#THESE TWO WILL PROBABLY HATE EACH OTHER OR NEVER INTERACT IN THE STORY BUT THAT WONT STOP ME

[clouvu]

*wheezes* Okay so Hear Me Out-

[bonsubear]

Reader loves Invincible but hates Mark┃Mark/Invincible x Fangirl! Reader ┃#1

Hi, I haven’t written fanfiction for a hot minute so I’m terribly rusty. So, if this isn’t coherent oops. Also, if Mark is OOC just close one eye and keep reading hehe.

Inspired by @/tiramissyoucake and the anonymous asker who requested a short story of Reader hating Mark but loving Invincible!!! I like that idea very much so I’m stealing it for a moment >:)

#1, #2

WC: 1.6k

He should probably feel annoyed about the fact that this girl in his biology class seems to hate him with each fiber of her being for no reason—her eyes always hard with disdain and her mouth quick to shoot an insult whenever he did an action or said something she didn't like (which was basically anything, even breathing) but oddly enough, he didn’t.

She had transferred to his school before his powers kicked in and before his superhero alter ego, Invincible, was born. She was in a couple of his classes besides biology. On some occasion his eyes couldn’t help drifting to her, noting one or two things about her.

From what Mark could tell, she was quiet and kept to herself. You’d think that she was a hard-working student who was diligently taking notes with how she would pretend to type something important on her laptop, but he always quietly chuckled at the sight of her on some shady website reading an obscure comic.

He would quite literally watch her browse through comics with long titles and choose the most outrageous plot then shift her laptop away from the direction of other students as if people (aka him) behind her couldn’t clearly see what she was doing.

Oh, and in English class she would tuck her air pods in her ears and try to cover them with her hair—playing some sort of audio book or a YouTube video. Even though she would try and hide her reactions, Mark could tell whenever something amusing happened. The small quirk of her lips, how fast she would twirl her hair, and the slight sway of her body as she stared blanky at empty air while listening intently.

Also, you were a fan of shopping for clothes and accessories. Nearly every day he would notice a brand-new item or piece of clothing on her. It could be a new, shiny necklace that fits perfectly on her chest or a new jacket that was too neat to be old. She also shopped for cosmetics like perfume that smelled differently from the last and a new subtle shade of lipstick that was applied perfectly on her lips.

Though her spending habits didn’t go well with her checking account. Mark caught the girl pouting multiple times looking at her bank account that was a little bit too low for anyone’s liking, refreshing the screen as if the number would change.

...

Okay, maybe he took note of a little bit more than one or two things. Whatever, sue him.  

But for some unexplained reason, this girl had serious hatred toward him. The type of hatred you’d think Mark did something absolutely horrible. Like, shooting her childhood pet or punching her elderly grandmother.

He never did any of those things or anything else. However, he must've done something to piss her off at some point to declare him public enemy #1.

“I’m going to throw acid at your face and make you blind if you don’t stop staring at me.”

“Nerds are usually smart, thanks for going against the stereotype.”

“I went to Loserville and the residents told me you were the mayor.”  

“Wow, you killed that, Mark! … Next time make it yourself.”

It was insult after insult every time he interacted with her.

“Dude, why do you keep trying to talk to her? It ends the same way every time.” William deadpanned after he witnessed yet another verbal attack on Mark, you walking away without sparing a single glance back. “Don’t tell me your one of those guys who get off on that sort of thing.”

“No! No! Why would you suggest that?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?” He flatly replied, raising his brow. “That girl clearly hates your guts! Yet everyday you try to talk to her as if she didn’t tell you to kill yourself the other day.”

“Eh, more like every day.”

“See! Hates you!”

“Your right, William. I’ll stop trying to be friends with her…”

“Atta boy!”

“… soon.”

“Come on, man!”

Then, when Mark’s powers kicked in and he became Invincible—he got busy and stopped trying to talk to you. Not that he lost interest didn't want to get to know you, but so much things were happening.

His eyes still wandered to you in class, noticing that your hair looked different so that must mean you went to another shopping spree and got a new shampoo or conditioner and other things—but Mark was busy trying to be the best he could be so interactions with you stopped.

That was until he saved your life during an attack as Invincible.

Holding the civilian in his arms tightly as he landed down, small bits of debris on his shoulders as he let out a small huff, he shifted his gaze around to see if any other civilians needed his attention. “It was a good thing I caught you in time.” Mark smiled, his eyes blinking behind his goggles as he looked down at the person he was holding in his arms.

His eyes widened in shock (though you couldn’t tell because of the goggles) when he realized who he had just saved.

Holy shit, it’s you.

And fuck, why were you staring at him so cute? Your eyes that would stare at him with hatred were instead filled with adoration and admiration as your hands were basically trembling holding your phone to your chest.

“I—uh—wow—um,” His voice was caught in his throat, his breath hitching as he wasn’t used to this type of look on you. You stared at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the whole world, and Mark could feel his stomach flip flop as he averted his gaze. “Are, are you hurt?” He squeezed the words out his throat, looking back at your wide eyes that were still filled with that adoration.

“Yes! Yes! I’m perfectly fine now, Invincible! Thank you so much!” You happily yelped, suddenly wrapping your arms around his neck. You squeezed tight, practically burying your face as if he was oxygen and you were trying to fill your lungs.

The scent of your shampoo filled his nose, and he recognized that it was the same one you used on Tuesday. It smelled good.

Play it cool, play it cool.

“N-No problem, citizen!”

“You’re the best Invincible, thank you so much! Thank you!’ You pulled away from the grip you had on his neck, “I’m going to follow you home!”

“What?”

“I-I mean, I’m so indebted to you!” You squealed like a fangirl. Your cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, your whole body shaking from not the adrenaline of almost being killed but instead because of the excitement of Invincible holding you. “Ever since you made your debut as a hero, I’ve been such a huge fan of yours! And now you’re here and y-you saved me!”

… You’re a fan?

He carefully let you down on the floor, your legs catching yourself as he turned around to hide the fact that his cheeks were burning a deep shade of red. “Please, uh, evacuate! It’s not safe in this area—I have to go, s-sorry."

“Anything for you! Stay safe Invincible!”

And anything for him indeed because after that day, you were always decked out in school with some sort of Invincible merchandise attached to you. Keychains, stickers, shirts, nails themed after his suit, and more. Jesus, you even changed the wallpaper on your phone and laptop to pictures of him!

“Wow, you really like that Invincible guy.” Will whistled, pointing out the chibi Invincible phone charm that was attached to your phone case.

“Of course I do! He’s the best hero ever. The coolest guy and the most handsomest!” You whipped around, bursting in happiness at the mention of Invincible. “You would be an idiot not to like him.” You eyed Mark at the ‘idiot’ part, before turning back to Will. “I always liked him when he first appeared on the news, but oh my fucking God after he saved my life, I had to make my love for him public!”

“W-What does that mean?” Mark asked, intrigued.

“What it fucking means, dipshit. It’s obvious.” You hissed, turning to him, “What fan doesn’t have a shrine to their idol? Their one and only? Are you stupid?”

That was not obvious—wait shrine?

“I have photographs of him, official and fan made merch, posters—everything! He’s basically my husband at this point.” You swayed in your seat, your cheeks turning pink with how you were shamelessly gushing about him. You continued to ramble as Mark Grayson stared in disbelief, the girl who hates him loves him at the same time.

You love Invincible but hate Mark.

That made Mark feel… weird. There were butterflies in his stomach as he continued to stare at you and his chest felt a little heavy. He was upset, but not at you—which is odd because it should be towards you—but instead toward himself? Towards Invincible that you were so excited at the thought of his superhero alter ego instead of him.

Was he jealous... of himself?

"How much do you like him?" Mark asked quietly, tilting his head.

"I'll let him crack me open." You sighed dreamily without a second of hesitation, and Mark choked on his spit as soon as he heard that. "Also, correct yourself—I don't just like him, I love him. Now, go away and stop bothering me, loser." You turned around in your seat before he could say that Will was the one to bother you first, not him.

He continued to stare at the back of your head, dumbfounded at how you were a big Invincible fan. A big fan of him.

The urge to turn you around and tell you that he was Invincible was strong. Not because he wanted to rub it in your face that the guy you actively hate on was actually your favorite superhero but because he wanted you to stare at him with those big eyes of adoration toward Mark Grayson, not Invincible.

...

Jesus, what was wrong with him?

This is kinda bad but uh, I tried :P Goodnight I have to wake up at 6 am dfjndfnsj

[beifong-brainrot]

Aang is great because almost every ship you can put him in instantly becomes top-tier.

Like:

Kataang- they literally make me cry every single time I think of them. Their love story is wonderful and genuinely heartwarming. It symbolises healing and peace for both of them and the literal world. He showed her the world and he's her biggest supporter and she always defends him and they find solace in each other because they understand what it's like to be the last of their respective kind. And they're each other's hope and just... ahhh. They're so much more than the vanilla hero gets the girl ship people paint it as. Haters stay mad or smth.

Zukaang- the symbolism? They're the actual Ying and Yang of the show! The Rozin parallels? Them standing in a vortex of rainbow fire as two dragons (the blue one like Aang's tatoos facing zuko and the other one, red like Zuko's general colour scheme facing Aang) forming a heart shape around them? Zuko was literally searching for Aang and found his redemption in Aang and Aang made him a better person and Aang is literally the only person who genuinely experienced Fire Nation culture before the war and he clearly values it and he's helping Zuko bring peace to the world and the nation...

Taang- The og tomboy x soft boy dynamic. He's literally the person that helped her free herself from her parents and Air is the element of freedom? And she teaches him when to stand firm like the Earth? And I love when they do synchronised earthbending it's so satisfying and they work so well together. Toph having lost her face in one of Aang's nightmares is also a nice parallel to Ummi and Kuruk. (One caveat though: i hate taang being used as a "get Aang out of the way" side ship to Zutara)

Sokaang- they kinda come out of left field for me but the more I think about them the more obsessed I become. It's all about a teenage boy who has been forced into a role that demanded way too much of him finally learning to trust and rely on others. It's about Sokka finally living out the childhood that he was forced to grow out of. Sokka also has such a cute bond with Momo and more importantly, Appa, Aang's animal soulmate. The fics write themselves.

Sukaang- ok, I know Suki and Aang barely interacted in the show but like Hear me out.Suki is so connected to one of Aang's past lives. And she saved Appa, which would totally bond her and Aang (genuinely distressed that this was never discussed in canon). And they both value a sense of community so much, and Aang was one of the people who inspired Suki to leave Kyoshi to help others. Plus, there could be some amazing Rangshi parallels if Suki became Aang's bodyguard instead of Zuko's, which could be very plausible.

Azulaang- I adore this ship because I genuinely think Aang could really help Azula find her redemption. Hell, he was so nice to her in The Search and she literally killed him. Plus I've already laughed about how it would absolutely kill Ozai. The mental crisis Azula would go through due to fallingin love with Aang would be hilarious, and also the guilt over everything she's done, as Aang's kindness makes her realsie she was on the wrong side this whole time. He's one of the only people who can beat her at her prime and he doesn't seem to fear her at all, which is rare for her. Aang could give her the unconditional love she so desperately craves and needs.

Maiaang- genuinely adorable to me. Other than the obvious grumpy x sunshine trope, Maiaang has a lot of potential. Mai seems to genuinely like Aang in the comics, which is really cute. I also think Aang would be able to help Mai express her more positive emotions, other than just anger. Also something about the girl who was forced to remain silent and passive her whole life learning to finally let go and allow herself to just live with the help of probably one of the most active and expressive characters of the show has me by the throat. Plus, he got along great with her lil bro!

Tyaang- They're so similar and cute and bubbly! They'd have tons of fun together and I just know Ty Lee would teach Aang some gymnastics and he really enjoy it! I think he can also find Ty Lee's chiblocking very cool, since it is essentially a great way to deal with a conflict without causing permanent damage. Very airbendery. Speaking of which, Ty Lee is also very airbendry herself. I can genuinely see her finding herself in Air Nomad culture and be excited to help revive it.

Onjaang- i just find this ship so funny because imagine being a random schoolgirl in the fire nation and not only rizzing up a demigod but rizzing that demigod up successfully. This ship can also go so many ways depending on On Ji's reaction to that random cute guy who threw a cool dance party is actually the Avatar, so it's certainly interesting.

Yuaang- the ultimate cinnamon roll x cinnamon roll ship. But more than that, there's of course the Yue becoming the Moon Spirit and Aang getting lowkey possessed by the grieving Ocean Spirit. There's Yue appearing when Aang needed her most, while he's stranded in the middle of the ocean and helping him. They both understand sacrifice and responsibility, and maybe they could comfort each other through it. Also Aang being the bridge between the spirit worlds and Yue being a Spirit could lead to a very interesting romance, depending on how much the Avatar could interact with the Moon Spirit.

Jetaang- ok, Aang was just as infatuated with Jet as Katara was, right? And I think Aang was heavily affected by Jet's actions and behaviour. Also Aang really not wanting to hurt Jet while fighting him (twice!) was really cute. And Aang helping Jet snap out of the Dai Li brainwashing could be a really cool ship moment the more you think anout it.

Teoaang- Honestly their little one sided rivalry at the beginning of the episode was really cute. And I think there could be some interesting symbolism between them. Aang symbolising the old and Teo symbolising the new. They compliment each other like that. Teo comforting Aang by showing him that the critters of the temple are still alive and well is also sweet. And Aang admitting that Teo has the spirit of an airbender is so sweet.

Kuzaang- they're adorable. I loved the comic about them. Aang calling Kuzon "Hotman" is really funny. Aang helping Kuzon make a bigger flame with airbending is also really sweet. I especially like this ship in combination with Zukaang. It's such tasty symbolism.

Aang may just be the most shippable charater of this franchise, argue with the wall. He's so filled with love I have no choice but to multiship.

[dough09]

A tired maniac

Sae x F!reader

✨ Fluff. -🦋

It was already past midnight. Hell, even dawn was closely approaching. Yet your boyfriend was nowhere.

He called two hours ago that his plane landed and he’s driving home now. You didn't want to call him because you knew how fast he liked to drive. So you stayed in the kitchen scrolling on your laptop. 

The door slowly opened and the keys hitting each other made quite the noise. Sae didn't want to wake you up, as you should be asleep by now. He was careful. Trying to be that is.

He went to the bedroom to drop his stuff down and check on you but to his surprise, the bed was empty. He frowned.

“She stayed up waiting didn't she?” He grumbles. He hated that. You should know by now that his days are inconsistent. He felt sorry for you. Because he made his precious, cherised woman wait. 

Finally he found you. Passed out on the kitchen table. More like, on the keyboard of your device.

He cradled you in his strong arms and leaned down to kiss your forehead. “I’m home.” He whispered. Lastly he turned back to check on the laptop but it was already in sleeping mode.

(Unlike a certain someone...)

He placed you on the bed carefully. Slowly your eyes opened and bore into his. “Sae…” you spoke quietly and like someone who isn't in her right mind. You weren't. “Yeah yeah, I’m here, go back to sleep, we will talk later.” 

“Why are you late?” He frowned. He changed while talking to you. “Stupid traffic- I was driving as usual, then this grandpa comes in front of me out of nowhere, and he has the audacity to slow down like a sloth!! Not to mention, we got to a red light and guess what, the train didn't come. But of course the light and the sh*tty crossing gate said something else.” He took a deep breath because it was starting to tick him off again.

“There I waited for an hour. I would've called but I told you to go to sleep and don't wait for me so I just played on my phone.”

“And guess what, the second I get through all that traffic a car drives past me like a maniac.” He rambled. Although that last person… “driving like a maniac” sounds familiar. Although who are you to judge him? “I was this f*cking close to crashing.” “Oh and then it gets better, Shidou called to pick him up because that dumbass couldn't get an uber!!” He bit his lips and cuddled you into his arms. Pulling the covers onto you. 

 “Anyway, after more hours of traffic and taking the demon to his hotel, I just sped home without looking at anything. I had enough.” That earned him a sleepy scowl. He was frustrated yet there was nothing you could do. Your brain was processing yet your eyelids were slowly getting heavier.

The last thing you remember was a passionate kiss and his hands that pinned you to the bed. You must've passed out right there.

That night his cold piercing eyes softened at your figure. He was exhausted and multiple other pejorative adjectives. He was angry at himself and Madrid as a whole. And he is supposed to represent such a damned country. Spain can kiss his ass. 

Passed out under him was a girl who probably didn't even get half of his story. Yet she listened.

He probably never complained so much. Not to anyone, but you.

----------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed~ 🩷

Also, happy easter to each and every one of you!! I am so thankful for you guys! I am happy that you like my work and I hope you eill continue giving them a read in the future too.

I also want to interact more eith you guys and I have a few ideas in my dummy brain to do so, but please if you have questions or wishes or recommendations or ANYTHING really then don't be scared to share. (i think I'm more scared abt talking to you guys - I've got social anxiety 😶😅)

Feel free to share any happenings in your life and if you feel so, stay Anonymus. I absolutely understand why people would want that.

I hope you have a great day/night 💓.

(also I'm quite surprised how I have these exams but still find time and creativity to push these writings out)

[becomingmina]

FUCKBOY MIN. little series w/ LEEKNOW

18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

pairing: lee minho x female reader genre + warnings: previous fkbuddy relationship, angst, smut mdni!, min is mean, oral (f recieving), semi-public (empty bathroom), hyunjin is a character wc: 3.4k mina's note: Minho is kinda mean. The way I would have done anything for him just so he can like me back. ❤️‍🩹

other works here ; any comments and thoughts you can drop them here ; ty for reading.

series chapter ➵ part two, part three ending one

"Isn't that Y/N?" Han asked looking over the older boy's shoulder.

Minho turns his head around and sees you amongst the crowd - of the very grand party he dreads. He feels himself tense up at the sight of you, he hasn’t seen you in a while and you looked as beautiful as ever. He can feel the corner of his lip turn up as he replays memories of him and you, and that’s when he realises he misses you.

But the feeling soon fades when he notices you’re with a guy. Only a month and you already found yourself a guy? Loud sweet giggles falls from your lips as you grip the man's biceps, laughing about nothings. He scoffs to himself as he recognises the man.

“Out of all the boys in this fucking city, she chose fucking Hwang Hyunjin?” Minho blurted, he was mad. “She’s got a type. Fuckboys,” he turns back around to Han and raises his brows, as if asking for him to agree with the statement.

“You’re not going to do anything right hyung?” Han nervously asked, knowing his hyung will definitely be doing something.

“She just looks too happy, Han. I gotta ruin it for her. Especially when it’s Hwang Hyunjin she’s fucking with,” Minho says before downing the rest of his drink and ditching the younger boy.

Minho met you a couple months ago at one of his mother’s grand get-together. He only came to these events in hopes to find a hook up or a quick fuck, he was never here to support his mom on what ever event-job-work-promotion she got herself into. He probably got with half of the girls who attended these parties with their rich parents.

“Imagine what your daddy would think of his sweet innocent daughter completely coming vulnerable underneath some guy she just met?” Minho would often whisper in their ears as he thrusts into them. He would say anything to get them to sleep with him then ghost them the next day, leaving them restless.

However you weren’t like any of these girls to him, well at first. Minho was addicted to you, he couldn’t put his finger on it but he kept coming back to you. After seeing you a few times, he proposed for you both to be fwb and you agreed, because to be very honest, Minho was hot and he was a great fuck, the best if you can say. Also, something about him felt very secure to you. Meaningless fucks turned into lingering kisses, then turned into secrets date nights. You both shared such gentle and heartfelt moments, like cooking dinner together to holding hands randomly. Minho became so romantic with you secretly, but he never sincerely voiced it. You fell for him. You wanted to do anything for him in hopes that he liked you back. You became obsessive, got restless, jealous that there was many other girls hovering around him. You wanted him to yourself, and it got to the point where you had pull him away one night, letting your tears run down your face as you admitted your feelings to him, intoxicated. And maybe because he never dealt with such heavy feelings and high emotions like this before that, he turned on you.

“Y/N, you're just like the other girls.. Maybe worse. Easy. Clingy. I would never like you back.. Are you crazy?" You couldn't believe it, he abandoned you. Minho ended up treating you just like all the other girls.

Now the other half of the girls that Minho didn’t hooked up with were probably sorted by Hwang Hyunjin. The city’s heartbreaker. Classic story of two best friends that now hates each other. Minho and Hyunjin grew up together, basically brothers due to their mother’s close friendship. But when the boys got older they grew apart. Times that was supposed be spent together catching up on a tv show or playing basketball turned into time spent with a girl trying to get her to undress underneath them. It was now a competition to see who played the most girls. Oh how toxic.

So when Minho saw you in the ballroom with Hyunjin, he assumed you two were sleeping together. Minho needed to get you alone before the end of the night.

He needed to ruin you, in order to ruin it for Hyunjin aswell.

“Should I get you another drink?” The long haired boy asked realising the glass in your hand was almost empty.

“I was actually eyeing the orange slices over there-” you pointed out, gesturing to the massive grazing table.

“-Mimosa?” He was quick to respond, tone so sweet and cheeky.

“You know me too well Hyunjin,” you smiled admiringly up at the boy.

“I’ll get the champagne, you get the oranges and we meet back here then,” he says, hints of his dorky smile showing.

You were finally alone.

"Hey baby," Minho speaks from behind you, his voice so deep, hands find their way to your hips sending chills down your spine. He used to call you that all the time, and your heart never fails to beat out of your chest from it.

