ᴡᴇꜱᴛ - ʀᴜɴᴀᴡᴀʏ

TW: human and ape experimenting, illegal? experimenting, talks of torture, blood, brain swapping, bride of Frankenstein/Poor Things references, talks of death and taking risks, abuse, injuries, talks of war, blood, guns, murder, humans being assholes, Koba, Not edited.

A/N: The amount of times I've seen Dawn Of Planet of the Apes just to have every pit of accuracy in my fic series is a lot. XD

Masterlist

You had ridden on a horse with the ape who had comforted you. It was the first time you've ever seen a horse in person, let alone ride one. With an ape. The ride was quiet, all that could be heard was the horse feet walking on the grass. You still wondered where you were going. Did the apes have their own kind of sanctuary? Did they live in a lab that was only for apes? You couldn't help but just wonder the whole ride. Looking to your side, you saw the ape with blue eyes riding his horse. He was also looking at you, as if he was watching you. Making sure that you weren't going to do something with the older ape. What could you do? Apes were much stronger than you, they'd rip you in half if they wanted. They could've, but they didn't.

After some time, you had finally arrived to the destination. It was interesting to see. The apes had built their own kind of him, using large branches and other kinds of wood that they found. Once the horses were settled in what seemed to be their makeshift stables. The older ape hopped off, then he helped you get off the horse. You still wondered who the ape was. Was he their leader of some kind? Did apes have leaders? You weren't completely sure. You were then led towards the entrance, you couldn't help but look around, seen how they had manage to make all of this. It interested you how they did all that.

Inside, you saw how they were even more apes, they all gathered around. As if they were trying to greet their leader, but it made you a bit nervous. They all had their eyes on you. They must have wondered, why was there a human girl with the leader? You quickly felt out of place. You looked at the ground instead, looking at your now dirt covered feet, trying not to make any more eye contact. You had been lead up a flight of makeshift stairs, up a makeshift tower. You couldn't help but be even more impressed by how they had managed to make a tower of sticks and a tree.

Now you were in what seemed to be a home of some kind, filled with more apes. Except, there was also a huge orangutan and a gorilla. They must have been some sort of council. Out of nowhere, you saw how an ape approached. Except this ape seemed much older, he also had a scar running down the left side of his face. His eye was also a white color. He must have been blind or is going blind from that eye. He had an angry look on his face. "Why is human here?" He growled, angrily. As well as get closer to you. You couldn't help but feel scared. Luckily the ape who had brought you here made sure to be in front of you so that he didn't get anymore close.

'We found her in the woods. She's no threat.' The ape signed who the scarred one. The scarred ape growled and looked at you for a moment. You turned away to avoid his gaze, covering the side of your face to avoid his glare. 'She's still a human.' He signed to the leader. 'Still, I've brought her here. There for, she'll be staying.' He signed back to the scarred up. The scarred ape didn't seem very happy, but didn't argue any further. He just looked at you and snarled. It was obvious that he didn't like you not one bit. Even though you did nothing to him.

The leader then turned to you and the ape with blue eyes, who had been standing right next to you the whole time. 'Take her to your mother' The leader signed to the blue eyed ape. Who nodded at his command, he then tapped you on the shoulder to get your attention. When he got your attention, he motioned for you to follow him, which you did. You walked up more stairs, much higher in the tower. You wondered where you were being taken again by the blue eyed ape. Was it another room of some kind?

After a few more steps, you were in another room. Again, filled with more apes, except. This apes were all females, more of them had small objects covering their faces or had small trinkets in their hair. One of the apes had approached the you both. She greeted the blue eyed ape with a hug. You assumed they must have been related in some way, was she his sister or his mother? 'Father told me to bring her here.' He singed to her. The female ape then looked at you, looking at you up an down. You also couldn't help but look at her. She was beautiful, you also noticed that she was very pregnant, she'll probably pop any day now. She gave you a small smile and approached you. Getting a better look at you. She smiled at you, comfortingly. Almost motherly. Then she turned to the blue eyed ape. 'I'll take it from here, you can go back to your father now.' She signed to him, the ape gave her a nod. Then proceeded to leave, as he left he gave you one final look, before leaving down the steps.