Lee Minho. Why the hell was he behind you? Shouldn’t he breaking some poor innocent girl’s heart?

“I missed you.” You stood still at his words, unable to move.

No not this again.

"Minho, go away," you finally spoke, building up a wall that you know isn’t going to stay up.

"No. I need to talk to you baby. I missed you," he made sure you heard him, his hands now made its way higher to your waist. "You look so pretty tonight..” one hand rests on your waist as the other one slowly travels to your thigh. “I missed your pretty little body so much, baby,” his lips were so close to your face, the proximity is so familiar, so safe that you wanted to turn and press your lips on his. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Minho had you under his spell, his presence was all it took for you to consider him again. You lean back, head taking its place on his shoulder as your back pressed on his chest. You tilt your head up slowly, finally looking at him. Oh, he was so beautiful as ever. His cute little bunny teeth showing from his agape mouth, his pretty sparkly eyes looking down at you, and his sharp nose, which you remember you use to peck so much. You missed him so much, you couldn’t resist it anymore.

“Min.” You say in the most vulnerable tone ever, gripping his forearm, giving in to him. He smiles at the nickname, the nickname only you were allowed to call him by.

"Come with me," and with that he yanked your arm dragging you through the crowd, for sure going to leave Hyunjin confused when he comes back.

Minho pulled you into an empty bathroom and pressed you against the door after locking it, instantly smashing his lips on to yours. His lips feels so soft against yours and your body hasn’t felt this rush of adrenaline in a while that you were going insane. Already feeling yourself start to go wet, you were so bothered, you needed more. Your teeth clashes as he practically devours you, his hand hoists one of your leg over his hip.

“Need you on the counter, bunny,” he murmured in between the kisses, there goes the nicknames again. He carries you to the counter, helping you up, your legs immediately spreading for him to slot himself in between. His hand slips underneath your dress, brushing against your clothed core.

“Already so wet for me,” he smirks, feeling the patch on your panties. “Can I?” He asked tapping his finger twice on your core. You nodded throwing your head back and he accepts the invitation to suck on your neck, leaving marks. Minho’s fingers pulls your panties to the side, his pointer finger finally runs through your folds. You were so warm, so sticky already that Minho let out a moan into your neck, unable to control the pleasure he was also having. You jolted forward when his fingers finally entered you pumping you slowly, causing him to let out an airy scoff. “Need to taste, let me taste?” You nod again knowing every time Minho ate you out, he would reward you with his dick for being such a good girl. You wanted that again.

“Need to hear you say it, Y/N,” he stops his movements, to brush your hair out of your face adoring your features.

Verbal consent has always been a big thing to Minho. He has so much control when the other person expresses what they want. It feeds into his already massive ego seeing the other person submit to him, makes him feel like he was in winning. And right there and then when he asked that question he wanted you to submit, so he can feel bigger than Hyunjin.

“Yes, please Min. I want it,” you gave him exactly what he wanted. You missed this. You missed his body and how he fucked you, how he made love to you. You miss Minho. You miss how sweet and gentle he was. How he would text you if you got home okay after spending the entire day with him. How innocent and lovely he can be talking about his cats, his hobbies. You wanted him to like you back, to want you back that you were willing to let him do anything to you, to use you.

“You’re still so good baby,” he buttered you up pressing a kiss your lips once more, letting it linger on a bit before dropping to his knees. He bundles your thin long dress around your waist, pulling down your soaked panties and burying them deep in his pocket. He is met with your pretty pussy, glistening with arousal. Your scent takes him by surprise and he goes numb. Oh, how he remembers it all so well, he would spend forever in between your legs on a Sunday afternoon. He parts your thighs and moves his face closer to your cunt, finally sliding his tongue in your slit. You still taste as sweet as ever too and that was all it took for Minho to devour you, to eat you out like a starved man. You lean back on one hand and the other one finds its place in Minho’s hair keeping it there. He was so good with his tongue, alternating between giving fat stripes, kitten licks and harsh sucks on your clit. Minho was getting you closer to your orgasm. Moans and whimpers falls from your lips as you allow him to hear how good he is making you feel.

“Feels good baby? You still taste so sweet, I just know you’re still going to be so tight." he removes himself from you just so he can glance up at your fucked out state nodding to every word he was saying.

“Want to- to cum,” you needed to cum, you were on the verge of tears feeling the tension in your stomach start to fade..

“Hm?”

“Please, I want to cum Min,” you restates and he dives back down. He grips your thighs as he makes out with your pussy, his nose hitting your clit every now and then to get you going again. Minho picks up his pace, moving his kisses to your clit where he then sucks harshly earning a sharp moan from you. You jolt forward, thighs closing around him, throwing your head back as you spray Minho with your sweet release. You feel him smirk against your pussy, his mouth and chin coated in your arousal. That wasn’t enough for you, you wanted more. Your hand pushes his head further into your cunt as you grind down in his nose, riding out your high. Minho lets you use him, his tongue still overstimulating you until you were satisfied. Frankly, he found it hot how after just one taste you go feral for him.

He licks his lips cleaning himself off as he gets up from your legs, helping you pull down your dress. He cages you between his hands that are now resting on the counter, you don’t move. Just staring up at him, he examines your features again, taking all everything that he used to adore. Something about this moment just feels so innocent to both of you, that Minho can help but give you small giggles, his lips turning into a smile. You mirror it in return, sitting in silence as you both recalls the old times.

A sudden buzz of your phone causes you both to snap out of the sweet moment, heads turning to the device next to you on the counter. And Minho grows hot, his reputation overshadowed his feelings for you the second he saw Hyunjin’s name pop up. He lets out a scoff, remembering why he got you in this bathroom in the first place.

Minho's leans in slowly, one hand still gripping on the counter but the other comes up close to your face. Your phone forgotten now. You think he's about to kiss you but he dodges your lips, making his way by your ears as he lets out an airy chuckle, he sounded so cocky you were taken by surprise at his sudden change in demeanour.

"God, Y/N. You're still so easy," His tone deep aiming an attack on you as he reaches for the paper towel dispenser behind your head. He pulls out a towel throwing it to you, to clean yourself up. "Still so desperate for me". It broke you. He has never done this to you before, usually he'll be on after care and cleaning up. Your head snaps to his face, taking in his smirk and dark eyes. You swallow hard, a salty taste coat your tongue and you realise you're trying you best to not cry.

“Are you this desperate for Hyunjin too?” you furrowed your brows together in response. What?

“Hmm?” You asked confused.

“You got a type Y/N, you’re so pathetic.” He continues, the vibrating of your phone doesn't help but fuels his anger.

"Min, what do you mean?" It was clear to you that Minho and Hyunjin weren’t the best of friends when you meet with Minho. But that night when Minho abandoned you, Hyunjin witnessed the whole thing. He help you get up, covering you with his his coat, wiping away your tears and took you home.

"What are you doing here with Hwang Hyunjin?" he finally asked. But you don't respond, instead you hop off the counter, unable to control how hurt you are from his previous act. Your eyes sparkle, cheeks pink, lips trembling. He takes in your reaction, making him feel a bit guilty as he has seen this all before. The night you admitted your feelings.

"You guys fucking?" this time his tone and eyes soften, it was like he needed to confirm it first before continuing to take out his anger and tension on you. You reach for your phone but he snatches before you could, declining the call sliding it across the counter where you can’t reach.

"Does he fuck you as good as I do?" He moves in closer, your noses barely touching. "He treats you better than I do?" You stay quiet.

You didn't know what to answer. Do you lie? Do you teel the truth? Regardless at the end of this Minho isn't coming back to you right? You realised the moment he called you pathetic.

He moves in to kiss your cheek, a gentle peck. Your heart starts to race even more, unable to look him in the eyes. One hand comes up to hold your face, thumb rubbing against your cheeks. "Come on baby, tell me and I'll give you what you want," his lips comes in contact with yours. You melt into the kiss, your hands grasping the waist band of his trousers. Snap out of it, Y/N. "Hmm, you going to be good and tell me? He kisses you better than I do?" He kisses you harder, helping you back up the counter. He takes back his initial position, in-between your legs. Minho moves his kisses down your neck as his hands advances to your shoulders, pulling the thin straps down exposing your chest. He gulps at the sight and latching his lips onto your boob, his hand groping the other one. You tired your hardest not to give in but you cant, the feeling is too strong. You whimper at the contact, your hand palming his hard on through his pants. It was the first time you touched him that night and Minho throws his head back, unable to control the sexual frustration.

"Fuck- see what you do to me, baby?" He coos. You undo his belt, pulling his trousers along with his boxer down, meeting with his big cock. He was already so red, a bead of pre cum already spilling frim his tip. You grab the base of his cock, holding it firmly giving him a gentle pump. Just like the way you always did. Fuck Y/N I missed this so much. Minho finds himself addicted again as he shuts his eyes, a little moan slipping from his lip. You continue to pump him and he tries his best not to give into you but your hands felt so good, he could cum like this. You lean forward attaching your lips to his neck, leaving marks just like he did to you before. “Want you Min,” you whimper on his skin. You needed to feel him inside you.

"Answer me first, Y/N." He was getting irritated at your lack of answer. God, why are you so caught up on this Minho! Your phone rings again, the buzzing noises incites his thought, and that was the breaking point for him. Hwang Hyunjin. Only Y/N would want such a pathetic man like him. "I'm not fucking you if you’re dirty Y/N," he says and you halt your movements, completely removed yourself from him.

"What?" You replied. Minho is now faced with your confused face.

"You're so desperate Y/N. I can’t believe you’re with Hyunjin right after I left you? You're so dirty for that,” Minho repeat himself moving closer to you to provoke you, he was sure you had given yourself to the other bloke. Your lack of answer confirmed it for him too. “Did you fuck Hyunjin?" But he was determined to hear it.

You took a deep sigh, and all the names and remarks he had made to you tonight flooded your head. You’re hurt. God, Y/N you are pathetic. You wanted to turn this on him but you couldn’t. Regardless of what you answer, you couldn’t win and Minho won’t be yours.

"No I didn't because I love you, Min," you confessed, pushing him off you. You proceed to pull up your dress and jump off the counter. You needed to leave him.

You brushed past him retrieving your phone and bag, unlocking the door and walking out.

Leaving him the way he left you, abandoned. Although it was your feelings that he disregarded, leaving him while he was hard and sexually unsatisfied like this would have hurt the same for a fuck boy like him.

But Minho wasn’t hurt by that. Your words was the thing that stung him. Shes loves me? No one had ever done this to Minho, he didn't know what to do. Such a similar feeling to how you felt - when he ghosted you and just now.

His words still played in your mind, they're still lingering around you. You wanted to sob, cry your heart out but you couldn't just yet, only allowing the tears to build in your eyes. Did you really just let him treat you like that? You chose pleasure again instead of protecting your already broken heart. Minho was right, you are fucking easy. You see the exit through your blurry vision and you rushed to it, pushing into the many people that was just crowding around. Just as you're about to leave a hand pulls you back.

"Y/n, you okay?" You turned around to meet with Hyunjin, and you couldn't help but burry your face in his chest as you let your tears fall.

"I hate him," you cried loudly, your whole body shaking and your legs go numb. Hyunjin hugs you, both arms wrapped around you tightly as he lets you become completely vulnerable. You were safe with him.

"I know.. Let's go home."

[wol-fica]

-𝕎𝕠𝕖 𝕀𝕤 𝕄𝕖?- ℙ𝕋5

pairings - wenclair x daughter!reader

summary - it’s christmas break at the addams mansion, what could possibly go wrong?

warnings - none

an - hi hello yes, this story progresses :D

—————————————————————————

You groaned, resting your head on the cool hardwood floor.

It was Christmas break, and you and Luka have come home from Nevermore to spend time with your family. Unfortunately, there were more relatives staying at your grandparents mansion than you would’ve liked, and you were struggling to interact and be at least somewhat social with all of them.

All twelve of your cousins were there, running among the halls and causing so much ruckus that even Leo was exhausted. Uncle Pugsly was doing such a poor job of keeping them under wraps hat he instead gave up and chose to relax with your other uncle, Pubert, who was really only there for the expensive food your grandmother ended up cooking.

Your great grandmother was also there, cackling and joking around with your great uncle Fester while your parents sat nearby, chatting while keeping a close eye on Leo while he juggled his knife collection. You and Louis were playing chess, and each game you beat him, but he refused to stop until he won at least one round.

“Louis, you’ve lost basically every game, there is no point in trying to beat her again.” Leo said from across the room, hissing when he dropped one of his knives.

“I hate leaving a duel defeated.” He pouted while you packed up the board, “It’s a sign of weakness.”

“Maybe you should train harder, all you do is sleep anyway.” Leo quipped back, snickering.

You smirked slightly, turning your head away to hide your smile while your mother scolded Leo for being rude. After sliding the packed up board onto the shelf it belonged on, you moved to the couch where your jacket was folded up. Enid reached out to you, managing to brush her knuckles against your skin.

“Hmm you’re cold.” She murmured, frowning, “Are you sure you wanna go out with Luka today?”

You nodded, wiggling away from her touch to stand up, “I’ll be fine, he wants quality time anyways.”

In all honesty, you were the one who wanted ‘quality time’ with your brother, but you were never going to tell that to anyone. Luka was the only person that you could admit to that you admired and enjoyed being around him. As annoying as he was, you still loved him for being your brother, and you would tolerate his behavior until the day you die.

“Take some gloves with you, as much as I love frostbite I would much rather you keep all of your digits.” Wednesday said, sipping her cup of coffee, “And don’t go past the front line.”

“I know the rules mom.” You grumbled, zipping up your jacket before grabbing your gloves and moving to the front door, “We won’t go far.”

“Be safe!” Enid called, smiling at you with a wave.

You feebly waved back before exiting the house and hurrying down the path to Luka. He was at the tree line, building a little snowman to pass the time. It had a top hat, probably stolen from your grandfather, and an eye piercing rainbow scarf he definitely was previously wearing. As you approached, he turned to look up, his face brightening at the sight of you.

“Hey Y/N/N!” He called, beckoning you over, “Meet Gerald, Sir Snowman The 33rd.”

“Regal.” You deadpanned.

“He’s such a cutie.” Luka said, smiling at it with shining eyes.

“I cannot wait until he melts.”

“Y/N!”

You shrugged with a grin, walking past him towards the path in the woods. He pouted at Gerald for a moment before following you, jogging to catch up to your pace. The two of you ventured down the trail, footprints left as you strolled further into the forest.

The snow crunched under your feet while you walked, the crisp air leaving the tips of your ears a subtle pink. The scarf wrapped around your neck did its job keeping your body warmer, but it left your nose to fend for itself in the cold wind. You didn’t mind though, as the sharp wind hitting your skin sent a pleasant shiver down your spin.

Soon, a large opening between the trees appeared, shiny and pale ice coming into the view. The lake had frozen over for the winter, and for years before, you and Luka would venture out into the middle to see if the ice was thick enough to hold you.

There had only been one year that the ice wasn’t solid enough, and Luka had almost fallen in.

Almost.

Makes you love the thrill even more.

“Looks nice this time.” Luka said, peering across the flat surface, “And walkable.”

“We shall never know until we try.” You replied, picking up a palm sized rock.

You weighed it in your hand for a moment, before throwing it up and out onto the lake. It hit the ice, but didn’t break through, instead rolling around before stopping a few feet in front of you.

“Suitable.” You noted, before stepping out onto the slippery surface.

“WEEEEE!” Luka cheered, running out and sliding on his feet.

You huffed, fighting back a laugh when he stumbled and fell back on his butt, instead rolling your eyes at him as you carefully made your way towards the middle.

“You’re insane.” You told him, snorting when he fell after trying to stand, “And incredibly clumsy, do you need a walking stick?”

“Honestly yeah.”

You hummed, walking past him and heading towards the center of the lake. He scrambled up, wobbly on his feet, and carefully followed you. It was a tradition between you and him that you both take a knife to the ice to see if it will crack. If it does, it means the year will be bad, if it doesn’t, it means the year will be wonderful.

Once you reached the middle, you pulled your pocket knife out, flipping it open and handing it to Luka. He grinned, taking it and kneeling down on the cold surface. He raised the knife above his head, and plunged it into the ice. The blade pierced through, and a loud crack echoed across the lake.

“Hm.” You said, taking a few steps back, “Didn’t break.”

“Yes!!” Luka cheered, standing up and jumping up and down, “I knew it would be a good-.”

Before you could tell him to not jump on the cracked ice, the stability broke and he fell right through. The water enveloped him, and the large pieces of ice hid where he sunk into the murky water.

Maybe it was a good time to mention that Luka can’t swim.

“Luka!” You yelled, peering down to see if you could spot him.

The water was still, not a sound to be made, until a pounding from a couple feet over caught your attention. It was your brother, hitting his fist against the ice in an attempt to get out. You ran over, bringing your fist down to try to break the ice as well, but you weren’t strong enough.

You looked down helplessly as his pounding slowed down, air bubbles escaping his throat as he panicked. Fear overcame you, and before you could even register what was happening, a large spout of fire burst from your hand and onto the ice. It cracked and melted, swiftly dissipating into water right before your awestruck eyes.

You stuck your hand into the water, reaching around until Luka’s grasped yours. You heaved him up and out of the cold lake, both of you stumbling backwards from the large hole in the ice. You laid on your back in shock, gasping for air while Luka retched and coughed, water spewing out of his mouth. He rolled over and dry heaved, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his adrenaline died down.

“Dammit.” He breathed, resting his forehead against his arm.

You extended your hand over to him, grasping his when he reached for you, “Never jump on cracked ice again.”

He chuckled, shaking his head feebly. You both laid there for a few minutes, trying to calm down enough to return home safely. You finally felt the strength to sit up, waiting patiently for Luka to regain his composure. You turned to him, expecting him to be shaking off the water in his hair with a smile on his face, but instead he was just sitting and staring at you blankly.

“What.” You asked bluntly, “If it's about the fire I-.”

He shook his head rapidly, fear filling his eyes, and raised a shaking hand to point behind you. You turned slowly, a chill running down your spin when you realized what he was so bothered by. There, a few steps out from the treeline, was a large figure watching you quietly. It was pulsing, a rhythmic manner that mirrored breathing as its back rose and fell. You squinted, not sure what you were looking at, before it began to rush towards you.

Its shape was contorted uncomfortably, its spine hunched over like it had been broken and healed improperly multiple times. Grey skin stretched over its lanky bones, wrapped around its ribcage like a vacuum sealed plastic bag. Pale scars were scattered about its body, almost mimicking that of an inverted Zebra, with large eyes protruding from its head, bulging and bloodshot; you swore you could see physical hunger swirling around in its iris’. It moved like a deformed gorilla, its back legs short and stubby while its front arms were long and muscly, with long claws digging into the ice with every step it took. Its mouth foamed, drool and slobber drenching its maw as it approached.

It was beautifully horrible.

“Run.” Luka whispered, slowly standing.

“What is that…?” You wondered curiously, almost leaning in its direction, “It looks…”

“Y/N, RUN!!”

Luka grabbed at your jacket, yanking you up to your feet and pulling you away from the approaching monster. You both fell into a sprint, clumsily stumbling every few steps but nonetheless running. Luka was farther ahead of you, naturally being a faster runner due to his werewolf genes, but you were still with him. The creature roared behind you, its thunderous steps echoing across the lake as it began to gain on you.

Your feet hit the frosted grass, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you scampered up the hill to get back to the house. Trees blurred past you as you both ran for your lives, and you almost felt your heart stop when you heard a low growl so close to you. The sound of Luka panting next to you pushed you a little harder, a small feeling of relief hitting you when you saw the large mansion come into view, but just before you could relish in your near escape, you were yanked sideways.

White hot pain shot through your shoulder and back, the air being pushed out of your lungs when you came in contact with the tree you were thrown against. Over the loud ringing in your ears,, you could dimly hear Luka shouting and the monster roaring, but the world seemed to spin as you tried to stand on your wobbly legs. A large blurry figure stalked towards you, its large claw rising high to be brought down upon your face, but just as it was swinging to attack and you closed your eyes, everything stopped.

No scream.

No roar.

No crunch of bones.

No splatter of blood on the leaves.

Not even the tiny whispers that plague you.

Nothing.

You feebly peeled your eyes open, looking around in confusion to see that there was no monster to be seen. The forest was the same, clustered with snow covered trees and your grandparents' massively gothic mansion a few yards away, but that was it. Luka was gone, the creature was gone, it was just you and the cold.

Peaceful.

If this was death, you were not a fan.

“Y/N”

You whipped around, scoffing when faced with the body of the voice that just spoke your name.

“You.” You grumbled.

“Me.” She replied.

“Where is Luka?” You asked firmly, glancing around for a moment, “Am I dead?”

“Luka is fine, and no, you're not dead..” Goody replied, eying you up and down.

“Then where am I?” You demanded, still expecting the monster to appear out of the trees and tear you to bits.

Goody didn't reply, and you turned to see her brushing little snowflakes off of her shoulders. You saw red, picking up a pinecone and chucking it at her. The fruit passed right through her incorporeal form, landing somewhere behind her. She frowned, looking up at you with a bothered gaze.

“Excuse me, your ghostly-ness.” You seethed, “I'd like to know where the hell I am.”

“Don’t use such repugnant language with me.” She conned, “I am here to guide you.”

“Well then GUIDE me to the exit, please and thank you.”

“I have to speak with you.”

“Jesus!” You threw your hands in the air, turning away from her and kicking a rock in frustration.

Of all times that she could have chosen to have a conversation with you, of course she has to decide that right now, the time that you very well could be mauled and eaten, is the perfect moment.

“This is the first time I have had the chance to talk to you.” Goody asserted, walking around until she was in front of you, “We have things to discuss.”

“I very well could be decapitated and dismembered right now,” You drawled, rubbing your hands against your face, “yet you think this is a good time to have a discussion with you?”

“Yes.”

“Some guidance you are.”

Suddenly, you were pushed backwards by a heavy gust of wind, causing you to fall on your behind. Goody stood over you, her book open and her finger pointed at you. You gasped, shaking the pine needles off of you and standing up.

“Did you just spellbook me?” You snarled, glaring at her.

“I just ‘spellbooked’ you.” She replied, her tome closing with a soft hiss.

“I swear to god I will gut y-.”

She waved her hand at you, a short puff of air hitting your face that smelled oddly like hotdogs. A faint whisper came from her, something you could not pick up over the harsh wind, and you felt your lips seal shut.

“Mmm!” You tried to speak unsuccessfully, your words coming out muffled instead.

“Your lips have been locked with a small silencing spell, it will wear off in a few minutes.” Goody said, “Now, vide tuum futurum.”

The air started to thicken around you, almost like a weighted blanket being draped over our head. Images started to appear in the fog, flickering and shining like a projector screen whilst shapes began to form. Teeth bloody and sharp, a low growl exuding from a beast's throat. A familiar howl was heard, a full moon appearing in the air. People shouted from afar, pitchforks and torches stabbing through the glowing orb with an eerie scream.

“This is your future.” Goody murmured, gesturing to the fog, “This is what I’ve been trying to warn you about.”

You turned to her with a glare, stamping your foot while you gave a grunt. She sighed, taking her pointer and middle fingers to your lips. “Loqui.” She whispered, a faint warmth exuding from the tips of her fingers, and you felt your lips unseal.

“These things, the images, will inevitably happen. You must prepare.”

You eyed her spell book, the very same that you currently had under your pillow back at your dorm in nevermore. You knew of the spells that are inked on the pages, ranging with ones of fire casting to full body possession. You couldn’t use any of the incantations in fear of messing something up that you couldn't fix, yet you yearned to speak the latin phrases out of pure curiosity of what you could do.

“Preparing, how would…should...I prepare?” You asked carefully, licking your dry lips.

“However you deem necessary.” Goody mused, “I cannot decide your decisions, it would rewrite the outcome.”

You squinted at her, “The outcome? What’s the outcome?”

Her body started to fade, her skin going paler than what it already was. Specs of her began to float away in the wind, and oddly enough, the forest around you started to melt away into darkness.

“Prepare.” Goody echoed, now almost transparent, “Use the book.”

“Goody you useless piece of sh-.”

And then everything was gone.

—————————————————————————

spookyyyyyy

taglist: @cartierdreamx @tundra1029 @red1culous @vorsdany @andsoigotabutterfly @theafterofnevermore @yomomisgay @house-of-lovin @slvt4lanadelrey @thenextdawn @nepobaby08 @dunohilly @somekindofpoet @alexkolax @cinffy23 @pedrosprincess @amberfreemansburntface @myfturn

not sure if any of you still read lol

if you’re interested in the taglist, just comment !

[helslastangel]

Mars in 1H & 7H Synastry: From My Experiences 🔞

Minors, do not interact. This one's not for you.

I know this is widely known with 1H Mars synastry, but it bears repeating: this is such an electric and sexy aspect to have!

...IF you like each other. But if you don't?

Especially if the attraction is one-sided? It is SO cringe. One of you could end up hating the other easily.

In fact, let me tell you two stories that show just how differently things can go with this aspect.

Positive 1H Mars Synastry

Guy A: Leo Sun, Virgo Moon, Cancer Rising & Venus

I have my Mars in his 1H and his Venus is in my 1H.

This a VERY physical aspect, so if you're the type who loves long hugs, hugs from behind, poking, nibbling, cuddling, kissing and a LOT of sex, even after YEARS together, then keep an eye out for this aspect.

Guy A was my boyfriend of 4 years and we broke up right around the time we would have been talking engagement and such. He was also my best friend for 8 years (which would be 15 years now if we hadn't stopped talking a year after the break up).

I was wildly attracted to this guy from day one. And vice versa! And when we finally got together? Literally could not stop touching each other. It was so funny at times. You know those annoying couples trying to hold hands, steer the cart, and pick stuff up all at once in the grocery store? Yeah, we were that couple. Typically, if I wasn't literally on his lap, I'd be under his arm or pretty much pressed up beside him somehow-and vice versa. Watching TV? Someone's head would be in the other's lap, someone's hands would be in the other's hair, or rubbing their arm or belly.

I remember the first time Guy A and I went on a cute lunch date, before we officially got together. Everyone was pointing and giggling at us because it was sooooo obvious we both couldn't keep our hands off each other at all. 😂

To this day, neither his parents nor mine can believe we didn't get married. We probably should have, tbh. Lol.

Negative 1H Mars Synastry:

Guy B: Gemini Sun, Cancer Moon & Rising, Aries Venus.

I also have my Mars in his 1H. (His moon is in my 1H).

Mars in 1st synastry in one-sided connections is the absolute worst because one of you is madly (VERY madly) in lust confused for love, and the other is perpetually annoyed but attached to the adrenaline rush from all the static, especially if life isn't otherwise exciting at the time.

Guy B was long-term frenemy who I did NOT like romantically and barely liked platonically. We met on a dating site and the conversation was great but from the 1st date in person, I was instantly turned off. All his mannerisms annoyed me, I wasn't attracted to him, and I didn't want him to touch me at all. My reflex was to pull away when he tried. He was extremely attracted to me for some reason despite this, and never let it go. Not even years later. He begged to stay friends when I declined a 2nd date and I was too nice back then so I reluctantly agreed.

Every time he touched me, I wanted to backflip into a volcano. A simple hug made me irrationally angry if he tried to linger half a second too long. It didn't help that he'd always complain about me giving "church hugs."

And before the men start carrying on about how he must have been short, yada yada yada... no, lol he's 6' 5" and fairly good-looking. Just didn't like him then and still don't now.

Our dynamic was always very aggressive, especially from my end. Even our mutual friends noticed that I seemed like a different person specifically around him and not in a good way. I was verbally combative and physically tense around him, even my voice sounded less soft and I was extremely sarcastic. I don't know if he's into girls who are normally like that or if his Aries Venus just liked the challenge, but that annoyed me even more. My dad met him once and immediately acted like he wasn't even there and my mom was like "Yeah, no, don't ever date each other because one of you won't make it out of that alive, it's very obvious."

She's definitely not wrong, our entire "friendship" was a strange anomaly defined around me being perpetually annoyed that he existed but also finding entertainment in all the toxicity and him pretending not to notice that Id happily sell him to the devil for a bag of chips and continuously convincing himself that I secretly liked him.

I told him multiple times he was free to react like a normal human being and not talk to me and his response was, "Eh, I know but somehow even though I hate arguing, I don't really mind arguing with you. Like I hate it but at the same time, it's you. I'm used to it now."

Idk to say about that but yeah, there you have it folks. The moral of the story is: there are always two sides to a coin 😂

Synastry is something that can go two (if not more) ways. No placement or aspect is ever guaranteed to be positive or negative, though some skew one way or the other. If they were, we could all find our perfect matches just by picking birth charts out of a jar and studying them. Be mindful and listen to what your heart and gut tell you and then use your head.

All that being said though, can I talk about 7H Mars synastry for a sec? GOSH I LOVE when someone's Mars is in my 7H.

Mars in 7H Synastry (Positive)

Guy C: Aries Sun, Scorpio Moon, Scorpio Rising, Aries Venus

He has Capricorn Mars in my 7H and my gawd. So intentional. This was eons ago. Technically my second boyfriend, but this was the first serious boyfriend who I had all my first times with. The moment my very own McSteamy decided he wanted to date me, there was no long drawn out "should I, shouldn't I, she loves me, she loves me not" - none of that wishy-washy shit. He strolled right up to me and said, "Look, you're allowed to say yes, no, or "get lost, fool" -whatever you want. And I know this may seem a bit soon, and to be honest when I first met you, I didn't know what to think, you kinda seemed like a miss-goody-two-shoes type. But getting to know you for a couple months? I realize you're actually quite a rebel and adventurous like me, but also smart and know how to lay low and play a character when you need to. Anyway, I'd really like to kiss you, but I'm gonna ask you to be my girlfriend first, so let me know."

Well, hell I said yes before he was even done talking and he picked me right up and kissed me against the wall. That was my first kiss too, and a great memory. I love direct people who know what they want, aren't scared to take a risk and are comfortable taking the lead, especially when it's a relationship. That's a Capricorn Mars right there. With Capricorn moon in my 7H that was literally like hitting the jackpot- except I was so young. He was 8 years older than me and ready to settle down. I was just about to fly the nest and see the world and he was kind enough to realize this and not hold me back when I decided to leave.

I will say this placement is excellent if you're sure about wanting a family, kids, and the whole white picket fence thing. I made the right choice as I'm still childfree by choice now and would rather live a semi-nomadic life, working and traveling the world with someone who is the same kind of crazy as me.

I'm not sure if I've experienced any negative Mars 7H house synastry. There are so people I've connected with whose birthdays I've either forgotten or didn't ask for, so I don't have their charts. Of the charts I do have, Guy C is the only one I have this aspect with. I haven't quite felt the same 100% confident, 'all-in' relationship energy from anyone else.

I am curious about how the negative side of this would go, so if any of you have had bad experiences with Mars 7H synastry and want to share, let's meet in the comments 😹

↤ go back to the masterlist

[wanderingsoul6261]

I'm Sorry

credit for gif goes to userbeaufort

James Beaufort x Reader

synopsis: Y/N doesn't come from a rich family, but is close friends with Lydia, but absolutely despises James. She eventually comes to terms with her thoughts and makes amends with James. Was it worth it in the end though?

warning: just a few swear words.

should there be a part 2 to this?

Y/N wasn’t quite sure how she had come to hate James. She just knew that she did, regardless if he was Lydia’s twin brother or not. Maybe it was his arrogance, although it didn’t make much sense to her after some thinking, as most of the students at Maxton were of the arrogant type. She had previously thought about hating him for who his father is, but she also knew how their father treated them and knew that it probably was not a reason to judge or even hate James for. In the end, she had just thought him to be an asshole, and figured that that was enough reason not to like him, because he was an asshole. 

With this in mind, Y/N never treated him fairly, but to be fair, he never did the same for her either, as he hated her just as much as she had hated him. The two were never particularly nasty to each other, but they definitely weren’t nice to each other. 

If they ran into each other in the hallways of Maxton Hall, they scowled at each other, sometimes even flipping each other the finger. They would have small arguments here and there, mostly about what they thought of each other, or what they had assumed that they thought of each other. The two of them believed what they wanted to when it came to the other person, only because they wanted to fuel their hatred for the other. 

Lydia had kind of almost found it funny and amusing. She knew that the two of them technically had no reason to hate each other, but still did. Maybe they didn’t like sharing her. Lydia had always snorted when that thought appeared in her mind, but she thought that that wasn’t quite it. In the end, Lydia herself couldn’t come up with a logical reason that they couldn’t as to why they hated each other. 

They hated each other with no rhyme or reason and that was that. 

However, it was only a matter of time before Y/N started to rescind her hatred for James. After spending so much time with Lydia, Y/N had gotten the chance to know about James and why he was the way that he was. Lydia told her stories about what they would do as kids, and how over the years, the two had managed to stick up for each other. It didn’t matter the situation. Whether it was familial ties or Lydia’s situation with Sutton. The Beaufort twins had each other's back. 

Y/N had paid some mind to the stories, but it wasn;t until she started to experience the softer side of James that she finally agreed with Lydia that maybe James wasn’t all that bad. 

Y/N had visited the Beaufort manor enough to see Lydia to begin to see what she was talking about. Unless Mortimer was around, James had pretty much become his own self. At Maxton he worked to uphold his image and keep it. At home, he could relax. Y/N watched the interactions between the two twins and enjoyed seeing them in their best moments. Although they didn’t laugh much, short chuckles were heard and smiles were given. 

Just once, She could have sworn that as James smiled at some boring joke his sister made over dinner, his eyes glanced over at her. Maybe she had just imagined it, but what she didn’t imagine was the flutter in her stomach at the thought of it. 

From there on, her feelings and thoughts towards James had slowly begun to change, which had brought her to where she is now. 

She was now striding across the lacrosse field towards James, where he currently did sit ups. Y/N picked at her fingernails, slightly nervous, her eyes glancing at him. He had yet to notice that she was advancing on him. His eyes were trained on either the sky or the ground, depending on what position he was in during his set of sit ups. 

Then he stopped, sat up, and turned to look at her. He rested his forearms on his knees. 

“And for what misfortune can I thank for this visit?” he asked, blinking a few times. James gave her a not so pleasant look. Y/N was silent for a few seconds. Her eyes fluttered as she stared down at the ground. 

“I’ve come to apologize.” Y/N stared back up at him. James stood up and turned to fully face her. He showed a slight surprised look on his face. “You know…” She trailed off. He raised an eyebrow, but he had patiently waited for her to speak. “I’ve never really had a specific reason to hate you. And I want to apologize for treating you in the way that I have been, because it’s technically not warranted.” 

“I thought you hated me?” 

“I don’t hate you.” Y/N finally admitted. The two seemed to freeze at that moment. It was almost as if she surprised herself by saying it and that he was surprised that she had said it at all. Then he pouted. 

“So no more flipping each other the bird?” He pretended to be sad, and Y/N had smiled. 

“I mean, if you are used to the routine of it, I’ll do it still. But it won’t hold any meaning to it other than to make you happy.” 

“You, making the attempt to keep me happy? I’m flattered.” James flashed her a smile as she started to back away. 

“Flattery. Boosting your ego. Call it whatever you like.” Y/N took a few steps back, knowing she should probably be heading home, a small smile still adorned her face. The two were silent for several seconds. “Are we good?” She asked. The corner of James’ mouth quirked up. 

“Yea.” He said, quietly. “We’re good.” Y/N’s smile grew a tad bigger, before turning around and starting to walk away. “Oh, and Y/N?” She paused momentarily, turning to look back at him. 

“It’s only my ego you can boost.” He winked, and Y/N flipped him the bird, resulting a smile from the both of them and she put more distance between the two of them. 

—-

Over the next few weeks, the two seemed to grow closer and closer, however, being Lydia’s friend and not exactly coming from a rich family, Y/N tried to keep it hidden. It was hard too, considering everyone went to school together, but they had made it work for the most part. However, Y/N still felt that it was unfair to Lydia, considering that she was her friend. 

Of course, her and James never confirmed anything, but if there was a possibility, she would hate for it to happen under Lydia’s nose. If anything happened between her and James, it could be detrimental to their friendship. 

But now here were Y/N and James. He had bailed on attending the event for the Young Beaufort line and had instead switched places with his sister. He met up with Y/N at the donor gala, where they had danced, before ending up underneath the hall in which the gala was taking place. 

They had turned on the power, but even after it was back on, the two remained downstairs. They stared silently at each other, tension, albeit the good kind, filled the room. It was only seconds before the two pushed themselves against the other, locking themselves into a sensual kiss. James took a few steps forward as he kissed her, physically feeling Y/N melt against him as his hands rested on her waist while hers sat in his hair. 

When he had pushed her up against the wall, one of his hands rested on the wall next to her and the other tangled itself in her hair. 

Then Y/N felt the guilt. Lydia wasn’t even here. She wouldn’t find out, but she didn’t even know about the two of them and what they were doing. Y/N couldn’t do this. Not too Lydia. This wasn’t fair for her. 

Y/N pushed James off of her, guilt written across her face. He stared at her, confused. Did he go too far? Was she okay? He went to open his mouth, but she had stopped him. 

“I- I’m.” She paused for a few seconds, swallowing thickly as she looked everywhere but his eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

And then she was gone, racing up the stairs and out of Maxton Hall, leaving James to wonder what the fuck had exactly just happened. 

taglist: @honethatty12 @lifeonawhim @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @maryvibess @wheredidmyeyesgo @imasimptoowth @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[jayniks]

SEX NOTE (p.js)

after summoning heeseung, you wandered around your room looking for any ideas. Seeing your poster of your favorite band, you thought "why not invoke the guitarist?" and that's what you did, although the situation was quickly reversed when you saw how malicious he was.

WC . 2,3k

PAIRING . Shinigami!jay x fan!reader

WARNINGS . smut (mdni), oral sex (m receiving), tease, anal sex, mouth fucking, a little cuck!jake?, mentions of Jake's mom and Jake himself, magical appearance, chocking, a little filler just like in the original series, degradation, tying, unreal themes, a bit of noncon?, squirt, curses, let me know if I left something out.

< go back . next chapter >

Let's forget about that awkward interaction with Jake and let's talk about you, although let's not let pass that you avoided each other for 2 days in a row, what matters is that now you two are talking. About what? I don't know, he mentioned something about a trip to Australia for a week to see his family but you weren't paying much attention, you were aware that he was probably abandoning you to avoid any more awkwardness, after all, no one would act nice after listening to his best friend that he knew since he was 3, who helped her in her worst moments, fucking they favorite idol NEXT to his room.

"Dummy, are you even listening to me?" Jake asked in a somewhat tired tone. His words brought you out of your trance and you just nodded, "really? summarize what I said" he looked at you seriously. "Um, are you going on a trip home?" You exclaimed without much confidence, maybe you should have listened to him but you felt physically and mentally exhausted after that night in which a magical book fulfilled your fantasy. "Oh yeah? And why?" He looked at you again with those judging eyes, God, how you hated him. "I don't know," you admitted, already imagining the scolding that awaited you. "I'm going to Australia to see my family, I'll only be gone for 5 days, please don't come into my room, take care of the apartment" he warned you, you knew it was better to listen to him.

"Yes Jakey, I understand, please send my regards to your mom-" you didn't finish the sentence because you were interrupted by your friend, "No, you're going to take her away from me, it seems like she loves you more than me," and with that lie he left the dining room to go pack his bags in his own room. Within hours, you were at the door hugging goodbye, after all, you didn't hate him that much. The house was desolate, you felt more alone than ever.... it's good that you had the book to help you. It was a little selfish and self-centered that you cared more about the book than your own best friend who watched you grow up. But you know what else grew? Your desire to try more people.

You ran to your room and sat at your desk to prepare to look at the notebook. You just did that, watching it for almost 10 minutes, maybe waiting for it to start writing itself. Finally, you opened it, there was what you had written about Heeseung yesterday, in the first few lines of the page. You had the decision whether to repeat the same thing from yesterday or write a new story below. You scanned your room for something, anything, to find any answer to a question you hadn't asked yet. Your favorite Chinese actress? No, she was in a relationship. Your teacher? Ew, gross. Your favorite band? No! There were a lot of people and you would just go on the safe side- OH GOD! YOUR FAVORITE BAND!

Sure, Glam was your favorite band years ago, but it was a band from the '30s, the members were already dead, although you were hyper fixated on the guitarist, Jay Park. Of course, he was the most beautiful man you had ever seen before; his upturned nose, his strong jaw, the way his cheeks are marked when he smiles, those skillful fingers... if you were to mention all the reasons why you love him you would probably never finish and this fanfic would never be published.

You grabbed the same pencil you had written about your night with Heeseung with, hoping to capture a new adventure, this time with Jay. Emotions overwhelmed you, but this time you wanted to give it a different touch, perhaps less imaginative and more direct. You sat at your desk, ready to put every detail on paper. "Jay Park from the Glam group will appear..." you began to write, but suddenly the pencil stopped working. Frustrated, you looked at the tip, trying to figure out what had happened. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. You decided to try scratching the pencil on a piece of paper to the side. But no matter how hard you tried, there wasn't a single mark. Resigned, you grabbed a permanent marker, determined not to let a simple pencil stop you. With a firm hand, you started again: "Jay Park from the group Gla..." But, just as you were about to finish the word, something strange happened. The letters began to fade before your eyes, as if the paper was rebelling against your attempts. Desperation took over you. You gripped the marker tighter and began scratching furiously on the page, as if the simple act of writing could exorcise the frustration you felt. But in your outburst, the blade tore with a tearing sound.

Suddenly, the book opened on its own, as if it had a life of its own. The pages began to move, creating a ghostly wind in the room. Dark letters appeared on the torn page, slowly forming a sentence: "For being greedy, you will be punished." Fear paralyzed you, a chill ran down your spine. It was as if the book was alive and aware of your desires and failings. You felt a rising panic, a primal fear that told you something terrible was about to happen. You closed your eyes, resigned to your fate, waiting for the punishment that, according to the book, you deserved. The room fell into a deep silence, and you prepared to face the unknown, your blood freezing and your heart pounding in your chest...

Silence.

You opened your eyes after a few minutes of silence, and nothing had happened. Confused, you looked around, but everything remained the same. You thought maybe you had read it wrong, but no, nothing had happened. You sighed in relief, trying to convince yourself that maybe the book had just played a prank on you. Maybe you had imagined it all, the result of your sexual frustration and lack of sleep. Yes, that must have been it, you were delirious, right? With a slightly clearer conscience, you turned to make the bed that you hadn't tidied since Jake left for Australia. Time had passed quickly since then, and the mess was piling up. But just as you were going to start cleaning, you felt a chill run down your spine.