You looked at the ape who had taken a hold of your hand and guided you further inside. 'I'm Cornelia, what's your name?' She signed to you, as she sat you down on the ground, with the rest of the other apes. Who couldn't help but get closer, just to get a look at you. "I H-Thirteen." You told to her, but Cornelia's face turned into one of confusion. 'What kind of name is that?' She asked, all you could do was shrug your shoulders. Then you saw how her face shifted into one of thought. After a bit of silence, she signed again. 'I know, your new name will be Y/n. Do you like Y/n?' She asked you, wanting to get your approval of the new given name. You thought of it, at first. Y/n did sound better than H-Thirteen, you didn't think more of it. You liked the name. 'Yeah, I like Y/n.' You signed to Cornelia. 'Then that'll be your name from now on. Y/n.'

Back at Caesar's council, everyone was filled with confusion. Why would Caesar bring a human? A human into their home. 'What were you thinking bring her here?' Rocket asked, followed by Luca and Ash. 'Do you have any idea what she could do? What if humans are looking for her? They'll find her here.' He said, as more and more apes continued to ask questions. 'She's not ordinary human, she's more than just a human.' Maurice had finally signed something. 'What would you know?' Koba asked the Orangutan, wanting to know what he had to say about a human coming to there home and being a potential danger to all of the apes. 'Because I do.' He simply signed to him, not giving any more information on why.

Everyone was still not convinced, they continued to ask more and more on why Caesar brought a human. But it was quickly shut down by him. 'I made the choice bringing her here. It is already done.' He signed to all of them. Everyone got quiet, they didn't know whether they should protest more or just leave it. But they choose to leave it. But they choose to just leave it, they knew to trust Caesar because they knew their leader would never put them in harms wat. But in this kind of situation, they wouldn't know what to say or do. They just had to trust their leader like they have been doing.

With Cornelia, she has cleaned the scrapes on your knees and cheeks. Along with other cuts you got when you had fallen in the woods. They also put some kind of past on your wounds so that they could heal. During that, you had learned that the leader of the Apes name was Caesar and was her husband. The ape with the Blue Eyes is her oldest son. That made a lot more sense on how she interacted blue eyes. You learned a bit more about the clan and the other apes. She along with the other women apes were curious about you. Where you were from and how you ended up being found by Caesar. You explained to them where you were from along with everything that had happened prior.

You told them about your sister and how she ended up dying because of the brain had developed some kind of deadly bacteria, killing her. They were all shocked to learn what the humans did to you and you deceased sister. They never though that humans would hurt each other in such a way. They've heard about the things they'd do to apes, but never about what they'd do to another human being. Were some humans just horrible? You explained to them that those humans, you referred to them as 'White Coats', since they'd tend to wear white coats all the time. Soon after, Caesar had come into the room, asking to talk with you. Before you went with him, you said your goodbyes to the apes and Cornelia. Hoping you'd talk with them more later on. You left with Caesar.

He took you somewhere else, somewhere a bit more quiet so that you and him could talk. "Do you have a name?" He asked you. "Yeah. It was H-Thirteen, but now. I am Y/n." You explained to him. He nodded in understanding. "Y/n. Where are you from?" He asked you, in which you answered. "I'm from lab. Huge building." You explained to him. He simply nodded. "Are they more like you?" He asked. "No, they dead now. Failed, experiments." You explained. "But not me and my sister, but. She's dead to." You added. Caesar had a look of sympathy and understanding. He knew what it was liked to loose someone closest to him. "Did humans do that?" He asked, pointing at the small bit of scars on your arms and the tattoo on your wrist.

"Yeah, the White Coats did that. And more." You said, while touched the back of your head. Feeling the scar along your scalp and your buzzed cut hair. "They did this. They switched my brain with my sister's." You explained. This made Caesar grow confused. "Switched brains?" He asked. "Yeah, my sister was ape. Like you. The White Coats took my brain out, then they gave me hers. And they gave her mine." You explained to him. "My new brain became mine, but my sister's new brain didn't want her. So, it killed her." You added. Caesar seemed horrified by what you told him. He never expected humans to go to that extent.

"How did you end up in the woods? Did you runaway?" He asked. "No, I was going to be taken to, different lab. But we stopped for a break. Then I got distracted by the pretty flowers. Then I fell down a hill and into a river. The water took me far, that I got lost. I tried looking for the lab, but I didn't know where to look. Then your son and other apes found me." You finished. That made a lot of sense now. "Are they looking for you?" He asked. "I don't know. They've said, I was needed. I was going to help Humanity." You said. Caesar could only nod. There was a moment a moment of silence, he didn't know whether to ask for questions of just leave it.