When you turn around, you almost had a heart attack when you see the guitarist of your favorite band sitting on your bed, looking at you with a machiavellian smile. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Weren't you expecting me?" He said, faking a pout as he spoke to you. You were petrified. How was it possible? Had it just appeared out of nowhere? Your mind couldn't form a coherent thought when suddenly he grabbed you by the neck, choking you, and threw you hard onto the bed. "Honestly, I didn't expect to show up like this. I thought you would use the book wisely," he hissed. His words surprised you. Did you know about the book? Nothing made sense. What was happening? "You're wondering a lot of things, gorgeous. Do you really think a book like that would come alone?" He chuckled, his tone clearly mocking, "I'm a Shinigami. Who do you think gave your friend the note?"

Oh right, Sim fucking Jaeyun.

Jake was coming back from shopping, it was not his best day, the plastic of the bag he was carrying broke and his purchases flew due to the storm that hit just 4 minutes ago. He sighed in defeat, looking down to avoid getting soaked by the rain because his umbrella bent and broke. He wasn't looking forward so he ended up colliding with a stranger. He was going to turn around to apologize but there was no one there. He looked at the floor and saw a black notebook that was covered with a layer of plastic so it wouldn't get wet. At least he won't return home empty-handed.

Let's go back to where we left off, 'Jay' turned you around putting your arms behind your back. He took off his belt and tied your arms with it, leaving you completely at his mercy. He grabbed your hair, pulling you back and turning your head a little to whisper something near the juncture of your ear and cheek. "I didn't steal that fucking book so that a dirty human like you could come and desecrate it, scratching it and destroying it just out of anger," he spat with venom in his tone. He proceeded to throw you to the ground, kneeling in front of him while he looked at you superiorly. Your response was to look him in the eyes with pleading eyes, praying that he would even take pity on you and not hurt you.

He took your jaw in his hands, forcing you to look at him, and then he parted your lips, putting his thumb inside your mouth. "Let's see how well you know how to use that beautiful little mouth" he let out along with a deep laugh and then grabbed his erect member and passed his head over your lips, smearing them with pre-cum. You took the hint immediately and gobbled down what you could, leaving a considerable portion out due to its size, something that Jay didn't care about because when he heard your first 'gag' he pushed your head until your nose was touching his pelvis.

You were surprised and your throat contracted, you felt very strange, but you didn't think much about it either because he took his member out of your mouth the same way he put it in. You were about to breathe when, oh surprise, he thrust it back in! He made that move repeatedly, fucking your throat to his pleasure. "This is what you wanted, huh? You needy fucking slut". The boy exclaimed with a harsh voice, but do you know what else was even harsher? Your throat. His cock entered and left your throat with inhuman ease (because he's not human hahaha), letting drops of your own saliva mixed with precum fall into your mouth. You felt like you were choking, so Jay, being the gentleman he is, pulled his cock roughly out of your throat, holding onto your hair to keep you still as you took a sharp breath. He looked at you superiorly and proceeded to laugh at your state, "God, look at you, so pathetic, and we're just getting started," he smirked. Taking advantage of your weak state, he threw you on the bed with your legs bent, face down, leaving your butt within his reach and whim.

You had your head down so as not to turn around to see him, although I don't blame you, it would scare me too. You felt his cold hands caress your back and pajama pants. The calm was short-lived when you felt him tear your pants, making a hole in the center, right where your holes were. You couldn't see anything, and you felt disgusted by the fact that the fear you felt was turning you on. Your panties were wet, as were your buttocks from the licks Jay left behind. You swallowed dryly as you felt him rip your panties for more access, although that wasn't the worst, that came when you finally realized he wasn't going for your pussy, he was going for your asshole. You were going to protest about that but the scream that left your throat silenced all the words you had learned so far. He entered your inexperienced hole with the same force he used on your throat.

Your forehead hitting the headboard wasn't the most painful thing, curiously neither was his thrusts, it was the way your back was bending to keep you in a position where you wouldn't break. You knew Jay was talking to you, but you didn't understand, your mind was clouded by two things: pleasure and pain. Because of the position you were in you could feel your juices running down your legs and the splash when his sack hit your pussy. You couldn't take it anymore, it was too much for you, you began to feel that tickling in your belly that was so familiar but so different at the same time, it felt like your orgasm was close but much more powerful.

Jay's tip was mercilessly pounding that space inside you, which was enough to make you collapse, spurting his sack that only did more than slap your pussy to splatter more. Your throat was hot from the screams that came from it, being replaced by long sighs once Jay stopped for a few moments, perhaps to make sure you were okay, was there any goodness within that mocking creature? Well, no, because he proceeded to resume his thrusts with the same brutality as before. He crouched down a little so he was at the same height as your head so he could whisper some words to you that you had barely caught, "I'm not done yet."

Jake had tried to call you to let you know he was returning; he had bought the ticket for the next week. Once inside your shared apartment, he proceeded to look for you. "(___) you will not believe me!" he shouted excitedly, hoping his voice would resonate in the silence of the apartment. However, he received no response. He walked through the living room and kitchen, but he didn't find you. He heard sounds similar to your voice, which was a relief, but worry began to grow inside him, because he also heard other sounds accompanying yours.

Jake approached the door, narrowing his eyes in curiosity and some trepidation. The sounds were like knocks, followed by slimy-sounding splashes, clear enough to pique his interest. Without a second thought, he turned the knob and slowly opened the door. What he saw on the other side left him speechless, his best friend being ridden by another person he couldn't recognize.

Taglist:

@nshmrarki @cha0thicpisces @seokseokjinkim @kimsunoo2003 @rikisave @strxwbloody @nyfwyeonjun @enhalusional @kgneptun @fleurixzs @simpjay

Enha Taglist only:

@lilyuwon @myywonie @ratedjaeyoon

(I couldn't tag the others)

©: made by jayniks on tumblr, do not copy or adapt my works on any platform without my consent.

A/N: omg guys thank you so much for those 700 followers! I honestly didn't expect so much love from your part 🥺🫶 also, let me know if y'all want a kinktober ^^

[enemiestolovershoe]

I'd like to read an enemies to lovers (or fuckers😀) story with Folio. I'd try to write one by myself but got stucked. I have no ideas and it got so boring at a certain point😕

Just Pretend

Nick Folio x enemy!ruffilo!reader

Summary: Y/N and Nick Folio, longtime enemies, share an unexpected night that blurs the lines between hatred and passion, forcing them to confront their true feelings.

Words: 5.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), enemies to fuckers to lovers, unprotected p in v, swearing, alcohol and weed use, let me know if i missed something

Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.

The roar of the crowd outside the venue was deafening, but inside the tour bus, it was a cozy kind of chaos. You had been tagging along on your brother Ruffilo's tours for years, but this time, things were different. This time, you weren’t just his sibling hanging out backstage—you were officially part of the crew as their photographer.

The guys in the band had welcomed you with open arms, treating you like family. Noah was a laid-back source of constant laughter; Jolly had an almost brotherly protectiveness about him, and Nicholas made sure you were always in the loop, a constant conspirator in his antics.

All except Nick Folio.

From the very first moment you were introduced, he had been… cold. Polite, sure, but with a distinct undercurrent of disdain. He didn’t even try to hide it. And so, like clockwork, every exchange with him ended in tension or a biting remark.

“Hey, Folio, hold still a second,” you said, camera poised in hand as you stood backstage before the band’s soundcheck. You were collecting candids for their social media feed, and Folio—drumming sticks in hand, absently tapping out a beat on his thigh—was an ideal subject.

He glanced at you, clearly unimpressed. “Is this absolutely necessary right now?”

You lowered the camera slightly and raised an eyebrow. “It’s kind of my job, so yeah.”

“Right. Well, maybe take pictures of someone who wants their picture taken.” He gestured toward Noah, who was sprawled on a couch nearby, unbothered.

“Maybe try being a little less—”

“Less what?” he shot back, cutting you off, his tone sharper than your camera lens.

“You know what? Never mind.” You huffed and pivoted on your heel, snapping a quick candid of Noah instead.

“Wow,” Noah said from the couch, grinning up at you. “Tension so thick I could cut it with a knife. Should I be worried about you two killing each other?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead,” you quipped, casting a pointed glance at Folio, who muttered something under his breath and walked away.

Later that evening, after the show, the bus hummed with post-gig energy. Jolly and Nicholas were sitting at the small dining booth, sorting through setlists and chatting about tomorrow’s itinerary. You had your laptop open, editing the photos from the night, when Noah flopped down on the couch beside you.

“So,” he began, voice dripping with curiosity, “what’s the deal with you and Folio?”

“There is no deal,” you said, focusing on your screen.

“Come on,” Noah pressed. “You two are either mortal enemies or secretly in love.”

You shot him a look. “Definitely not the second one.”

Noah grinned, undeterred. “I don’t know. Enemies to lovers is, like, a classic trope. You’re already halfway there.”

“Not happening,” you replied firmly.

From across the room, Folio chimed in. “Trust me, Noah. She’s the last person I’d go for.”

You felt your face heat up but refused to look at him. “Right back at you.”

Nicholas glanced up from the table, amused. “Why do you two hate each other so much, anyway?”

“It’s not hate,” you said quickly. “It’s just… strong mutual disinterest.”

“Strong mutual annoyance,” Folio corrected.

“Strong mutual agreement that we’ll never get along,” you added.

Jolly shook his head, smiling faintly. “You two should probably figure it out. We’ve got, what, six more months on the road together?”

“Oh, joy,” Folio deadpanned, grabbing a water bottle and retreating to his bunk.

You exhaled and turned back to your screen, refusing to let him ruin your mood. But as you scrolled through the photos, you paused on one of him mid-performance. The way his focus bled into every movement, the passion in his expression—it was captivating, even if he wasn’t your favorite person.

Noah leaned over, peering at the screen. “You’re staring at Folio’s photo.”

“Shut up, Noah.”

“I’m just saying,” he teased, his grin widening.

You shoved him lightly, but your thoughts lingered on the image a little longer than you’d like to admit.

You were just settling into your bunk, sighing at the blessed comfort of your pillow, when the curtain whipped open without warning.

“Not happening,” Nicholas announced, grinning down at you like an older sibling on a mission to ruin your peace.

You groaned, rolling over to glare at him. “What now?”

Noah appeared beside him, holding up a bottle of cheap whiskey like it was a trophy. “Drinking time!”

“You’re kidding me,” you muttered. “I just finished hours of editing, and now you want me to drink… this?” You pointed accusingly at the bottle.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Nicholas said, grabbing your arm and pulling you upright. “It’s family time.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to sleep later,” Noah added with a grin. “Another Fourteen hours of driving. You’ll get your beauty rest.”

Grumbling under your breath, you slid out of the bunk and followed them to the back lounge. The door swung open, and the familiar chaos of the bus’s “living room” hit you: Jolly and Matt were already there, and of course, Folio was sprawled on the couch with his ever-present phone.

His eyes flicked up as you walked in, and his expression soured instantly. “Oh, great. Just who I was hoping to see.”

“Likewise,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you dropped onto the couch between Noah and your brother Ruffilo.

Folio’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he muttered, “Perfect,” and went back to scrolling on his phone.

Jolly, seated at the small counter with another whiskey bottle and a lineup of mismatched cups, started pouring. “Let’s get this going,” he said, handing the first cup to Ruffilo and then making his way around the group.

You took your cup hesitantly, eyeing the dark liquid with skepticism. “Why does it always have to be whiskey?” you asked, grimacing after your first sip. “Can’t we just smoke a joint?”

“Or,” Folio said, cutting in with a raised eyebrow, “it could be both.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out two pre-rolled joints, holding them up like an offering.

The room broke into laughter, except for Ruffilo, who narrowed his eyes at you. “Wait a second. Since when do you smoke sis?”

You froze for a split second before shrugging casually. “Oops, I guess?”

“Oops?” Ruffilo repeated, his tone heavy with older-brother judgment. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you replied, unfazed. “You’ve done worse.”

Noah snickered from your left. “She’s got you there, Ruff.”

“She does not—” Ruffilo started, but Jolly cut him off with a raised cup.

“Let it go, man,” Jolly said. “We’re here to relax, not get into a family drama.”

Ruffilo muttered something under his breath but didn’t press the issue.

You laughed, taking another sip of whiskey. 

Matt, perched in the corner with his own drink, gestured toward Noah. “You’re awfully quiet for the guy who brought the whiskey.”

“I’m conserving my energy,” Noah replied with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Nicholas regaled the group with a story about their worst soundcheck in recent memory, complete with dramatic impressions of the tech crew. Matt jumped in with corrections, adding just enough dry wit to keep everyone laughing.

But as much as you tried to focus on the banter, your attention kept drifting to Folio. Every sarcastic comment he made, every smug look, grated on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. At one point, he interrupted Noah mid-story, correcting him about a setlist detail, earning a round of groans.

“Folio,” you said, leaning back against the couch, “do you ever get tired of being that guy?”

“Do you ever get tired of being this annoying?” he shot back without missing a beat.

“You’re both insufferable,” Ruffilo muttered, downing the rest of his whiskey.

Nicholas chuckled, nudging you. “You sure you two don’t secretly love each other?”

“Absolutely not,” you said quickly.

“Never,” Folio added at the same time, his tone as sharp as yours.

The group burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You knew the teasing wouldn’t stop anytime soon—not with this crowd.

The hours flew by in a haze of laughter, music, and the warmth of shared intoxication. The six of you were a mess of empty cups, lingering smoke, and bad jokes, none of which made sense anymore but were hilarious in the moment. Matt was the first to call it a night, mumbling something about needing to be “semi-functional” in the morning. Jolly and Ruffilo followed soon after, Ruffilo slapping Noah on the back in a half-drunken show of affection before disappearing toward his bunk.

That left you, Noah, and Folio.

“Can I go to bed without worrying that you two are going to kill each other?” Noah yawned, rubbing his eyes as he stretched lazily.

You smiled at him, your earlier annoyance fading. “Yeah, go to bed, Noah. We’ll be fine.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but decided to take your word for it. “All right… but if I wake up to a murder scene, I’m blaming both of you.”

“Goodnight, Noah,” you said with a chuckle, waving him off.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled, disappearing through the door.

And then there were two.

The air grew heavier as silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint hum of the bus engine and the occasional tap of your thumb against your phone screen. You’d pulled out a game to distract yourself, but the tension between you and Folio was almost palpable.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch, leaning back lazily with one arm draped over the backrest, watching you like he was waiting for something.

After a few minutes, you gave up pretending the game was holding your attention. You glanced at him, hesitating before speaking. “Do you… uh… have another joint, maybe?”

Folio raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the question. “You sure?”

“Yeah, why not?” you replied, your patience already wearing thin.

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Because I’ve never seen you smoke before, Y/N. And I don’t want to be the oneresponsible when you pass out or freak out.”

Your jaw tightened at his tone, his words igniting the familiar irritation that always seemed to surface when he spoke to you. “Okay, Folio, listen. It’s definitely not my first time smoking weed. There are a lot of things about me you don’t know. And I am not a lightweight.” You crossed your arms, holding his gaze with a defiant glare. “So, I’ll ask again: do you have another joint or not?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your response. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. Finally, he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out another pre-rolled joint.

“Uh… yeah, sure,” he said, handing it to you.

You took it with a smirk, your first one of the night. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he muttered, leaning back again. He pulled out his own joint, lighting it with practiced ease before taking a slow drag.

You lit yours as well, the familiar scent filling the air as you inhaled deeply. For a while, neither of you spoke. The smoke curled lazily around you both, creating a strange sort of intimacy in the otherwise empty lounge.

Folio broke the silence first. “You don’t seem like the type,” he said, his tone casual but curious.

You exhaled a puff of smoke, raising an eyebrow. “The type to what?”

“Smoke,” he said simply, gesturing toward the joint in your hand. “Or… I don’t know. Just let loose like this.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “See, that’s the problem with you, Folio. You think you’ve got me all figured out, but you don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, really?” he replied, his smirk returning. “Like what?”

“Like…” You paused, taking another drag as you thought. “Like the fact that I’ve been smoking since college. Or that Iused to be in a band before I got into photography.”

Folio’s eyebrows shot up at that. “You were in a band?”

“Yeah,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Guitar and vocals. We weren’t great, but it was fun.”

“Why’d you quit?” he asked, his tone a little softer now.

You shrugged, looking down at your joint. “Didn’t love it enough to make it my whole life, I guess. Photography felt… right. Like it was what I was supposed to do.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Makes sense.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the lack of sarcasm in his voice. For once, he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the earlier tension starting to fade. And then, emboldened by the alcohol and weed coursing through your system, you found yourself asking the question that had been nagging at you for months.

“Why do you hate me so much, Folio?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

Folio froze, his joint halfway to his lips. For the first time that night, he looked completely caught off guard.

“I don’t—” he began, but you cut him off immediately.

“Don’t start with that bullshit,” you snapped, your voice firmer than you expected.

“Let me speak, please,” he said quickly, raising a hand as if to calm you down. There was a note of seriousness in his tone that caught you off guard. “I don’t hate you, Y/N. You have to believe me.”

You blinked, your irritation giving way to confusion. “Then why are you always so mean to me? Why do you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room as me?”

Folio sighed, dragging a hand down his face before leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The usual smugness in his expression was completely gone, replaced by something far more vulnerable.

“Do you remember that house party seven years ago? The one where your brother introduced us?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded slowly, your mind flashing back to the memory. “Yeah… I remember.”

“Well,” he said, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “Nicholas caught me staring at you.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going. “Okay…?”

“I was mesmerized by you, Y/N,” Folio admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. But Nicholas pulled me aside and made it very clear that you were strictly off-limits.”

Your mouth parted slightly, the pieces beginning to fall into place.

“So, what? You just decided to hate me because my brother told you to back off?” you asked, your tone more incredulous than angry.

“No,” Folio said, shaking his head. “I didn’t decide to hate you. I tried to. I thought if I could convince myself you were annoying, or difficult, or—” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “If I could convince myself you were someone I didn’t want to be around, then maybe I could get those feelings out of my head.”

He leaned back, exhaling deeply as he met your gaze. “It didn’t work. But it made things easier… or at least it felt like it did at the time.”

You stared at him, your mind reeling from his confession. “So, this whole time… all the bickering, the snarky comments… that was just you trying to push me away?”

Folio nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Pretty much.” He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding your eyes. “The truth is, I’ve never hated you, Y/N. I never could.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, you were completely speechless. You had spent so much time believing that he genuinely couldn’t stand you, and now… this.

Folio shifted nervously under your silence, his earlier confidence clearly shaken. “Look, I know I’ve been a complete asshole to you, and you probably don’t want to hear any of this, but—”

Before he could finish, you leaned forward, your heart pounding in your chest, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was sudden, instinctive, and completely out of character for you. But as soon as it happened, it felt right—like something you’d been holding back for far too long.

For a moment, Folio didn’t move, clearly caught off guard. But then, almost hesitantly, he kissed you back.

Folio’s hands found your waist as he quickly pulled you onto his lap, not breaking the kiss. The motion made you gasp against his lips, but he didn’t let up, deepening the kiss instead. His grip was firm, almost like he was afraid you’d slip away, and the heat between your bodies was impossible to ignore.

After a few moments, Folio pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath. His eyes searched yours, dark and filled with something you couldn’t quite place, but it made your stomach twist in anticipation.

"I’m sick of pretending, Y/N," he murmured, his voice raw and quiet, as if it hurt to say it out loud.

Your chest tightened at his words, a mix of emotions flooding you. But instead of overthinking it, you let your instincts take over. "Then don’t," you whispered, your voice steady despite the butterflies wreaking havoc inside you.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Folio leaned in again, capturing your lips in another heated kiss. This one was more desperate, more certain, and you found yourself melting into him.

His hands roamed your back, sliding under your sweatshirt, and his fingers brushed your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your hips moved of their own accord, rocking slightly against him. The friction was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips when you felt how hard he already was beneath you.

"Fuck, Y/N," Folio groaned against your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist as you kept moving. His lips trailed down to your jaw, then your neck, where he bit down gently, eliciting another gasp from you.

You couldn’t stop yourself from grinding against him, the heat between your legs growing unbearable. "I need you, Nicky," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper but loud enough for him to hear.

He pulled back, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and filled with desire. "Fuck," he rasped, his lips curling into a smirk. "I thought you’d never say it."

Your cheeks flushed, but you smirked right back, emboldened by his reaction. Without breaking eye contact, you grabbed the hem of your sweatshirt and pulled it over your head in one swift motion, leaving your upper body bare to him.

Folio’s eyes widened for a moment before they darkened further, his gaze drinking you in. "No bra?" he said, his tone teasing but laced with lust. "Naughty girl."

You shrugged, your smirk not faltering. "Remember, I was dragged out of bed."

His grin widened as he leaned forward, his lips brushing over your collarbone. "Lucky me," he murmured before his hands found your waist again, pulling you flush against him.

Not wanting to be the only one undressed, you tugged at the hem of his hoodie. "Your turn," you whispered, your fingers curling under the fabric.

He chuckled softly but obliged, pulling the hoodie off and tossing it aside. Your breath hitched as you took him in, his toned chest and arms on full display.

"Like what you see?" he teased, his grin cocky as he caught you staring.

"Maybe," you replied, feigning indifference, though the heat in your gaze betrayed you.

"Uh-huh, sure," he teased back, pulling you closer until your bare chest pressed against his.

Your lips met again, the kiss growing more intense, and you couldn’t stop your hands from exploring his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. His hands mirrored yours, roaming your back and hips, pulling you even closer as the tension built between you.

After a few minutes, your hands wandered lower, trailing down his sides to the waistband of his sweatpants. You hesitated for only a moment before undoing the drawstring and slipping your hand inside.

The low groan Folio let out when your hand brushed against him sent a thrill through you, and you couldn’t help but smirk against his lips.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathed, his head tilting back slightly as you started palming him through his sweatpants. His grip on your waist tightened, and his breathing grew heavier, matching yours.

Folio groaned, his head tilting back as your hand worked him. "Okay, okay, you need to stop," he panted, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly to still your movements. "Or else I’m gonna bust already," he added with a breathless laugh, his cheeks flushed.

You smirked, leaning in to press a teasing kiss to his jaw. "Isn’t that the point?" you quipped, your tone light but sultry.

He gave you a pointed look, his lips quirking into a crooked smile. "Yeah, well, I’d rather make you feel good first. Thatokay with you?"

The low rasp in his voice sent shivers down your spine, and you nodded quickly. "Yes, please," you whispered, your voice soft but laced with need.

"Good girl," he murmured, his smile turning into a smug smirk as he gently nudged you backward.

You found yourself lying back on the narrow couch in the tour bus, the cool leather a sharp contrast to the heat building between your bodies. Folio knelt between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and panties. With one smooth motion, he tugged them down and discarded them somewhere on the floor.

Everything about his movements was quick and deliberate, leaving you a little breathless. He placed his hands on your thighs, parting your legs with a firm yet gentle motion. The hunger in his gaze made you swallow hard, heat flooding your cheeks.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice softening. The concern in his tone was genuine, cutting through the tension just enough to make your chest tighten in a different way.

"Yeah," you said, nodding.

He raised an eyebrow, his hands giving your thighs a reassuring squeeze. "I need to hear you say it, baby," he urged gently.

Your lips parted as you took a steadying breath. "Yes, Nicky. I’m sure," you replied, your voice steady this time.

His lips quirked into a soft smile at your words. "That’s my girl," he murmured, and before you could respond, he dipped his head, his lips brushing your inner thigh before moving to exactly where you needed him most.

The first touch of his tongue drew a sharp gasp from you, your hips jerking slightly in surprise. "Fuck," you breathed, your hands instinctively tangling in his hair.

Folio chuckled against you, the vibrations making you whimper. "God, you’re so wet for me," he groaned, his voice muffled but filled with awe.

"Mhm," you managed, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Just for you."

"Good," he murmured before diving back in, his mouth working against you with a fervor that left you dizzy.

Every flick of his tongue and every graze of his lips had you unraveling faster than you thought possible. Your moans filled the small space, mingling with his groans as he seemed entirely consumed by the task of driving you wild.

Your legs trembled as the pressure built to an almost unbearable peak, and with one final flick of his tongue, you came undone with a cry, your back arching off the couch.

Folio didn’t stop right away, easing you through your high until you were a quivering, breathless mess beneath him. He pulled back, his lips glistening, and gave you a cocky grin.

"That was fast," he teased, leaning back on his heels and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You let out a breathless laugh, covering your face with one hand as you tried to catch your breath. "I know. I surprised myself," you admitted, still trembling slightly.

His grin widened, and he reached out to tug your hand away from your face, pinning it gently against the couch. "Don’t hide from me," he said softly, his eyes searching yours.

You smiled up at him, your chest still heaving. "Come here, drummer boy," you said, your tone teasing but full of want. "And fuck me already."

His cheeks flushed, the pink spreading across his nose, but he smirked anyway. "You don’t have to tell me twice," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

He stood up, his movements fluid as he quickly discarded his pants and boxers, letting them fall to the floor. You couldn’t help but stare, your lips parting slightly at the sight of him.

"Like what you see?" he teased, catching your expression as he climbed back onto the couch, hovering over you.

"Maybe," you replied, your voice soft but teasing.

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you deeply. His lips moved against yours with a mix of urgency and tenderness, and you melted into him, your hands roaming the expanse of his bare back.

Folio hovered over you, his body pressing against yours as he lined himself up at your entrance. His eyes searched yours one last time, his voice low and rough. "You ready, baby?"

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I’ve never been more ready," you whispered.

With a slow, steady motion, he pushed himself into you, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your nails dug into his shoulders as the stretch took you by surprise, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped.

"God, Folio," you breathed, your voice trembling. "You’re so big."

He froze for a moment, his forehead pressing against yours. "You need a minute, baby?" he asked, his voice soft and full of concern.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip. "No, keep going," you murmured, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. "I need you."

His gaze darkened at your words, and he leaned down to kiss you deeply as he began to move, starting with slow, deliberate thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, every inch of him filling you in a way that left you breathless.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice strained. "So tight, baby. Fuck."

You whimpered in response, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even closer. "Don’t stop," you gasped, your voice breaking. "Right there, Nicky. Yes, yes, right there."

His pace began to pick up, his movements growing more confident as your moans spurred him on. "Good girl," he murmured against your ear, his voice dripping with praise. "Taking me so well. So wet for me."

Your body responded to every word, every thrust, and soon you were clawing at his back, your moans growing louder with each passing second. "Faster," you begged, your voice high and desperate. "Please, Nicky, faster."

"Anything for you," he groaned, gripping your hips as he began to move with an almost punishing pace. The sound of skin against skin filled the small space, mingling with the symphony of your moans and his deep, guttural groans.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his lips brushing against your neck as he buried himself deeper. "You feel so fucking good."

"Harder," you moaned, your head tilting back as your body arched into his. "Please, Nicky, fuck me harder."

He didn’t hesitate, his hips snapping against yours with a force that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. "God, you’re perfect," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. "So fucking perfect."

You felt the tension building again, your body teetering on the edge. "I’m close," you gasped, your nails raking down his back. "Don’t stop, don’t stop."

"I’ve got you, baby," he groaned, his voice rough as he kept his relentless pace.

With one final thrust, the coil inside you snapped, and you cried out, your body shaking as your orgasm washed over you. Folio groaned loudly, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release.

"Fuck," he rasped, his voice thick with pleasure. With a few more thrusts, he pulled out, spilling himself onto your belly. His head fell to your shoulder as he caught his breath, his body trembling slightly against yours.

You both lay there for a moment, panting and trying to come down from the high. Finally, Folio pushed himself up, his eyes meeting yours with a soft, almost shy smile. "You okay?" he asked, his voice still a little breathless.

"Yeah," you replied, your own smile tugging at your lips. "That was…"

"Incredible?" he finished for you, his grin turning playful as he leaned down to press a quick kiss to your lips.

"Exactly," you agreed, laughing softly as he stood up.

He grabbed a box of tissues from the corner of the bus’s living room and cleaned you up with gentle care, his fingers brushing against your skin.

As he tossed the tissues into a nearby trash can, you smirked up at him. "If you hadn’t pretended to hate me all these years, we could’ve done that seven years ago," you teased, your tone light but tinged with a hint of seriousness.

Folio’s expression softened, and he climbed back onto the couch, pulling you into his arms. "I know," he murmured, his voice quiet. "I’m sorry, baby."

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, lingering for a moment as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.

After a moment of catching your breath, you and Folio slowly began to gather yourselves. He handed you your underwear with a small, sheepish grin, and you both slid them back on in a comfortable silence. The air between you had shifted—it was no longer filled with tension, but something warmer, more intimate.

You laid back down on the couch, and Folio immediately joined you, pulling you into his arms. His hand rested on your hip as he held you close, the rise and fall of his chest soothing as you nestled against him.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet hum of the tour bus and the faint sounds from outside filled the space. It wasn’t awkward, though—it was comfortable, peaceful even.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice soft and a little uncertain. "What does this make us, Nick?"

He stilled for a moment, and you could feel the way his chest rose and fell under your cheek as he took a deep breath. "I don’t know," he admitted, his voice gentle but firm. "But I do know one thing—I’m done pretending, baby. I’m done acting like I don’t want this. Like I don’t want you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, but there was still a sliver of hesitation in your chest. You tilted your head to look up at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. "How does boyfriend and girlfriend sound?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a split second, your heart raced, fear creeping in as you braced yourself for his answer. But then, Folio’s lips curled into that signature smirk of his, and the look in his eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache.

"I’d love that, baby," he said simply, his voice steady and sincere.

A wave of relief washed over you, and a smile spread across your lips as your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. "Good," you murmured, your voice lighter now, playful even.

Folio leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips—gentle and unhurried, like he was savoring the moment. When he pulled back, his hand reached for a nearby blanket draped over the back of the couch. He tugged it over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders before pulling you even closer.

"Let’s cuddle a bit before we have to get back to our bunks," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke. "The guys don’t need to find out about this just yet. And your brother…" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Your brother would kill us both."

You laughed quietly, nuzzling closer to him. "Agreed," you said, your voice warm with amusement.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence again, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your back as you basked in the warmth of each other’s presence.

But what neither of you considered was how the haze of the moment—combined with the earlier hit of weed and the lingering exhaustion—would catch up to you. Slowly but surely, your eyelids grew heavy, and you felt yourself slipping into the pull of sleep.

Folio’s breathing evened out beside you, his arms still securely wrapped around your frame as he dozed off. Neither of you noticed the scattered clothes on the floor or the fact that the blanket barely covered your entwined bodies.

And as the tour bus rumbled quietly down the road, you both drifted off, blissfully unaware of the consequences waiting for you when the boys inevitably discovered the aftermath of your night together.

The next morning, you were startled awake by a loud, familiar voice cutting through the quiet hum of the bus. Still tangled in Folio’s arms, you blinked groggily, your brain struggling to catch up as the realization hit—you’d fallen asleep in the lounge area.

Noah’s voice, brimming with disbelief and amusement, echoed through the small space. "I fucking told you!" he practically shouted, the smirk on his face audible in his tone.

You and Folio both jolted upright, your hearts racing. Folio instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around you as you both turned to see Noah standing a few feet away, his grin widening as he took in the scene before him.

Before either of you could say a word, Noah’s commotion woke another person—the one person you’d hoped wouldn’t notice.

Your brother, Ruffilo, groaned loudly as he climbed out of his bunk, rubbing his eyes and looking thoroughlyunimpressed. "What the hell are you yelling about this early, Noah?" he grumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

Time seemed to slow as Ruffilo’s footsteps grew louder, each one bringing him closer to the back lounge. Your breath caught in your throat, and you glanced at Folio, whose wide eyes mirrored your own. Even Noah looked momentarily alarmed, his grin faltering as the gravity of the situation hit him.

When Ruffilo finally stepped into the lounge, his gaze landed on you and Folio still tangled together on the couch, the blanket doing little to hide the obvious intimacy of your positioning. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and his jaw clenched as realization dawned.

"Folio," Ruffilo said slowly, his voice low and simmering with anger. "Don’t tell me you fucked my sister last night."

Folio froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he managed a weak, "Uh… I didn’t fuck your sister last night?" His voice wavered with uncertainty, and you resisted the urge to groan at his terrible attempt at lying.

Ruffilo’s gaze snapped to you, and then back to Folio, his face reddening with fury. "I’m going to fucking kill you," he growled, his voice rising with each word. "Both of you!"

Taglist: @courta13

[twistmusings]

florid and (arguably) azujade are feasting this chapter update. congrats us

Honestly Anon, you're so right.

Chapter 7 is so interesting for Octavinelle - largely because we do get to see so much of how they think of each other and themselves, and we get to see so much of their relationship with each other. Honestly the shippers are thriving, but so are so many Jade and Floyd fans.

CW: Spoilers, Twisted Wonderland Character Shipping and mentions of Neurodivergence under the cut in case that isn't your cup of tea. It's very long and examines Floyd and Riddle's and Jade and Azul's dynamics throughout TWST and is sort of Character Analysis as well. Special note that there are Visual spoilers under the cut that will spoil some of the jokes from this chapter, so proceed with caution.

First, Floyd, who we see is outright distraught when everything goes right. Honestly at this point it makes me, as an ADHD person, struggle to not view Floyd as also having ADHD. I tend to not actually assign the characters neurodivergence or diagnose them, but honestly his characteristics really point to him being understimulated and just generally miserable because he's not doing anything and that's boring him. I have heard this from so many other folks with ADHD and have experienced it myself. I think, truth be told, that Floyd is a really good picture of a young person with ADHD. Especially as someone who was just properly diagnosed later in life - I would get these random, massive intense moods and would never be able to explain them until I began to suspect I had ADHD. If we consider Floyd's general characterization - he hates to be 'bored', he hates to force himself to do things that he doesn't want to do, he had random, intense moods, randomly struggling with some academics while really excelling in the things that interest him, comparing himself to other people and not understanding why he's different ... like, yeah, as a person with ADHD I relate to him so much. It's so interesting to me because Japan in general has a lot of medical bias against diagnosing and managing neurodiversity, so I think generally speaking, he's honestly a really well written example of someone who is struggling. I think his portrayal is probably so important for young people who play the game because it makes them feel normal and accepted, and I can't deny that.

And then Floyd and Riddle... these two are so funny. Like, if you had to ask me any character that shows having a crush on someone else canonically, I would probably point to Floyd and how he acts with Riddle. Considering that they're teenagers and we know neither he nor Riddle have any experience dating (none of the characters except Ace really do), I think it's really charming because like... are they annoying the fuck out of each other? Yeah, and I think that's pretty realistic for people who are 17 who have crushes on each other. Of course, I don't want to say I support people annoying or antagonizing their partners, but they are young people who are still learning how life works. I realize that teasing =/= having a crush on someone, but like...

In the recent stitch event they had this dialogue

Riddle gets so genuinely happy when Floyd praises him. Even Jack takes note of it. And then in Floyd's Labwear...

This interaction is so telling of the sort of relationship that they have with one another - first Floyd interprets their interactions as playing. Second, Riddle takes note that Floyd is in a bad mood which means that Riddle pays enough attention to him to notice when he's having a bad day. And then you have Jade over there just like 👀. It's so goofy but it's kind of wholesome also because it shows that in spite of everything, Riddle still shows concern for Floyd and Jade is a nosy sibling.

I don't know how many people have actually read the comic anthology, but there's a side story with Floyd and Riddle where Riddle is trying to study how to control himself better following his OB and Floyd, of course, comes to bother him and notices him reading advanced books and that ends in this interaction.

Like, is Floyd being a shit? Yes, of course, but he also doesn't take it back when he says that he thinks that it's admirable that Riddle works hard.

They really are the duality. Please enjoy this too-high effort shitpost I made.

And then add the fact that in the most recent story chapters the thing that gets Floyd to wake up is Silver and Jamil reminding him of the entrance ceremony where Riddle threw him through the air, and Floyd essentially being like "Yeah goldfishie is fun that was fun" and that being what snaps him out of it? Like these two are fated to irritate the hell out of each other by the story itself.

Also I think it's such a funny cute touch that the reason Floyd even started irritating Riddle is because Riddle couldn't control his temper and flung him. Floyd was just being curious, and while, yeah he probably should have asked before he touched Riddle's hair because he was curious if it would feel hot, Riddle immediately rose to meet his energy, and generally speaking we know that Floyd is a physically motivated person. He likes to fight, and he likes to test his strength. No one else caused a scene at the Sophomore orientation except Riddle. You know, the character that is almost entirely focused on not breaking rules? Riddle painted a massive target on his own back with his temper. And honestly, what I think does make it work is that even though Floyd teases Riddle literally all the time, he does respect Riddle. Riddle is interesting to him because he's strong and reacts when Floyd irritates him. As I said before, on Floyd's end at least, the antagonism is playful, and considering Floyd's relationship with Jade and Azul it's easy to see why. It's how he was raised to view affection from friends and peers.

Now, how about Riddle's side of things? Well, while we don't get a ton of canon crumbs from Riddle, there's at least a few things that we do get. We know that Riddle sort of resents that Floyd teases him, but he has been told multiple times by other people that Floyd is just trying to get a rise out of him. And yet, every time Floyd compliments Riddle and then immediately starts teasing him, Riddle falls for it. On some level, I'm sure it's because Riddle likes the attention just as much as Floyd, even if for a different reason. Riddle gets put down a lot - from his dorm and from his own mother. But even if Floyd teases him, Floyd also gasses him up because, like I said, Floyd genuinely thinks highly of Riddle. Riddle gets complimented and he gets smug about it because he thinks highly of himself, and it probably feels good to have that recognized.

Compare Riddle's interactions with Floyd to the ones he has with Jade, for example.

From the Spectral Soiree event.

There are a couple reasons why I feel like this is important to note. First, Riddle recognizes that Jade is making fun of him immediately. Riddle also misses Jade's sarcasm. Riddle isn't good at reading Jade - he finds Jade unpredictable and malicious, and interprets this as Jade making fun of him. In contrast, you don't see Riddle outright refuse a compliment from Floyd - he knows that Floyd is being upfront about how he feels when he says the things he does, but he doesn't know that about Jade. Riddle is also the butt of the joke here, whereas if we compare it to the similar situation that he went through with Floyd during the Tropical Turbulence event.

Floyd is teasing Riddle, yes, but in this situation he isn't making Riddle the butt of the joke, he's just causing a little bit of chaos. Floyd already has a plan in place, but Riddle the two aren't arguing with each other. It's also important to note that Floyd is one of the few characters outside of his dorm that Riddle really banters with comfortably.

The other thing is that though they compete with and annoy each other, Floyd and Riddle are actually genuinely pretty nice to each other otherwise. They both compliment each other pretty frequently even if they usually pepper in barbs as they do.

Floyd and Riddle are also pretty similar people, too:

At any rate, that's a lot of screenshots to basically say, yes they do make fun of each other and tease each other, but when they do get onto the same page, they work very well together and seem to have a mutual respect for each other even if they criticize each other. They can identify the aspects in each other that they can't identify in themselves and it makes their chemistry interesting because every time they share screentime it seems like they learn from each other.

Anyway, Florid fans eat well literally any time these two share screen time.

And then Jade and Azul... honestly those two cracked me up the entire time.

First you have Jade's dream with his god awful imagination. Jade literally gets the knockoff versions of Azul and Floyd as I said in the first post about it, but I think it's interesting to see how he perceives both of them. I'll be including images this time.

I'll start with Floyd because HOO buddy if I was Floyd and had to endure this shit.

This is an actual crime.

That being said, Floyd is noticeably more childish in Jade's dream than the actual Floyd is in reality, both in his rather immature visage as well as a more child-like way of speaking.

It's worth noting, in Floyd's dream, Floyd doesn't really pay much attention to where Jade is, and he doesn't really pay any attention to where Azul is either. He says "Eh, Jade's probably with Azul on land because the Mostro Lounge was succeeding." Floyd also makes a point of saying that it's a rule between the three of them - they don't have to stick together - if they don't want to do something, then they won't stick together and whoever wants to do it can do it on their own, or if they don't want to involve someone in something, they don't involve them in it. (Ironically, I would argue that this is one of the healthier dynamics for friendship in TWST that we see. All three of them have discussed and come to understand that if they need to separate ways, they will, they don't want to hold each other back from the things they enjoy.)

Jade on the other hand, and whether Floyd likes it or not, seems to view Floyd as a younger brother. We don't get confirmation as to whether or not Jade hatched first or if Floyd hatched first, but regardless of whichever it is, it seems like Jade views Floyd as his younger brother, and seems to have an instinct to coddle him, even if this portrayal of Floyd is deeply unflattering to Floyd and starts a whole fight.

It's also of note: Floyd didn't expect to be in Jade's dream at all. Floyd talks about how he figures that Jade has just dreamed about him in a similar way that Floyd had dreamed of Jade - off doing whatever he wanted to do. That's not true - Floyd is there, with Jade, and engaging in Jade's interests.

In Jade's official EN school uniform home tap he says:

Though some translations tend to interpret this line differently, and essentially instead say that Floyd is clingier than he seems.

The reason I'm pointing this out is because Jade is the only one of the three who's primary dream features all three of them together. This would seem to point toward Jade actually being the one who's clingier, and to being the one who's most attached to both of them. I can't really say for certain, but I almost wonder if Jade has a bit of a fear of abandonment with regard to Azul and Floyd and that's why his ideal dream world is one where they're both so reliant on him.

And then Azul...

Is Giorno Giovanna in the room with us?

Seriously though, I think it's kind of interesting to see how Azul is portrayed in Jade's imagination.

For reference, here's what Azul actually looks like in his mer form in the same pose.

The thing I immediately noticed is Azul's eyes. Sure, the image Jade has of Azul is a JJBA joke, but there's something else I want to point out about them in particular.

Azul's eyes are an entirely different, brighter color. In fact, it's also a different color from Azul's overblot eye color as well.

We know that Jade's limited imagination means he's working on his own impressions of Floyd and Azul and you're telling me that Jade's impression of Azul is that he looks like a character from a manga known for being about handsome, fabulous men and that he has ginormous, bright, shiny blue eyes that look like sapphires? Hello?????? Jade???