"Don't worry, you are safe here." He said, getting a hold of your hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "You won't take me back to the White Coats... will you?" You asked, now getting worried that he'd somehow take you back to the lab. Caesar shook his head. "You don't have to go anywhere, unless you want to." He said. "I don't want to go back. They hurt me. A lot. They already took my sister, I don't want them to take more." You explained to him. He seemed to understand. "You don't have to go anywhere. You can stay here, where you'll be safe with us." He stated. His words sounded real, you felt as if you could trust him.

For the next couple hour you were around other apes, getting to know their names and who they were in the clan. You met Maurice, the Orangutan you saw in the small council. He was very welcoming towards you just like Cornelia. He was a very loyal council member of Caesar's. He was also a teacher who taught the younger apes how to speak and sign, as well as write. Maurice thought that maybe you could help him teach the younger apes and maybe get to know you a bit. Since you're the every first you human they've ever seen and met in person.

Besides that, you've learned that Caesar had put Blue Eyes in charge of you. Not flat out take care of you like a child, but just look out for you and teach you a thing or two about how the clan works. You noticed how Blue Eyes didn't seem too pleased by the task, but he had to listen to his father. Because he was his son and also the leader. You interactions were a bit awkward, since Blue Eyes had never been around a human. He didn't know how to treat you. Again, he's never been around a human, this close.

It had already gone dark, the apes had gathered around the fire pit to eat. You sat there, in silence, eating almost slowly and a bit scared. You felt all eyes on you, watching you eat the food given to you. It made you feel a bit anxious. Then you felt someone's presence next to you, when you turned to see who it was. You saw that it was Maurice. 'Don't worry, they're still not used to having a human around.' He singed. 'I know, I'm just... a bit. Anxious.' You signed back. You choose to sign instead of speaking. Your hands were a bit shaky due to how anxious you were.

'It'll be fine. They'll get used to you' He signed. You felt a bit more relaxed by his words. Looking over, you noticed the scarred ape looking at you. Almost snarling with hatred by your presence. You knew him by the name of Koba. 'What happened to him?' you asked Maurice. 'He too was hurt by humans.' He signed in response. 'By White Coats?' You asked him again, in which he nodded. 'He despises humans because of that.' He added.

Now you understood why he'd snarl and glares at you. Honestly, you couldn't blame him. You too would despise them, for what they did to you. That made you think of your sister. Would she have felt the same if she was alive? 'I just hope he doesn't hate me.' You signed. 'Who knows, maybe in as the time passes. He might like you.' Maurice signed, trying to lighten up the mood a bit. 'I hope.' You signed back to him.

Later that night after dinner, you taken to a nest by Blue Eyes. 'You'll be sleeping here.' He signed towards you. 'Thank you' you signed to him, while looking at him. 'You're very kind.' You added. That made Blue Eyes look away, a bit shy by your comment. 'If you need anything, just. Go get me, I'll be over there.' He signed as he pointed at another nest that was a few feet away. Once you nodded, he left to his nest to lay down. You laid down in the nest, trying to get comfortable. It was pretty big and comfortable, much better than that springy old bed you were used to sleeping. As you laid in the nest, you stared up at the sky. Which was filled with stars. Wondering what life would end up being like with the Apes. How long would you be with them. You just hoped that you could be in a place were it felt like home.

The next morning, you were with Maurice, helping him teach the younger apes. After you were introduced to them, the teaching began. You showed them how to pronounce some letters and even how to write. The whole time, they paid more attention on how you looked then what you were trying to teach them. They lightly tug at your hospital gown and even touch your buzzcut hair. You didn't mind, since they were young and were very curious about everything around them. You've also showed them numbers, due to them staring and pointing at your tattooed wrist. So, you thought them how to count and write numbers on the dirt.

After the lesson, the younger apes left to go on about their day. That was a nice experience you had with them. 'They pay more attention to you, then they do me.' Maurice signed. 'They were more curious in how I looked then the lesson.' You signed back to him. 'True, but they still listened to you.' He signed. That was true, they'd be times when Maurice had a heard time getting the children to get him to listen, since they'd get easily distracted. Except this time, they actually listened to the lesson. 'That's a good thing.' He signed. 'You think so?' You asked him, in which he nodded. 'You're like a human ape. You may not look like us, but you think like us.' He explained. That was good. At least you thought it was good thing.

When you were done with Maurice. You decided to go explore the village a bit, just to get familiar with the place. As you walked, you couldn't help but notice some children following you. You didn't think much of it at first, until you felt one tug at your gown. Looking over to see who it was, you noticed how the young ape backed away. While laughing with some other young ape. Then you turned back and went on about your walk, until you felt another tug at your gown, again. You turned to see who it was, it was the same situation. The young apes laughed at your confusion. You couldn't help but chuckle, then went back to your walk.

You heard someone approaching you. It must have been the same ape who had tugged at your gown. Before they could get a hold of your gown again. You quickly turned around and let out a small playful shout at them. They let out a small scream, but proceeded to laugh. Also making you laugh a bit. Then you heard someone approach behind you. When you saw who it was, it was Blue Eyes. You signed him a small 'hello'. 'Come' He signed, you turned and waved the kids. Then followed Blue Eyes.

The walk was silent and a bit awkward. You didn't know whether you should start a conversation or say something. You just remained quiet as you walked beside Blue Eyes. You ended up going to a river with a waterfall. You couldn't help but be captivated by the sounds and scenery of the water fall. You've never seen a water fall in person before. Then you felt Blue Eyes poking you with something. Looking over, you saw that he had human clothes with him. 'Father, told me to give this to you.' He signed, you took the clothes from him. 'Thank you.' You signed to him. 'I'll give you some privacy.' He signed, then walked away into the woods again. Once you no longer saw him, you began to change.

You took off your dirty hospital gown, but before you changed into the new pair of clothes. You decided to clean yourself off a bit. Stepping into the river, you used the water to scrub at your arms, legs, stomach and just all over. Even if you didn't have soap, the water was more than enough. Once you finished, you used the hospital gown to dab yourself clean. Finally clean, you began to change into the new clothes. It was a red-brownish long sleeve shirt, that was a bit too big for you and a pair of dark jeans. This was much better than wearing that dirty hospital gown. When you were done, you picked up the hospital gown and went back to look for Blue Eyes.

When you spotted him, you saw him talking to another ape. It was girl ape. A very pretty one. You stayed behind so that you didn't interrupt them in there conversation. After a few minutes, the ape left Blue Eyes, then he turned to you. 'Sorry for taking long.' You signed to him. 'It's fine, I was talking with Lake.' He signed back. That must have been her name. You assumed. 'She's a friend of yours?' you asked. In which he seemed a bit embarrassed to admit, due to the way he looked away from you. 'I want to be more than friends.' He signed. 'More? As an, husband and wife like your father and mother?' You asked. While he nodded his head, you nodded also, in understanding.

'You should go for it. She seems interested in you.' You signed. 'You think so?' He asked, while you nodded in response. During that small conversation, you couldn't help but feel some kind of overwhelming feeling in your chest and you felt how your heart slightly sped up. You whined, slightly rubbing your chest in discomfort, to try and soothe that strange feeling off your chest. 'Are you alright?' Blue Eyes asked. 'Yeah, I'm okay.' You signed back. 'We should probably head back.' You signed to him, which he nodded. Then proceeded to walk back to the village. You followed right after him. Why did you all of a sudden feel that way? You had no idea, but you hoped that it was only a one time thing.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ, ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ

[alcsec]

types of writing utensils they use

implied modern au. featuring: albedo, kazuha, tighnari, xiao.

cw. none wc. 196

albedo

he uses a cheap ballpoint pen. used to use an expensive fountain pen but it had too many issues like leaking while in the pocket of his button-up, or constantly being taken and misplaced by his lab partners timaeus and sucrose.

kazuha

he writes artistic pieces containing flowery language on the daily and as much as i want to say he has the nice writing utensils from like muji or something - his most used tool is a wooden hb2 pencil he found inside a random desk next to a slab of dried chewing gum.

tighnari

he uses a 0.5mm lead pencil. he has a delicate hand grip along with an eye for finer details. he's able to sketch his botanical drawings with keen accuracy using a thinner lead.

xiao

he uses a 0.7mm lead pencil with a rubber grip. holds his pencil in a deadlock so the grip helps alleviates the tension on his fingers. has to be 0.7mm because he presses down onto the paper with such heavy pressure that 0.5mm lead would either immediately break or puncture a hole into the sheet which would ruin his mood for the rest of the day.