I think this is fascinating because had they just drawn Azul as like a normal old JJBA reference but kept his color palette the same, I could see it just being explained as "oh, neat, Jade thinks Azul is handsome when Azul doesn't" but follow me with this: Jade's imagination is painting them in broad strokes the way that Epel's imagination was doing in his dream. These are Jade's impressions of Floyd and Azul.

Floyd tracks - he sees Floyd as a younger brother and someone he inherently wants to take care of, even if it's not realistic. Floyd is a childish younger brother in a cartoonish way. Azul is motivated by money in a cartoonish way. These are the traits that stick out the most about the both of them to Jade.

So when Jade imagines Azul physically what he sees is Azul being handsome AND that he has these shiny bright blue eyes even if his memory gets the shade of blue wrong. Jade....... honey................ I need you to sit down when I tell you this..........

And then after he and Floyd fight, because Jade is too stubborn to wake up because he can't grasp that what he's seeing is wrong, the thing that finally triggers him to realize something is off is this version of dream Azul checking on him after the fight and being relieved he's okay and then saying that he's afraid he would have lost his "かわいい部下".

The thing that triggers Jade to start waking up is Azul calling Jade his cute subordinate (essentially his cute assistant). I am not exaggerating this. That is literally the phrase that triggers Jade. Jade even repeats it.

AND HE FUCKING PANICS

JADE. I AM BEGGING THE SECONDHAND CRINGE THIS MADE ME FEEL.

From there the dream Floyd of course says he's going to cry if Jade left him and like that just seals the deal. And everyone is super impressed because Jade realized it was wrong by himself and woke himself up.

I don't tend to insert my opinions much in my post but there is not a single person on this planet that is not going to make me believe that Jade did not just gay panic himself awake. I feel like most queer people have experienced something just like this. Jade literally wakes himself up because he's like "no, wait, hold on, Azul wouldn't say that, right?" and then Floyd saying he's going to cry sells it. Dream Azul essentially just fucking "baby girl"ed him and Jade was like "no, actually, that's too cringe for me to even dream about".

Then you have Azul's dream. Honestly there aren't a lot of crumbs there for Jade, but I think it's sort of sweet how even if they're sort of forced to, Jade and Floyd don't want to force Azul to do anything. They have a lot of respect for each other's personal boundaries, and they were fully prepared to let Azul stay asleep and allow him to work it out himself if he wanted to wake up. It doesn't end up working out that way, but it's not hard to tell that both the twins and Azul had respect for each other as individuals.

Another neat thing is that Azul is one of the few people who's dreams aren't inherently things he really wants. They're more of "what-if" scenarios. What if Azul was good at sports and ended up being a high school athlete? What if Azul actually got to follow through on burning that picture of his younger self and then opened a Mostro Lounge branch? I think it's interesting that Azul seems to be kept in these dreams because his imagination is vivid, and not because they're an ideal world perse. In a sense they are - but Azul himself admits that he doesn't really want either of them.

Azul gets so much growth shown in this chapter. He ends up wanting to wake up because he wants to live for himself, and not live for what other people think of him or having to rely on them. Azul still wants to succeed, but he wants to succeed for himself and not because he feels a need to one up the people that bullied him, and he wants to be fulfilled in himself. He's actually working on his mental health, I love that for him.

And, one more thing of note, I think it's so fucking cool that at the end of the book, Azul doesn't freak out about other people seeing him in his true form. In fact, he doesn't freak out about seeing himself in his true form when Idia makes a proxy version of him - he's just thinking about how cool it would be to have a second version of himself. I feel like most people have gotten the sense that Azul has a sense of self-loathing regarding his mer-form, but it seems like if he did at some point, he's made peace with it.

Anyway that's an unnecessarily long infodump about my feelings about the character relationships that we've got in the new update. Like obnoxiously long. So, uh... I'll just end the post with Azul's smiling sprite because I just think it's fucking adorable.

[anontheghost]

So... What is the deal with Blitz's and Moxxie's upbringing?

Let's start by saying the obvious: Blitz’s and Moxxie’s families are almost exact mirrors to each other: They both have terrible, greedy fathers who just enjoy making their lives miserable and amazing dead mothers who we know nothing about except their cause of death and how much they are missed by their sons. 

The only significant distinctions are that Moxxie's story is splattered with glossy mafia paint and that his mother was drowned while he was still a very young child. On the other hand, Blitz's mother, Tilla, died when he was a teenager and was burned to death. The rest? Pretty much the same.

However, the similarities between their backstories are not really the problem; after all, in real life, we can find people who lived through similar traumas and that is a pretty interesting aspect to explore in fantastical stories as well. 

Many other shows have done it incredibly well (Bojack Horseman) but Helluva Boss failed in that department. 

The very interesting family dynamics were only bought at the surface level, not explored in any meaningful way except to give the characters “cheap trauma moments” that could potentially get ruined by either the insertion of out of place comedy or never mentioned again. 

How am I supposed to treat Crimson’s abuse of Moxxie as something serious when the minute before dildos popped out the walls for a joke? How did Blitz’s guilt over the fire and his mother’s death truly affect his relationships—romantic or otherwise? Was it all just a narrative plot to drag the Stolitz charade for as many episodes as possible? Heck, we do not even see Blitz and Mooixe interact more about their shared trauma! Or about how much they missed their mothers.

It is a little depressing because, despite knowing nothing about Moxxie and Blitz's mothers, we, the viewer, are expected to care about them and see their significance. Instead we are left with a million questions that will probably never have an answer. 

Were they really good parents or are their sons only remembering the good parts of their relationship because they are dead? 

How did they truly influence their kids? Did Moxxie’s love for musical theater come from his mother? Did Blitz’s fascination for horses be because of Tilla or was it someone else?

How was their relationship with their husbands and why did they stay even after the marriage went south? What brought them together in the first place? Because, in all honesty, both couples just don't seem compatible in any way, that one just can help but ask how did everything worked.

Sadly, we can only speculate. 

So, without further due, these are my speculations. Part of the great rewrite that I am doing of the series. Because sometimes terrible writing decisions just move my creative juices in the right direction. 

Tilla and Cash Buckzo.  “I do love you, as much as I am capable of loving anyone, which is never enough.”

What would have happened if Princess Carolyn and Bojack Horseman ignored all the red flags in their relationship and chose to get married anyway? That wouldn’t have been good, but that is exactly what happened to Tilla and Cash Buckzo—the result was a messy marriage where love could not overcome their different views on life and incompatible personalities.

So... why did they stay in a marriage that was not working? Simple, a divorce would mean financial ruin for both of them.

Let me explain. 

(Worldbuilding note: How marriage functions and how people in Hell generally view it is one aspect of the Hellaverse that truly baffles me. To avoid confusion, each ring in this revision will have its own set of marital norms and perspectives.)

(In the Greed Ring, marriage is nothing more than another business transaction and is treated as such. Two individuals may absolutely hate each other, but if the marriage will benefit them economically, then they will go through with it.)

The sole compelling argument for Cash and Tilla's marriage was that it was the wisest course of action to maintain and save their respective livelihoods. Imps are not permitted to own companies (as I stated in the Stolitz Non-Romance rewrite.) and in the Greed Ring, Mammon owns ALL of the entertainment industry (circuses included) and he will not hesitate to shut down a circus if it is not bringing the profit.

The small circuses Cash and Tilla were supervising were on the brink of bankrupsy, so what better solution than to marry each other and combine their assets? It will give them more time to survive.

In hindsight, their plan worked perfectly; Tilla and Cash were able to build up themselves financially, and using their combined business talents, they were able to expand their new big renovated circus and turn in a profit that would keep Mammon off their backs. 

They were great business partners, but as a couple, they lacked a lot. 

They did occasionally have tender moments, but they were squandered by arguments, lengthy silences, and extremely uncomfortable dinners. At one point, they even began sleeping in different beds, just to avoid fighting. Everybody who knew them could see that they were just not good for each other and could barely tolerate the other presence.

This begs the question: How did they manage to have Blitz and Barbie?

The decision to have a kid was straightforward and, like their marriage, based on business. They wanted a successor to take over their responsibilities when they died, as it was something now needed as the circus grew. So one night, they decided to get drunk and just get it over with.

But, to the surprise of themselves and everyone else, Tilla and Cash were their best selves throughout the pregnancy. 

During those four months that the pregnancy lasted, Cash and Tilla acted like a happy couple, anxiously waiting for the arrival of their beloved baby. They no longer fought; they were just too busy happily imagining a future where the three of them would be happy while preparing for their child.

Maybe everything would be okay; their relationship could only get better from now on, right? Once their beautiful little girl arrives, they will be a complete family of three with no intentions of adding more. 

Yikes.

In their defence, there are few medical facilities available to imps, and when they attended the controls, the physicians informed them that they would only be having one child, Barbie.

Their budget and plans were severely ruined by Blitz's unexpected arrival because they were only ready to provide full care for one baby, not two. If Mammon kept the majority of the profits, how would they be able to buy two of everything? 

They would endure a long period of hardship and didn’t they enter this marriage to prevent just that?!

Tilla, being the mother and the one who gave birth, accepted this change, promising to love both children equally; sadly, Cash didn’t.

It didn’t take too long before they started fighting again, even if it was in front of their kids. As you can imagine, growing up with parents who fought even for the most minimal of problems leaves a long-lasting impression on a child and how they will handle their own relationships in the future. 

To this day, Barbie still has problems telling her girlfriends when something is wrong or is upsetting her. On the other hand, Blitz gets overwhelmed when he notices things going south in a relationship and leaves it all together. 

Things didn’t really improve much as the twins grew up. 

Sure, the family had their relative moments of peace, but Cash only paid real love and attention to Barbie, being the child he really wanted while completely ignoring Blitz. Tilla, upset about this but knowing that Cash won’t change, tried to give more attention to her son, accidentally ignoring her daughter’s needs.

Yes, Tilla was not a “perfect, angelic mother," canon portrayed her as. If anything, she was a little bit overbearing when it came to Blitz, as she felt she needed to make up for his father’s abandonment. She genuinely believed that Barbie didn’t need her as much, and the girl liked to spend more time with her father anyway, who needed to train her to take over the circus.

At this point, their family was divided into two separate families that just happened to live in the same house: one consisted of a kind but overprotective mother and her son; the other, a strict but understanding father and his daughter/heir. The only point in which Tilla and Cash interacted was when they worked on the circus, or when they were fighting for the most minimal things. 

Their family dynamic was mostly like that... until Tilla died.

Blitz remembers only the good moments he spent with her, looking at her actions and life with rose-colored glasses of love. For him, Tilla was the perfect mother who basically could do no wrong. 

However, if you ask Barbie, she’ll say that while she is sad that her mother passed away, she is unable to truly feel devastated since she never knew the woman well enough. Barbie is even a bit resentful for the times Tilla chose to spend time with Blitz instead of her.

And with Cash... How would you think Bojack would react if PC died before him? 

Now… what about Moxxie’s family?

Crimson and Belia (Name I am giving Moxxie’s mom)

"You better grow up to be something great, to make up for all the damage you done."

One particular thing that I noticed about Crimson is how young he looks despite being Moxxie’s dad. If I knew nothing about Helluva Boss and someone showed me a picture of those two, I would 100% believe they are siblings, not father and son.

While we can attribute this to Vivzie's inability to draw older men, why not play with this?

Let's set up the stage.

When Moxxie entered the picture, Crimson and Belia were just seventeen years old and not even dating. However, I suppose that when you are a careless teenager, the consequences of forgetting the condom don't truly hit you until something goes wrong.

As one may expect, Crimson was not happy with the news and was even more angry when Belia told him that she wanted to keep the baby and sustained her ground no matter how many times Crimson told her to get rid of the pregnancy. Why not? They were both fucking teenagers, just fooling around and he had no intentions of becoming a father, at least not this young! What was truly stopping her?

Nobody truly knows why Belia chose to keep her son to this day. 

When alive, she would tell you without a doubt that she loved her child from the first moment and couldn't bear to let him go, even in the face of less than perfect circumstances. But Moxxie hasn't believed that version of the story in a very long time. 

Moxxie now thinks that the main reason why Belia had him was because she didn't want to endure the awful and harsh conditions of an Imp Health Center. Due to the horrible way the doctors treated the imp patients, lack of medicine and equipment, most imps avoided those places like the plage.

Unfortunately, sick imps had no other choice but to go to the centers for treatment. Because if an imp even dares to step a hoof on the more well equipped hospitals in Sloth or Lust, they would be immediately kicked out no matter the emergency.

For more serious issues, wealthy imps (like Crimson's family) would hire a private physician. However, Belia was aware that Crimson would never spend that kind of money on her. 

Or maybe Belia didn’t want to give Crimson the satisfaction of getting out of his responsibilities. 

When Crimson's own father learned about the, at that point, already advanced pregancy, he forced Crimson and Belia to get married. Given the Knowlastname family's significant power in Greed's imp neighborhoods, Crimson's status as an unmarried young father would be viewed as a shameful scandal.

Belia only consented to the marriage because she had nowhere else to go. When her parents found out that their seventeen-year-old daughter was expecting, they were so disappointed that they disinherited and prohibited her from ever returning home.

(Later, when I rewrite Exes and Oh's, I will go into more detail about what Crimson’s family does in the Greed Ring. They are still involved in “less than legal” practices and loan sharking, but is a little bit different than in canon since now I based the Greed Ring in the entertainment industry.)

Of course, as one may expect, things in that marriage went south real fast. 

Every time Crimson looked at Moxxie and Belia, he saw nothing but the two demons who took away his carefree teenhood together with the respect of his father, and with each passing year, he just became more and more cruel. At one point, he simply started physically abusing his wife, who always put herself as a buffer between Moxxie and Crimson.

If Belia dared to raise her voice against her husband, Crimson would merely tell her that the opportunity to leave him went away the minute she decided to bring “that brat” into hell without his permission. Now she was just reaping what she sowed.

Being physically and mentally abused by her husband (who, as a bonus, also turned everyone in the household against her) took a toll on Belia’s mental health. She still wanted to be the best mother she could be, but how can you raise a child in an environment where everybody sees them as the enemy? When your mind makes your body so heavy that getting out of bed becomes an impossible task?

More than once, Belia considered taking her son and moving back to Wrath. But then, to where? Her parents didn’t want to see her; she lost contact with her friends, and since she never finished school, she had no hireable qualities. How would she support herself and Mooxie if she decides to leave? Being a single imp mother in hell is not easy!

It was impossible! At this point, she just needed to endure. 

She will not let Crimson win; she will not let that man break her and Moxxie. While Crimson was definitely stronger than her, putting on a smile after a beating that sent Crimson into a frustrated frenzy was all she needed to feel she had won, even if her body stated otherwise.

There were also the times she and Moxxie went on hikes together, pretending that they were going on a grand adventure as far away from Crimson as possible. Being happy when Crimson didn’t want them to was the little act of rebellion she needed to stay sane.

However, Belia’s breaking point came after Moxxie’s seventh birthday, just a few months after Crimson’s father died, when her “beloved” husband brought home another pregnant imp. 

Belia was no idiot; she knew that her husband had been cheating on her for years, but she never said anything because she didn’t care enough to do it. So, Crimson had a side piece? big deal, she stopped loving him a long time ago. 

However, it was too much to bear to watch Crimson, a guy she believed to be utterly cruel, be a loving and caring partner to this imp and be so thrilled about the birth of their cherished child.

I mean, when you witness the same man who repeatedly denigrated your son, cursed and beat you for being pregnant, joyfully decorating a nursery while choosing baby names and spoiling his new partner, whom he never raised his voice at, it can and will break something in you. 

Ultimately, what could be worse? Accepting that your partner will never change? Or realizing that you were never worth the positive change they could bring about?

What did she do wrong?

Moxxie still doesn’t know what happened to his mom; what is certain is that one day he woke up and she was not there. While part of him is sure that Crimson killed her so he could marry his new partner, there is a part of him, small but loud, that tells him that Belia abandoned him at the mercy of his father. 

Why would she not? Moxxie knows that he looks a lot like Crimson, so it was possible that at some point, his poor mother couldn’t look at him anymore without remembering her abuser. He is also familiar with the sad reality that, if Belia tried escaping with him, the possibilities of re-doing her life with a kid on her toe would have been very slim.

Not to mention impossible.

After his mother disappeared, Moxxie became a ghost in his own house. Apart from giving orders and degrading him, Crimson was more focused on his new family and new children to “waste energy” in a son he never wanted. While Moxxie’s step-parent was not physically violent, their constant degrading of Belia and their attempts to erase all trace of her existence really put Moxxie on edge.

Sadly, he couldn’t say anything because the first and only time Mooxie tried to go against their wishes, Crimson put a stop to that real fast. 

Moxxie had to see firsthand how Crimson was a true, loving father to his stepsiblings. He listened to them constantly, never yelled at them, and never struck them—things he never did with his first kid. He also made sure to teach them how their big brother was nothing but a failure and to stay clear of him since “wimpyness” could be contagious.

Moxxie wishes he could know them better.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o00

And this is all for today. I will give more information about Mooxie’s family (as well as his relationship with Chaz) when I rewrite Exes and Oh’s. Remember that these are mostly my first draft thoughts and can and probably will be changed for the final product. 

I hope you enjoy! I love when you comment!

[haechansdoll]

my little doll - ml x reader

Pairing : Boxer!Lee Mark x f!Reader

Description : Humans have hormones, you understand that much. But does that explain why you can't stop the filthy daydreams that fill your head whenever you see a specific redhead? Does it excuse you for getting turned on by him simply breathing in your direction? And to make matters worse, he is off-limits, if your father found out you were messing with his prized boxer? You would be chained to a tower and your red-haired crush would be used as mincemeat.

Warnings : Bloody Nose, Perversion, Dom/Sub, Power Play, Panties, Caught Having Sex, Overstimulation

Wordcount : 20k

Hormones.

You dearly hate them, you hate how your chest does somersaults at the mere sight of him, or the fact you have to cross your legs when his voice tickles your ear, let alone the mocking sensation of arousal that forever plagues your core at the sweet little pet names he sure loves giving you. From the crimson red hair that falls over his shoulders, typically pulled back with a loose-fitting clip, a matching pair of eyes that have this undeniable sultry and charming glint to them, or the scars from broken bones or other mishaps he has yet to give you a story about that stick to his powerful arms and mesmerizing torso.

If anyone were to find out about the things that run through your head, the lewd imagery, the erotic scenarios... you would never be able to show your face again. It's normal to have less-than-pure thoughts, right? You're no less human than the next person, everyone has desires and fantasies!

But does that excuse the fact you've desperately been waiting for any chance you can get to go and relieve yourself? That the more you stare at him, the more you think about how good he may be in bed? His muscles flexing with each thrust, imagining the length and girth of his cock, would his voice be gruff or husky?

The recollection of your inner desires has you aching, it is humiliating, to say the least. Especially when the man who is the center of these very thoughts just so happens to be standing behind you, one hand on your shoulder, the other guiding your wrist. The close proximity has you feeling sick, between his voice right beside your ear and his hands on your arm.

To be honest, aren't you sick? Pretty sick in the head to be lewding Mark without his knowledge, what would he think of you if he were to learn of these sinful scenarios you let consume you? You simply cannot help it, any woman in your position would probably be the same, right? Thinking of all the things those hands can do, how his rough fingertips would feel between your legs, his tongue against your...

It isn't like anyone knows either, after all, it would spread like a wildfire if anyone were to find out about your less than an innocent crush. In your opinion, you do quite a good job at masking it, not too clingy to him but also not completely avoiding him. After all, he is your father's "student" if you could say that, often training under the watchful gaze of your dad.

Sometimes it still feels like just the other day when you two first interacted, him introducing himself, saying how he works under your dad. You heard of him from your father often boasting about this guy he is training. You figure it would be another older guy, rough around the edges, not good enough to be eye candy. You couldn't have been any more wrong, completely in shock to learn that this "guy" was not only a lot younger than you expected but looked like those Greek statues.

You can never quite focus when he speaks to you, eyes wandering ever so discreetly, ears deafening when you catch sight of a bead of sweat dripping down his neck, how the lump in his throat bobs while he talks or drinks water. 

Even now, as you throw another punch per his instruction, your focus is entirely elsewhere. Not on the way he tells you to twist your wrist when launching your fist from your body, but rather how good it feels when he speaks right next to your shoulder, each word making your eardrums vibrate. If only he knew that you weren't very focused on his self-defense lesson, but rather how good it would feel to have those big hands wrapped around your neck or your thigh... anywhere is fine by you.

Most nights you find yourself fantasizing about Mark…Mark, all the filthy scenarios possible flooding your already corrupted mind the whole time you feel yourself up. Gripping your sheets and pretending it's his hair, breathing into your pillow to try and mask the sounds of pleasure you just can't keep in. You feel awful every time you finish, though. Hastily fixing yourself and going to shower, hoping the water will wash away sin.

Alas, you know that any level you go to repent would never erase the tainted marks of lust from your body. You're trapped in this, like a stalkerish fan swooning over her celebrity crush. Again, thanking whomever it concerns that mind-reading is not a thing.

A hand comes down onto the top of your head, drawing you from your deeper workings, "That time was really good," Mark praised with a grin, fingers dripping from your skin, much to your dismay, "Try it again without me guiding you, put your all into it!" If you had any less self-control, a moan would have passed your lips from his perfect voice, each word rolling off his tongue like honey from a spoon. 