© alcsec. do not modify, copy, repost or translate any of my works

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— i got wasted like all my potential ; after your repeated mistakes, struggles with the lab work, and lack of progress, tsukishima scolds you harshly till you’re breaking down in front of him

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | #daleelahwritings🐭

The air in the lab was always thick with the scent of chemicals, the hum of equipment, and the nervous energy of students trying to avoid mistakes. Each week, the practicum grew more complex. What started as simple measurements and basic reactions quickly escalated into multi-step processes that demanded precision and a deep understanding of biochemistry—both of which you struggled with.

Today’s experiment involved a protein extraction procedure. The lab instructions were dense with scientific jargon that made your head spin. You reread the steps multiple times, trying to make sense of them, but it was like trying to decipher a foreign language. Around you, your classmates were already setting up their stations with practiced ease, moving in groups they had long since formed. You couldn’t help but notice how seamlessly they worked together, exchanging tips and helping each other out.

You glanced over at Tsukishima, who was busy assisting another group with the accuracy of their results. He looked so calm and collected, his tall figure standing out as he leaned over to explain something with a level of patience that was hard to reconcile with the way he always seemed to snap at you.

Determined not to mess up again, you carefully measured out the reagents, trying to remember everything Tsukishima had scolded you about last time. But as you transferred the solution into the centrifuge, your hand slipped, and the liquid spilled across the countertop. Panic surged through you as you frantically tried to clean up the mess, knowing that this mistake would not go unnoticed.

And it didn’t.

Tsukishima’s shadow fell over your station, and you froze, your heart pounding. He let out a long sigh, his frustration palpable. “Are you even trying to read the instructions?” His voice was low but edged with irritation. “I showed you this step just last week. How could you mess it up again?”

You bit your lip, tears threatening to well up in your eyes. The entire class seemed to have paused, all too familiar with the routine by now—another day, another scolding. It felt like everyone was waiting for you to break under the pressure, to finally admit that you didn’t belong here.

But Tsukishima, as harsh as he was, didn’t walk away. Instead, he grabbed another set of reagents and started the process from scratch. “Pay attention this time,” he muttered, demonstrating the steps once more. He moved with the precision and confidence of someone who had done this countless times before. “You need to stop being so careless. This isn’t something you can just half-ass.”

His words stung, but you nodded, forcing yourself to focus on what he was doing. He had a way of making you feel like a complete idiot, yet there was something in the way he didn’t just abandon you that kept you from giving up entirely.

As he handed the equipment back to you, his gaze softened slightly. “If you keep making the same mistakes, you’ll never get this. You need to practice more, or you’re going to fail.”

“I’m trying,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I really am.”

“Try harder,” he snapped, but his tone lacked the usual bite. You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely angry or just tired of seeing you struggle. He watched as you completed the step under his supervision, nodding slightly when you finally managed to do it correctly.

Over the next few weeks, the pattern continued. Each lab session brought a new challenge, and with it, more opportunities to mess up. Whether it was miscalculating concentrations, mixing up solutions, or just getting lost in the labyrinth of complex procedures, it seemed like you were always on the verge of disaster. And Tsukishima, true to form, was always there to call you out on it.

“Did you even check the pH before adding that buffer?” he asked one afternoon, his eyes narrowing as he looked over your notes. “This is basic stuff. You should know better by now.”

You hung your head, feeling the heat of embarrassment rising in your cheeks. It wasn’t just his words; it was the weight of knowing that you were disappointing him again and again.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, not for the first time.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Being sorry isn’t going to help you pass this class. Are you just trying to waste my time?”

His question hit you harder than you expected, and you could feel your throat tighten. You had spent so much time just trying to survive each practicum that you hadn’t really stopped to think about why you were doing this in the first place. But instead of answering, you chose to keep silent, hoping that maybe this time, your apology would be enough to placate him.

Tsukishima remained silent, clearly waiting for you to say more, to give him something to work with. He wanted you to argue back, to tell him what you were struggling with so he could actually help. But when all you offered was another weak, “I’m sorry,” you could see the disappointment flicker in his eyes.

He hissed with tiredness and frustration. “Well then, you’ve got your goal so perfectly. Congratulations on making me waste my time on you.” His tone was bitter, laced with a sharp edge that cut deeper than any of his previous scoldings. “If you’re just going to keep saying ‘sorry’ and not actually try to improve, then maybe you should rethink why you’re even here.”

After his scolding, Tsukishima turned away from you, leaving you to struggle on your own. The weight of his words pressed down on you, making it difficult to focus, but you forced yourself to push through. Determined not to be the failure he saw you as, you stayed long after the other students had left, methodically redoing each experiment that you had messed up earlier.

The lab was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the faint hum of the equipment and your own breath. It took hours, but eventually, you managed to complete the tasks, albeit with trembling hands and an exhausted mind.

You silently placed your lab report on Tsukishima's desk, hoping this ordeal would be over. As you turned away to return to your station and pack up, you heard him flip through the pages. His silence was unnerving, and just as you were about to make your escape, his voice, laced with irritation, stopped you in your tracks.

“Is this your idea of fixing things?” His tone was biting, and you flinched, slowly turning back to face him.

He was staring at the report with a look of deep dissatisfaction. “You’ve been here for hours, and this is the best you can do?”

You felt your heart sink. “I—I tried to—”

“Try harder!” he snapped, his frustration boiling over. He stood up, towering over you, the full weight of his height and anger making you feel small and insignificant. “Do you even care about this? Because right now, it seems like you’re wasting both your time and mine.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back tears, but his harsh words felt like daggers. “I’m sorry…”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” he cut you off sharply. “I don’t want apologies. I want results! Do you even understand how much effort it takes to fix your mistakes? And yet, you keep making the same ones over and over. It’s like you’re not even trying to improve.”

The tears you’d been holding back started to well up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You wanted to defend yourself, to explain that you were doing your best, but the words got stuck in your throat. All you could manage was a pathetic, “I’m trying…”

“Trying?” Tsukishima scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “If this is your idea of trying, then you’re hopeless. At this rate, you’re going to fail this class, and I’ll be the one who has to watch you flounder around, wasting everyone’s time.”

His words were like a punch to the gut. The tears you’d been fighting so hard to hold back finally spilled over, and you quickly looked down, not wanting him to see.

But it was too late. Tsukishima noticed, and for a moment, his expression flickered with something other than anger—maybe regret, or concern—but it was quickly masked by his frustration. “Crying isn’t going to help either,” he muttered, though his voice had lost some of its edge.

You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, trying to steady your breathing. You wanted to disappear, to run away from his harsh gaze and never come back. But you were stuck, rooted to the spot by your own shame and helplessness.

He sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, in a quieter tone, he added, “Why are you even here if this isn’t what you want to do? If you’re just going to half-ass everything and cry whenever things get tough, then maybe you should think about whether this is the right path for you.”

That was the final straw. The weight of everything—your struggles, his harsh words, the pressure from your parents—came crashing down on you all at once. A sob broke free, and before you knew it, you were crying in earnest, the kind of crying that came from deep within, raw and uncontrollable.

Tsukishima looked alarmed, clearly not expecting this reaction. For a moment, he stood frozen, unsure of what to do. But then, awkwardly, he stepped closer to you, hesitating before finally placing a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, stop that,” he said, his voice much softer now, almost gentle. “I didn’t mean to… damn it.”

You couldn’t stop crying, no matter how much you tried to pull yourself together. The stress, the fear, the overwhelming sense of failure—it all came pouring out.

Realizing that his words had done more damage than he intended, Tsukishima, still awkward and hesitant, did the only thing he could think of to comfort you. He pulled you into a hug, his tall frame enveloping you, one hand gently rubbing your back as he murmured a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

You clung to him, the warmth of his embrace and the unexpected softness in his voice finally starting to soothe the raw edges of your emotions. Tsukishima held you, his own heart pounding in his chest, wondering how he’d let things get so out of hand.

As your sobs began to quiet, he pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you. His usual cold demeanor was gone, replaced by an expression of concern and regret. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh,” he admitted, his voice low. “But you have to understand… I just don’t want to see you fail.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, still shaken but calmed by his unexpected kindness. “I… I’ll try harder,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Tsukishima sighed, his hand still resting on your shoulder. “Just… don’t push yourself too hard, okay?” He paused, looking down at you with something softer in his gaze. “We’ll get through this, together.”

He sighed, letting go of you and running a hand through his hair. “Look, just… try not to take everything so personally. I’m hard on you because I want you to do well. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t bother.”

You blinked up at him, surprised by his honesty. “You… care?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t read too much into it. I just don’t want to see you fail.”

Despite his words, you couldn’t help but feel a small spark of hope ignite in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to Tsukishima’s grumpy exterior than he let on. And maybe, if you kept trying, you could prove to him—and to yourself—that you were capable of more than just making mistakes.