Times like now you wish you had a deeper relationship than what is now accessed, that way you could just grab at his arms and give him the prettiest bats of your lashes all for the sake of begging him to take you somewhere private. That's all you want right now, to feel his soft lips on yours, to taste his tongue that probably will feel minty from the gum he is currently chewing. The simple privilege of being able to kiss him would surely kill you.

You throw another punch and really start to feel that ache in your shoulder, but Mark calls it a "good burn", something you remember even your father saying back when you were little. Your eyes glance to the clock hung on the wall, usually, you are hoping time will fly by, but right now? You hope it goes painfully slow, who knows when the next time will be when you have him so close with his hands all over you.

"I think you've mastered how to punch someone, I'm a little scared by how quick you are..." The playfulness in his voice does more than make you smile, it also contributes to the arousal that continues to soak into your panties, which you can probably assume are ruined at this point, "Let's practice a kick for if you're being restrained by two people." 

The last thing you expect is to feel him come up from behind and wrap his arms around your torso, restraining your arms and keeping you firmly pressed to his solid front. You would have cum right there if it wasn't for how focused you were on the veins in his arms or his flushed knuckles, "So if someone comes from behind, they'll most likely grab you in a way to trap your arms." His voice vibrates in his chest, which in turn vibrates against your back. 

Mark gives you a bit of a squeeze, a soft gasp fluttering from your lips not because of the restriction on your lungs but rather how if you arch your back just enough... you would probably feel the one thing you daydream about. The one thing you imagine fucking you every night when you touched yourself. 

"It'll be hard to elbow them, and depending on how tall they are you may not be able to head-butt them... so you can take one of your legs and then jab your heel into the arch of their foot, the point is to fracture or break those bones because then it'll either make them immobile or they won't be able to run after you when you get away." You nod your head along to his words, "Or, some people say to put as much as you can to lean forward because attackers expect you to thrash in their arms or try to hit them."

Mark lightly nudges you as a means to lean forward, you almost think not to, afraid of the hormones that are already driving you up the wall. But you do it anyway, leaning forward, despite the fact he is pressed into every inch of your backside, "Take both of your hands and grab at one of my legs, whichever you think is easier, and then you're gonna pull as hard as you can to try and knock me off."

You almost feel bad, but you assume that since he is giving you this lesson, he expects to get roughed up a little. So despite your inner conflict not to, you lean forward as much as it takes to grab the leg closest to you, that being his right leg, and firmly gripping his calf and pulling his leg towards you. You're almost surprised by how easy it was, one second he is holding onto you, his breath wafting against the back of your neck, and now he is flat on his back.

"That caught me off guard," He says in disbelief, without your knowledge his crimson eyes watch how you slowly stand up straight after successfully breaking free of his grasp, "I shouldn't underestimate you considering how intense your father is with training." He notices your panties peeking through the fabric of your yoga leggings, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip, and staring until the red fabric is no longer peaking through.

"When I was little he taught me some basic things," You turn around to offer him a hand, which he gratefully takes, "But I don't think the moves I learned when I was little will be much assistance now." You help him up with a smile, for a moment you forget the tension that had previously been eating you, "Thank you for helping me, you make it more fun than it should be."

The crimson-haired boxer offers you one of his signature smiles, flashing those pearly white teeth you always think of dragging your tongue over, "You're adorable," His fingers playfully give your cheeks a pinch just to see you pout, "Let's do one more move before you gotta close up, I think you have it in you to give it a try." Who are you to argue? After all, it means more time to ogle over him, to feel his hands, to dream up filthy scenarios that have your pussy throbbing.

What you don't expect is to feel one of his hands fall on the dip of your waist to stabilize you, the other coming down to hook under your knee and slowly lift your leg, "You're pretty flexible, I expected that... naturally everyone's legs are stronger than their arms. So sometimes if you see an opening, go for a nice high kick right into either their chin or nose." So that's why he is holding you like this.

His words, just for a moment, blur as you look at his hands on your body. The position is oddly provocative, it is easy to just picture you both nude, his cock driving in and out of you just like this. His hands holding your soft thighs wide open for him, one leg hooked over his arm as those very fingers tease your clit, his other hand snaking up your front to tweak your nipples and torturously squeeze your tits.

It's disgusting, filthy that all he is doing is holding you like this to guide you and you're imagining him fucking you just like this. It's horribly wrong, sickening - but oh, it would probably feel so good like this. His tip would rub against that sweet stop your fingers can barely reach, his breath against the very shoulder he would mark with hickeys...

"There we go," His voice sounds so close it nearly makes you flinch, "Okay, you want to aim with your heel and not the tip of your shoe because it can strain your ankle or even hurt the arch of your foot. So lock your leg as you swing it up and pretend like you're jabbing someone with your heel." You wish his cock was jabbing your insides, but nonetheless, you strike your heel into the air effortlessly.

Mark whistles at the power in your leg, what he would give to see you beat the shit out of someone. He is sure you could probably even take him out if you tried, which is another reason he hopes he never gets on your bad side. The first reason being that your dad would kill him.

"Maybe I should start practicing with you," He muses when you smoothly bring your leg back down, "I bet you'd be able to break me down, especially with a kick like that." What you would give to simply watch him train with your father, you've seen it a handful of times. How he drives his fists into the punching bag, or the muscles in his thighs stiffening when he tries to knock his sparring partner down. He always leaves you drooling, hoping to feel those very hands wrapped around your throat or to ride his thighs while he teases you for being such a slut. 

As much as you would love to spend the time with him, you know you wouldn't be able to handle all the touching, to see him sweating and his muscles showing through his less-than-covering tank top. Sometimes he even goes shirtless, which is ten times worse and even more hormone-inducing. If only there was a way to confidently tell him, "I've wanted to have sex with you since I first saw you, so please do whatever you want with me."

"I think you'd probably break me..." The words weren't meant to come out sounding so sexual, leaving a pinkish blush on his cheeks and at the tip of his ears, "But we can always practice like this whenever you want." You miss how he shuffles in place, trying to knock your first sentence from his head. Break you? He knows what you meant... but even he has some not-so-innocent thoughts.

With it being time to close, regulars gradually leave the gym, bidding you a farewell per usual, the machines slowly becoming empty. Though the only person who patiently remains, discreetly watching passing figures as they leave the building, is the redhead you have been eyeing all day. It is rather exciting, watching the final person pack up their things and leave, finally granting you the privacy you've desired all day.

You begin the process of locking up the gym, working the locks on the alternate entrance, as well as pulling the drop-down fence that cages the windows. You two often leave through the back door, so you always lock up the front earlier than you both intend to depart. Whenever he stays a little later than usual, he often waits for you to close and you will leave together. 

Being so focused on closing the main entrances and front of the gym, you don't notice the figure approaching you from behind, not until a shadow casts over you and you notice the lighting change. Not until a hand falls onto your shoulder, to which you peer behind you to see Markall packed up, "Did you bring a sweater? It's supposed to be cold out."

"I didn't, but it's fine because my car is right there." He knows it is, but he also knows that you tend to park quite a bit away from the apartment you share with your father because it didn't have a parking garage, "I'll be fine! Worst case scenario I catch a cold and can't come to work tomorrow." That's when you remember an important detail about tomorrow, one that you've been looking forward to all week.

"You have a match tomorrow, right?" Comes your voice amid his needless thinking, "Dad is making the plans, he's been running around all day... I think he may be more excited than you." You try to change the subject, knowing he will be persistent regarding you taking his sweater.

"Yeah, and that's another reason you should take my hoodie... that way you don't get sick and you can be there to cheer me on." His words make you feel so warm and fuzzy inside, is he really that worried? Does he really want you there to see him? It's too much, you may just pass out knowing he wants you to cheer for him in the crowd!

You heard rumors of professionals possibly attending, managers of some sort. It all sounds a little too good to be true, but knowing your father he is always pulling strings. To locals, it's considered a big deal because of the chance to gamble bets, entertainment... The matches are memorable. Mark likes the attention, to hear people chant his name and praise him, that adrenaline he gets when he is so close to winning. It is a drug, an addiction he just cannot shake. He needs support.

Finally, you take the hoodie from his hand, pulling the thick fabric over your head and covering yourself, "Thank you, Mark." He is so sweet, it makes you feel guilty for letting these thoughts ravage your brain. For allowing yourself to lewd him constantly, he has been nothing but respectful with you and all you can think about is how fucking good it would feel to sit on his face right now.

"Are you gonna be there to give me some good luck?" His words catch you off guard, give him some good luck? you never really see him before his matches, usually, only after will you congratulate him and offer to take him out for something to eat, per request from your father. It is a tradition to celebrate after a successful fight. Most of the night you will ogle over him, how good he looks with a slightly swollen lip, or how you would kill to lick the little bit of blood sticking to the fresh wound on his brow.

What could you possibly do to give him good luck? You will have to think of something, you can't disappoint him, "Since tomorrow is a big deal, I guess I have to make sure you have as much luck as possible, right?" Your words bring a grin to his face, you've always been so kind yet carefree. He likes that a lot about you, how you don't take everything so seriously, and never feels like he has to walk on eggshells around you. 

Whatever it may be, he likes getting some sort of recognition from you before he fights, you leave this positive and sweet taste in his chest. He finds that he tries harder with you around, whether it be to impress you or earn plenty of praises and compliments when the match is over. He doesn't care what you come up with, so long as it's from you.

Mark Remembers that you're off the clock and should get home before it's too dark, "A-Anway," He clears his throat and adjusts his gym bag over his shoulder, "Let's get out of here, I think we both could use a shower..." Despite his words, he is eyeing how exhausted you look, sweaty and your eyes a little swollen from overworking yourself. It reminds him of the time you went on a run with him, an innocent invitation he gave you since he never really sees you outside of the gym.

To his surprise, you weren't at all a bad runner, but unfortunately, your stamina does not nearly match his and he can still remember how cute you looked, tripping over your feet and waving your hand for him to slow down. The sweat that stuck to your face, neck, chest... how you were shivering all the while scraping to regain some oxygen in your lungs. Your fingers holding onto his arm, leaning into him with your eyes closed. 

You had looked so pretty that day, but all he could think about was whether or not you'd look the same if he were to have sex with you. Would the sweet bead up the same? Would your eyes get heavy once it was over? Would you pant and cling to him like now, doing your best to keep up and not collapse from exhaustion? That was the first time he ever thought of you other than as a friend, and ever since it feels like the daydreams have gotten a little worse.

Not nearly as explicit as yours, though.

God, you want to fuck him so bad. You want to ride him until your thighs burn, to feel his teeth marking your skin with every push of his hips, to open your mouth just so he can spit in it... reminding you that you're nothing but a perverted, disgusting, awful whore. That's exactly what you are. A brainless, hormonal...

Right, you're supposed to be leaving. With a final adjustment to the sweater he had kindly given you, you lead the way to the back door of the gym. You wish you didn't have to depart so soon, just before he had his hands all over you! Touching your legs, holding your waist... can't you turn back time just enough to go through that all over again? Even if it's just him guiding you to a proper punch. 

What you would give to feel those hands on your tits, or cupping the apex of your thighs. Would it feel different from when you touch yourself? Probably. His fingers are bigger, thicker, rough... you can only imagine the way they would curl to rub that special spot inside of your walls. You bet he would be able to make you squirt, you can only imagine it... if only.

"Make sure you sleep early," He chimes from beside you, "That way I can see you early before I have to go prepare for tomorrow night." It is bizarre how insistent he is on seeing you before the fight, did you do something different to yourself? Deep down, you're praying he may just have a little crush on you, but you doubt it. He could like anyone, he would never choose you... right?

Nonetheless, you don't let your selfish thinking distract you from the handsome man beside you. What doe sit matter whether he likes you or not? At least he talks with you. But every human has selfish desires, yours just happens to be wanting the crimson-haired boxer beside you to be yours, "I wouldn't miss a chance to see you," The words come out faster than you could bite your tongue, but with the cat out of the bag you roll with it, "Maybe I could bring you something to eat?"

The suggestions noticeably brighten him, the two of you coming out of the back door which you begin to lock for the night, "That would be nice, remember those grape leaves you had made that one time? I'd kill for those..." Neither of you misses how his voice noticeably quiets, as if he only wants you to hear that, for the huskiness in his tone to catch your ears. 

To say it doesn't cause a million and one butterflies to waltz in from your stomach into your chest, would be a lie. It would be a lie to deny how the most minuscule quirks he has always leave you in a state of your own temporary bliss. You wish you could hear him whisper over and over, to come up behind you like in those cliche romance films from the 60s. For his arms to encase your midsection, lips meeting the shell of your ear, telling you how his day is better now that he is home with you.

Oh, what you would give to live out a shitty romance film from however many decades ago with Mark. To be that mindless trophy wife even if for a day, to forget all responsibility and for him safely coming home to you to be your only worry. To spend your hours cooking and cleaning, making yourself look your prettiest if it means letting him use you to destress.

You just want to make him happy, is that so wrong? Maybe.

"I'll be sure to make you some," You say back, eyes falling from his to instead look at your sneakers, "W-Well, I'll see you early tomorrow... I'll be sure to bring your sweater back." You miss the subtle smile due to your eyes being elsewhere, a smile that lasts until you look back up to him, "Drive home safe, I can't wait to see the fight tomorrow."

The two of you bid your farewell, Mark keeping his eye on you up until you safely enter the comfort of your car, and only then does he get into his own. You always miss those gentlemanly gestures he does, how he never leaves until he sees you're safely in your car, always keeping an eye out for you whenever you go off to the bathroom. He gets so worried over you being just a minute too long, and part of him excuses it for a "need to protect" urge in him.

But a very small part of him has already learned to accept he may or may not have feelings for you, whether they are romantic or platonic, he cannot pinpoint; especially because he hasn't even fully accepted the fact he has potential feelings for you. 

Regardless, you drive away, unaware of how he waited for you to leave first. The entire ride home, all you could focus on was the cologne that stuck to the hoodie he let you borrow. How the masculine odor filled not only your nose but the car. It felt mocking like the hoodie knew how down bad you are forMark, but you try not to let it get to you. You try not to imagine how it would feel to bury your face into his shoulder and smell the cologne stuck to his skin.

That familiar heat floods between your legs, reminding you of how awful you are. Even with him gone, you can't stop the dirty thoughts. Maybe you just need to get laid? Maybe it's less that you like him, and just you being horny and deprived of intimacy. 

You know that isn't the case, but it's nice to pretend it is.

What would his favorite position be? Would he prefer you on top? Bent over? If you had to decide, you'd want to be able to see his face, to watch how good you can make him feel. No amount of brainstorming could probably compare to how sexy he would look engulfed in pleasure, nor how he would sound. You take him for someone who tries to hold back their moans, not wanting you to know you're being good for him.

"Oh, god..." You whisper under your breath as you continue to drive, knuckles bulging from gripping the steering wheel so hard, not to mention the ache in your lower back from how far you've arched yourself to try and ignore the throbbing in your clit. It's ridiculous, here you are driving home on an empty street, your apartment building isn't even that far away...

And yet you find yourself pulled over on the side of the road.

The entire time, you mentally scold yourself, eyes frantically looking about all the while you sick back into your seat. Your nose is buried into the collar of the sweater, the familiar scent comforting you while your hand moves under the waistband of your leggings and then under your soaked panties. Were you really this wet? Usually, you would be riddled with shame, but now? You can only thank yourself, knowing it will make it all the easier for your fingers to snake themselves inside of you.

You know that your fingers will never compare to the real thing, and most of the time you don't even get much pleasure from them being inside of you, but that minor sense of fullness somehow is just relaxing. Between your index and middle fingers being knuckle deep inside of your pulsating entrance, your walls clenching around what little space your fingers take up, and your palm grinding into your clit.

"M-Mark..." His name is always falling from your tongue, every time you find yourself viciously rubbing your clit in desperation, or grinding into the soft fabric of your pillow. Whatever you may be doing to pleasure yourself, his name is the only thing that you manage to utter during the entire process. Praising him for making you feel so good and whimpering how it's too much for you. 

If only he could see you now, curled up in your car and humping at your hand, panting and whining for the only man you've thought about for however long you've known him. If only he were here, to witness how filthy you are, that you're anything but sugar and honey - you're not sweet at all, you're just a needy nymphomaniac. 

You spread your thighs just a little more, fingers dipping in and out of your entrance only to then come out and give your neglected clit circular rubs before seeping back inside of your pussy, "I wanna cum,Mark~" Imagining it is his fingers pumping in and out of you, that it's his palm that continues to grind into your poor clit.

With the fabric of his sweater pressed firmly to your nose, it helps to muffle your pathetic sounds; strings of his name and pleas floating within the air of your car. the only other noise being the wet squelching sound of your fingers inside of you. It all feels so lewd, to be touching yourself like this in your car. If anyone were to find out, surely you would be not only shunned, but you'd never hear the end of it.

But god his hands felt so good on your thighs and waist when he was training you earlier, they were so warm, so big... his palms rough when they dragged over the skin of your arms. You wish he would've gone just a little higher

"F-Fuck... ah~ fuck me,Mark-" You squeak when your fingers nudge at your walls a little too roughly, further hiding your face in his sweater as it gradually becomes harder to contain your whimpers. The thought of him praising you, calling you his good girl, and saying you take it so well - would he pepper your teary face with kisses? Slow down to make sure he doesn't completely ruin you?

Your insides feel hot, tortuously hot. Every grind of your clit into your palm gradually brings you closer to the anticipated climax. Are you catching a fever? You know it is just your body readying itself for the oncoming bliss, the buildup in your stomach that feels like electricity, "I-I'm cumming," You breathe out a strained whine, "F-Fuck, I'm cumming... I'm cumming~!" You lose your voice as your fingers focus on your clit, rubbing back and forth against the poor nerve.

"M-Mark~ fuck, fuck, fuck- nngh~!" It all happens so quick, the squirting of your climax soaking into your panties and leggings, tainting the skin of your hand and pruning fingers, luckily not too much getting on the seat of your car. But it isn't the mess, it's the pulse you feel in your clit, a neverending throb that has your walls clenching and unclenching. 

You must look wrecked, between how you've managed to bizarrely sink into your seat, your leggings and panties slightly pulled down and your fingers covered in a mess of your cum and slick. You feel ridiculous more than you look it, having just touched yourself in your car to the thought of someone who most likely sees you as nothing but a friend. 

Once again you feel like you're taking a walk of shame; pulling your panties and leggings back up despite the uncomfortable and icky sensation of how wet the fabric is, adjusting yourself in your seat, and looking around for any ongoing or incoming cars. Only when you deem it safe, pulling out of the spot you had parked to continue your trek home, all in silence as a means to reflect on yet again letting your lust get the best of you.

All you can do is hope that when you get home and take a nice warm shower and make those grape leaves poor Mark asked for, that it will somehow erase this awful encounter with yourself from your head. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day. Though, you doubt it will take eight hours of sleep to cure you of the hormonal devil on your shoulder.

To make matters worse, the familiar chime of your phone interrupts your mental meditation on what just happened. Though, it isn't your phone that makes things worse, but rather the fact that the very name you see in the notifications bar is the one person you were hoping to get out of your head. You almost think not to answer, let alone look at it, but you could never do that to him.

Upon opening the message, you nearly cry with guilt - how can he be so sweet? Why do you have to be so awful?

Remember that time we went for a run? I forgot I took this pic of u when we finished... after u started to vomit because u pushed urself 2 much. U looked cute tho (:

Scrolling up you hold back the urge to get on your knees before some religious statue and beg for forgiveness. There he is smiling at the camera, holding it high enough to catch himself but also you in the back, to your surprise you don't look awful. Sure, you may be on the verge of death from running so much, and even sweatier than him, but the sunset somehow brought it all together.

And did he just say you looked cute?

You bite back the urge to squeal and get into a car accident, but mostly not to verbally freak out. Does he really think you're cute? Really? You almost don't want to believe it, why would he think you're cute? You don't dwell on it too much, happily accepting the compliment and rereading the message over and over again until another one comes through.

We should do it again, I had fun <3 see u 2morrow, don't forget the grape leaves!

Why does he have to be so perfect? It's always the nice guys who are barely out of your reach. Not that you deserve Mark, someone as obsessive as you doesn't deserve that sort of happiness - not when you focus more on wanting to have sex with him every day, rather than building up the courage to just ask him out.

Maybe tomorrow you will try.

The following morning comes all too quickly, but you give yourself credit for having not had a wet dream - something that shamefully occurs often - and waking up to the sound of your early set alarm without trouble. You're never usually up at this time, but keeping your promise to the crimson-haired man you think about more than you do yourself is your top priority. It would be awful to say you will be there with breakfast, only to diss him.

And surely he would end up not liking you at all, he has mentioned being prejudice against people who do not stay true to their words. 

You like to think that you got ready so quickly, so haphazardly due to your stress over possibly being late... but you know it's because of how excited you are to see Mark and the fact he told you he wanted to see you before he would have to go and prepare for his fight.

Before you leave, you make sure to grab his sweater which you left neatly folded at your desk. When you got home after your shower, the first thing you did was throw it in the wash and put it as far away from you as possible - that damned sweater, you should have never accepted it because look what it made you do! Nonetheless, you are grateful he thought of you and your health and that is the reason you washed it, to cleanse it of any and all evidence of the sin you committed in your car last night. It is still humiliating that you allowed yourself to lose that self-control, but at least you're not in denial. 