[curiousquill1]

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[goatedgreen]

Okay lets analyse this one for realsies. Im gonna go through each character in this tweet and go through reasons why i think they either would or would not be crying first, then im gonna put them in order of who survives the roast sesh.... join me on this wonderous journey.

Let's start with Atsumu.... where to even fucking begin. sorry to the Atsumu haters but i truly believe he would not be crying first. First of all he has known Osamu since he was born and while Osamu is the "nice twin" the bar is truly in hell and that motherfucker is mean to one person and one person only and that person is his twin brother Atsumu. This mfer has been conditioned since birth to roast and be roasted. Not only that but this guy was CANONICALLY hated by everyone in his middle school, and his only reaction to that information was "So?" HE DOES NOT CARREEEE. And, I will say, while the other characters shown here are bitchy, they usually target people in petty ways that make fun of their skills (with the exception of Daisho who would probs call Atsumu a single loser but he'd likely just get annoyed by that not cry) and Atsumu knows that his skills are too good for anything they say to hold weight., He has the ego the size of the fucking gym. he's fine.

TSUKISHIMA on the other hand.... dare i say it not the strongest contender ... I dont think FIRST. but this guy is wayyyy more sensitive to criticism than people generally give him credit for. LIKE YES BEFORE YOU JUMP DOWN MY THROAT, he absolutely has the whole "keep booing me it only makes me stronger" thing going on in the Inarizaki game BUT YOU FORGET SO QUICKLY how absolutely insecure this guy is. until yamaguchi kicked his ass into gear in the training camp, he was of the impression that trying to get better at something he enjoyed was fruitless because there was always going to be someone better than him. Someone insightful like Oikawa or Atsumu would def be able to pick up on that insecurity and target him for it. I think his strongest talent is of course provoking people so much that they cant see how much they're affecting him, so he gets a lot of points for pettiness that would keep him from crying first because theres no way he's gonna LOSEEEE to someone like Daisho or Oikawa. BONUS POINTS on his behalf though is he was the only one on the team at the end of season one who WASNT CRYING about their loss. And i think the only one on karasuno who we havent seen cry (as far as i can remember).

Now listen.... fanon Oikawa is for sure crying first because for some bizzare reason people characterise him as a pushover twink. Canon Oikawa told USHIJIMA to remember his worthless pride so he could crush him in the future. like... he's kind of taking names a little. i'll allow him a small slay for his efforts of being a bitch to Ushijima. Oikawa is SMARTTTT and has a lot of emotional intelligence, so can for sure target people's insecurities with pinpoint accuracy. He doesnt get SUPER easily riled up when he's "in the zone" and only lashes out when he's backed into a corner. he hangs out with what is probably a team of people scientifically designed in a lab to HUMBLE HIM DAILY, so he has built up somewhat immunity to being insulted and targeted for bully behaviour. LOSES TREMENDOUS AMOUNTS OF POINTS for being kind of a sore loser and someone who FOR SURE cries when angry or frustrated.

Daisho.... why is he even here (sorry to those who love him). Listen... this guy is petty, and he lowkey cheats, and he takes immense joy in riling people up for shits and gigs... BUT WHYYY IS HE HERE LMAOOOO. to be honest, i dont think he would cry first purely for the fact that he doesnt know these other guys well enough to really gaf about what theyre saying to him. on the other hand, that makes him kind of an easy target because he's so irrelevant to these other guys lives that they could probably make him feel like shit for that reason only. he gets bonus points for being the only one in a canonical relationship (oikawas girlfriend we never meet that he broke up with doesnt count, in fact it loses him points).

WITH ALL THAT BEING SAID. the final order i think is, Oikawa goes out crying first, not because he's upset but because he got sooo fucking mad at Atsumu's unbothered behaviour he had to leave and he was angry crying while doing it. Daisho is next because Tsukishima said some shit like "bro who even are you lmaooo irrelevant ass" and he remembered he sucks at volleyball and got upset, he's okay tho bc his gf is there to comfort him. Atsumu cries next but not because of anything Tsukishima says, he just gets so fucking bored of Tsukishima not giving him interesting reactions to his jabs that he starts doing weird shit like standing on his head and he ends up hurting himself and crying because he is a big baby. Tsukishima is the last one standing .

...

That is of course assuming that Oikawa doesnt kill them all first with his Super Triple Homo Spin Serve that killed all of Karasuno. People forget so quickly that he is the most diabolical anime villain of all time...