If your father were to have seen you with that hoodie, you are almost certain he would have recognized it and interrogated you. Luckily, that didn't happen, because if it had you aren't sure you would be able to explain without the flooding images of last night filling your head and driving you up the wall.

But none of that is your concern, not when you have to make it to the gym in time for him, you're certain he should be there at this time, as well as your father who is preparing the back building where all boxing training, practice, and matches go on. Your only hope is neither of you bumps into your old man, but with how analytical he is, he practically smells when and where he needs to stick his nose into business that isn't his.

As you pull your car into the lot of the gym, noticing the familiar vehicles that belong to both the man you are excited to see, but also the one you hope you don't bump into, the butterflies begin to catch up. He wanted to see you, even to now you still replay those very words, asking you to come by earlier so he could see you before he had to go and prepare himself for the night.

The nerves are beginning to start, you never quite got over that feeling that you were stepping into unfamiliar territory. You've known Mark for quite some time by now, can't you just get over it and walk in there? It isn't even him that you're fearful of, more so the eyes that may follow you the moment you step into the gym. What will others think? You're never so early, and walking up to the redhead with a bento box? You can only imagine the rumors this will start.

Yet, you suck it up. Your father didn't raise you to run away from things, worst-case scenario is he can't talk right now and you end up looking like a fool. You doubt it, but there are a hundred and one possibilities you are anything but prepared for. But isn't that what makes it exciting? The unknown.

Not really, you hate the unknown. The entire walk to the front door of the gym, as well as entering it to see not many people you are familiar with there, which isn't surprising since you work from the afternoon until it gets dark. Nowhere in sight do you see the redhead you have been waiting to see since you last saw him yesterday evening, and you aren't even sure where he could be.

Part of you worries you may be too late, but you figure if he were to be anywhere he must be in the back building. The only issue is you would have to possibly come face-to-face with your father, not only to hand back Mark's sweater but also breakfast you prepared for him. You almost think to just bail, claim there is a ridiculous amount of traffic and you're still on the road, but he isn't stupid.

And you're also not gonna hurt his feelings.

You carry yourself towards the back doors of the building to find the separate structure where all the boxers practice and train, it is rather run down in comparison to the main gym, but it makes sense since most of the fights that go on here go on without the knowledge of authority. You aren't even sure if your father has a proper permit for this building, but he's gotten away with it before, and you're sure you've seen local officers in their casual attire attending the matches.

But all of that is beside the point, not when you enter the building and come face to face with chaos. Between people moving chairs and tables around, cleaners mopping at the floor, boxers gathered to the far end of the building where you see your father. Unfortunately, there is noMark-

Before the figure behind you can even speak, this weird tingle down your spine alerted you to an approaching figure, which you quickly look back only to be met with long red hair and a bare, sweat-tainted torso. Had he always been so tall? So big? You have no clue where to even look, your eyes jumping from his chest to his shoulder, raking over his long hair, and finally locking with the familiar crimson eyes you are used to. You feel silly for staring at him, but you just can't help it.

"You made it," Comes his voice, a grin plastered onto his face at the sight of you holding his sweater and the bento box, "I see you brought me some gifts, is this what I think it is?" The tip of his finger points at the box of grape leaves, to which you hold them out for him to take, your words trapped in your throat at the sight of him completely shirtless in front of you. 

Mark opens the box and whistles at the plentiful amount of grape leaves you had prepared for him, "You spoil me~" He hums while bringing one to his lips, taking it all in his mouth in one bite. Your eyes lock on a droplet of oil that is stuck to the corner of his mouth, how his jaw looks when he chews, the bob of his adam's apple whenever he swallows. You can only imagine how much better he would look swallowing your cum, if only he was there last night to catch your juices in his mouth when you made yourself cum like that.

"How is everything coming along?" You finally find your voice, even if to just ask a question, from what you can tell most of the necessary tasks are just about done - which would leave Mark with an hour or so to get ready for the match later this afternoon - and most are just focusing on creating space to accommodate the customers coming to watch.

Nights like this your father makes the most money, charging for entry and snacks. You call him a shark for how he robs these people with his ridiculous fees, but what business is it to you? If it's what the people want, you're sure they would pay any amount just to watch some men beat each up other up. You weren't a fan of boxing until you first seen Mark, only ever wasting your time to see him in the ring.

When he swallows his third grape leaf, much to your shock, his eyes scan the room with an unsure shrug, "I'd say it looks fine, I've been trying to help out but your father refuses... keeps saying I should just go and warm up in the gym." You would figure as much, your father has favorites and those favorites tend to get the better end of the stick. 

You smile seeing how happy he is with the bento box you prepared for him, nothing makes you happier than when someone enjoys your cooking. Especially the person you like, a lot. It feels good to just be able to look at him and feel nothing but that giddy crush feeling bubbling inside of you, without the added turn-off of your anything but pure imagery that infests your less than perfect brain.

"There aren't too many people in the gym... maybe it will do you some good to stretch or something before you gotta get ready." Mark knows you're right, and he doesn't particularly enjoy doing absolutely nothing when everyone around him is up to some sort of agenda, "I don't plan on going anywhere now that I'm here, it wouldn't make sense... did you need help with anything in particular."

Of course, part of you is hoping to hear something like 'yeah, can you suck my dick?' but you know that won't happen. It is quite humiliating to even think that, how nice his thighs would feel in your palms, his cock shoved balls deep in your throat, tearing up and choking from the size. You bet he tastes just as good as he looks, and he looks like he tastes really good.

Mark closes the bento box, "Actually, yeah..." The three fingers the were covered in the thick oil that the grape leaves are cast in are one by one popped into his mouth, and oh is a sight to admire. His tongue dragging over the single-digit before dragging it out from his mouth with a light pop, "You mind wrapping my hands for me? I never do it tight enough." 

You've seen him struggle plenty of times with that hair of his, thick and down to his lower back. You aren't sure how he manages to take care of it, after all, it always looks so silky and voluminous. The women in those shampoo commercials could never compare, you're sure if Mark ever got into doing commercials he would have shelves empty within the first two seconds of the ad. 

Who wouldn't want to sit there and stare at him? His voice shaking every bone in your body, the way his muscles flex with the slightest movement, his pretty white teeth, not to mention thick lashes, and the way they frame his sharp eyes. Anyone would be happy to hear him talk, let alone drag their eyes over every dip and curve of his powerhouse of a body.

Before you are quiet for too long you come back to your senses, "Of course!" It comes out rather too enthusiastic, but Mark either doesn't notice or care. Especially not when you walk past him in that pretty little skirt of yours, you look so delicious clutching his sweater to your chest, your hips swaying in the most hypnotizing way. God forbid anyone, let alone your father catches his eyes checking you out from behind.

He follows you like a lost puppy, drooling over your legs and how soft they must be, how your thighs would feel amazing to just lay his head down on them. He's always found you attractive, and your sweet personality makes it ten times better. Whenever you wear those yoga leggings, he finds himself staring too long at you, watching you walk until you disappear somewhere.

What he would give to see you in cute little stockings, holding that skirt of yours up for him to admire the adorable panties you have on. Would you be into that? Letting him stare down at you, memorize every inch of your body, rub you through your panties, and push your shirt up and over your soft tits. The things he would do to you if you gave him the chance, and today he hopes he can coax you into paying more attention to him.

The two of you enter the gym, seeing that only a few other regulars have joined the same faces from when you came. The only sound being of the equipment and the cheesy music playing through the loudspeakers. Onlookers glance for a moment, watching the two of you as you both settle at one of the benches. You know they only look because they're interested in Mark and what he could possibly be doing with you. But who cares? You get to have an excuse to hold his hand!

"Did you sleep well?" He asks while fishing into the pocket of his shorts to pull out the hand wraps, "To be honest, I was a little worried about you since it was so cold... that's why I texted you, to make sure you were okay." Every word leaves you more and more in a state of speechlessness, he truly did care. All night that's all you could wonder if he genuinely cared and it turns out he did.

You contain your excitement, not wanting it to show how happy that made you, "Really?" You squeak out, "I-I was fine... your sweater kept me warm." You hide the flustered look by focusing down at the gauze in your hands, unwrapping the elastic material, "I made sure to wash it before I brought it back, I was pretty sweaty last night."

He finds you adorable, how your pretty hands hesitantly grab one of his and hold it in your lap. Your skin is so soft, so warm, he has to hold himself back from just squeezing or dragging his palm over the exposed skin. You're so careful with how you bring the gauze over his knuckles and between his thumb and index finger, making sure it is neither too tight nor too loose.

"Too bad, you always smell really good..." He watches your expression with a smirk, not missing how you tense up, "You never answered my question about whether or not you slept..." He loses his train of words as he watches your fingers trace over his knuckles. You're gentle, treating his hand like it's the most fragile thing you ever held, between the way you've fastened the gauze just right and are now just adjusting the wrap to better cover his abused knuckles.

The only thing on your mind is whether he takes proper care of his hands or not, does he make sure to clean them up and put ice? To massage all the kinks and knots out? You worry too much for him, not that he could ever tell. The tips of your fingers trace what scars aren't being covered, admiring how much he has probably been through to get this far. You've seen the way he trains, hours without a break, and always pushing himself, that's how stars are made.

Would it be so bad...? You feel conflicted, despite your hand already gradually bringing his closer to you, has anyone ever made sure he took care of himself? You try to do so, but sometimes your selfishness gets in the way. Is there anyone he lives with that pampers him? What you would give to be that person; rubbing his aching shoulders, kissing the bruises and cuts he has, washing his hair and back for him...

"y/n-" Your name leaves his mouth with a stutter, crimson eyes caught on your lips pressing delicate kisses to his knuckles. Your lips are soft, shimmering slightly from the lip-balm you have on, not to mention the warmth of your breath wafting against his hand. He doesn't protest, more so in awe at how pretty you look, how you don't even seem to be aware of what you're doing.

To say he hasn't pictured this exact scenario a hundred times or more, you wrapping his hands before a match, kissing each finger with one of your beautiful smiles. All he can do now is soak in this mini victory, a dream come true if you will. Your eyes peering through your lashes when your lips pull away from his hand, the cutest look of shame flashing on your pretty face, "Sorry, it just looks like it hurts..."

Mark stays silent as you hold his wrapped hand, reminiscing on how your lips felt on him, wondering if they would feel even better elsewhere. He doesn't respond right away, placing his unwrapped hand in your lap with a smile, "I liked it..." He says while you start to wrap his other hand, "Y-You should do it more often." 

You never expected him to say something like that, not that you expected him to be upset with you. To be honest, you weren't entirely sure what you were expecting his response to being when you pulled away. Part of you thought the atmosphere would grow awkward, unwanted even. Yet, here you are repeating the process with his other hand, the entire time you can't keep yourself from glancing up, only for your eyes to lock with his and his lips to curl into a smug smirk.

Just as you had with his other hand, you sheepishly bring the newly wrapped knuckles to your lips. Of course, this time you aren't as confident, but he finds it just as pleasurable. Your pretty eyes locked with his, kissing at the scarred flesh and trying to sit still. He can tell you're embarrassed simply by your body language, which you shouldn't be, he likes this show you're putting on for him.

Only when you finish, lowering his hand from your face and sitting up straight on the bench opposite to him, does Mark get a good look at your face. You would look good with a swollen bottom lip, irritated from his teeth nipping and tugging at it, and he wouldn't mind giving your cheek a playful bite, too. He realizes he doesn't quite want you to move away just yet, the simple act of you wrapping his hands already leaving him craving more of your attention.

"Could you help me with my hair, too?" You are only a little surprised by the question, especially since you've seen him put up his hair - despite it looking rather rough around the edges and a bit too low - and be perfectly fine with it. But you wouldn't turn down the opportunity to be close with him for a little longer. Did he ask that because he wants the same thing? You want to believe it.

Mark hands you the tie around his wrist, watching you come to a stand and circle around to stand behind him. His hair looks shiny, like layers of red silk on his head, "You have nice hair," You shyly state, putting the tie around your wrist as you start to gather his long and thick hair in your hands, "I bet you'd look nice with a half-up half-down style, but keeping it all up is probably for the best so it doesn't obstruct your vision, right?"

He wanted to answer you, but your voice sends such a chill through his spine, your warm breath hitting the back of his neck as you work to make sure not a single hair has fallen astray. Your fingers are like heaven, rubbing against his scalp, combing through the heavy bundle of red hair, "The last time I wore my hair down for a fight," He holds his tongue when you lean forward, the softness of your tummy pressing into him as you lean over his body to make sure you gather the hair in front, "I-It kept getting the way and stuck on things..."

You hum softly, not even really aware that the fact you're practically laying over his back to pull back the loose strands have him swelling in his briefs. Fuck, he would do anything to fill you up right here, let everyone watch him do it too. Pretty little y/n get her pussy stuffed for being a teasing little whore, panties around your ankle, barely fitting him inside of you. 

"You'll do great tonight," You say loud enough for only him to hear, "And um... maybe after we can go out for dinner?" Mark almost laughs at the predicament, it seems you beat him to it, "I-I mean, only if you're up for it, I just know this place with really good western dishes and I wanted-"

"Would you believe me if I said I was gonna ask you the same question after the match?" Your heart lodges in your throat, he is serious... right? Of course, why else would he say that? But it feels too good to be true! Would he really ask you out for dinner? It feels like everything is just falling together with the more the day goes by; wanting to see you before the match, wanting to ask you out for dinner, kissing his knuckles, touching his hair... it feels too perfect.

Technically it is because it seems your fifteen minutes of heaven is up when the familiar face of your father approaches you both, your fingers fall from the red hair you had been playing with, "I've been looking everywhere for you, kid... and you've been here the whole time!" His hands go up in the air, urgingMark to stand up, "Turns out we are actually behind schedule, the guys who came for the match are here an hour early so we gotta get you changed and ready to go in thirty minutes. Understood?"

PoorMark looks like a deer caught in headlights, "H-Huh? I thought the matches weren't until later...?" Even you are a tad confused by the situation, the matches are always held later in the day, wouldn't it be inconvenient to start now when there aren't even any customers?

But it turns out everything happens for a reason, "That was the impression I was under, but it turns out the new kid I hired to put up posters and shit put in the wrong damn time. So not only are people expecting a match in the next thirty minutes, but I haven't even finished getting the beer and shit out." Your father seems to be off the walls, between the anger in his tone and the way his brows are knitted close together, you don't think now is the time to upset him.

"You, go get changed and ready." Your father pushes Mark in the direction to the dressing rooms, "And you," He smiles while taking your face in his palms, "If I see that redhead getting too friendly with you I will kick his ass, now go and get yourself something to eat from the back you look half-awake." That's your father for you, even protective when the nice guys are around.

Alas, you do not argue, now is probably not the best time to tell him you wanted to go to dinner with Mark later tonight. You follow his orders to go and help with the food and beverages, you're sure he wouldn't want you working, but you figured with all the stress of the times being wrong you could help even just a little bit.

This is the most chaotic you have seen the gym, people coming with nowhere to go just yet, workers running around with chairs and tables and mops, carrying cases of whiskey and soda and things alike. If you weren't used to such disorder, for sure you would have cracked under the pressure of everything. Working a gym that also happens to have a "secret" boxing system in itself is just a mess.

Deep down, you feel bad for everyone and seeing the boxers rush in and out half-dressed in their uniforms and still trying to help, but at the same time, the fact that everything has been pushed earlier simply means you not only get to go out with Mark sooner but most likely stay out with him longer. You only hope that the stress of this mishap and the fight doesn't ruin those chances and he forgets, or even worse, just doesn't want to go out anymore.

As usual, you know that is just your overactive imagination and the pessimistic side of you, always questioning your worth and whether or not an opportunity is real or not. A lot of nights you spend laughing at yourself, how silly you were for holding so much doubt and worry over nothing; now is one of those moments.

When you should be focusing on helping to carry this case of water to the back building, you're wondering how Mark is coming along. He looked a little under pressure the last time you saw him, what if he might need help? Probably not...

But he did say he needed a little good luck before the match.

Maybe visiting him will somehow ease his nerves, despite him being a big guy with a lot of confidence, you are sure even men like him can be on edge for something like a boxing match. It's like football in high school minus being in high school and the football, right? Before game adrenaline, eyeing up the enemy, mentally and physically preparing yourself for the fight of your life. Everyone wants to win.

The only difference is that you know Markwill come out on top, you've never had as much faith in anyone as you do with him... which is why your feed deters from the back door to the second building in favor of finding which room Mark may be holed up in. Every dressing room has a name on it, and there are only five being used tonight because most of the boxers being trainees.

Your father is a big perfectionist, and if he doesn't have one hundred percent faith in you, then there is no way he will have you representing him. You learned that a lot growing up, but you think that's one of the reasons you crave perfection over minuscule things like how the gym equipment is set up, and where the towels and waters out, how things are accessible. They do say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

As you make your way down the hall of vacant and occupied doors, your eyes finally catch sight of the familiar name done in the familiar striking handwriting you have seen thousand times over. Mark has this little within quirk that you can easily identify, always sharpening his letters and irregular capitalization. You've always liked coming to work to see his name on the sign-in sheet, always so bold and pop from the rest of the list of names. 

For a moment you almost hesitate to knock on his door, but it is either now or never that you speak to him. You bring your knuckles to the door, knocking three times before stepping back and waiting. You don't hear anything on the other side of the door, could he have already left? It is a possibility, out of everyone his costume has always been the most... let's just say revealing. Mark is meant to be the eye-catcher, he is young, has bold red hair, is big and intimidating all the while looking soft.

All the boxers have their teams, and Mark's just so happens to be a nice, scary piece of eye candy. Not that you mind at all, more for you to look at! But when the door doesn't open, you come to the conclusion he isn't there, turning on your heel to head back out and see if anyone needs help. You're disappointed to say the truth, having wanted to talk with him for a second before the match, but not everything can just fall into place.

You get about ten feet from the door before you hear the sound of a door handle turning and the squeak of its opening, "y/n?" The familiar voice stops you in place, you had thought the door belonged to someone else but turning to look into the crimson eyes of the person you had been hoping to see, "Hey, what's up?" He is only a little shocked to see you there, to be truthful he was hoping it was you on the other end of the door when he hurried to get to it.

But you standing there, he almost didn't believe it for a second, not until you scurried your pretty little self back the way you came to meet him at his door, "N-No! I just thought you could use a little help, you looked distressed when you had to rush out of there before." Your words sink in for a moment, you were worried. He finds it rather cute, you worrying your head over him and wanting to be a good helper.

"Is that so...?" He hums, smiling when you slowly crack under his gaze, "Can you help me get this shitty top on? Your father forgot to order a bigger size so we are trying to compromise." You're a little flustered to help him with his costume of all things, you'll be alone in a room with him and his uniform barely covers anything. Between the fact, his entire torso is revealed aside from the signature black arm sleeves, and you'll be dangerously close to him? You are melting and you aren't even entirely in his room yet.

No matter what, you refuse to turn him down, not now. You look both ways down the hall before quietly entering his room, the door shutting behind you both, "I'll be sure to order a resizing for you," You say and examine the rest of what should be a part of the top of his costume, "He must have gotten you mixed up with the new guy, but that's okay people aren't here to judge you for what you're wearing!"

Mark sits down for you, letting you adjust the arm sleeves on his arm, due to the collar and shoulder pieces not fitting him, they won't have anything to be held up with, "I find it kinda funny how big your dad is about image and impression, considering he has men beating on each other for like four hours straight." Your fingers feel hot against his skin, apply a makeshift tape to the inside of the hem of the sleeves so that it has a better grip on his biceps.

"I was thinking... maybe instead of staying for everything to finish, we could just go out as soon as my match is over?" Your heart leaps at the suggestion, you're starting to think that he can read your thoughts, that the entire time you were freaking out over that dinner date not working he heard it all and was now making sure you could rest assured. Again, once again your imagination going over the top, but it doesn't kill a girl to dream!

With nothing more to modify regarding his costume - which you realized he never needed help with it to start and he was giving an excuse for you to stick around - you circle to look him in the face, "I would like that, I don't really... I kinda only go to these matches to watch you." He knew that but you don't know that he knows, so he pretends he is shocked, "A-And because the matches are earlier than they were supposed to, maybe we have time before or after dinner to do something else?"

His mind wandered, he won't deny it, what could pretty y/n possibly have in mind for before or after dinner? He'd love for it to be you bouncing in his lap with your tits spilling out that top of yours, you'd probably love that, wouldn't you? Mark can just imagine how good you would look, squealing and gasping, doing your best to take his big cock, even crying a little because you don't wanna mess up and not be good enough for him.

Fuck, you look so tantalizing standing there, your fingers messing with one another in front of you as you wait for a response, "What did you have in mind?" Mark wants to know what sort of ideas you have brewing in your head. Here is he wanting to fuck you whenever he gets the chance, and poor you have no clue. Part of him wouldn't be surprised if you have fantasies of your own, it's always the one who acts all sweet and sugary that ends up being sour and spicy.

"I-I'm not sure... but we could figure it out later, right?" He is a little disappointed you didn't have anything specific you wanted to do, but he figured as much since everything is so last minute. Nonetheless, he can't wait to see what happens later, he knows you'll make it work just like you always do.

The silence that falls for a few brief seconds doesn't last long when a knock comes at the door, to which you look over in horror. You don't need someone walking in and seeing you here, especially if that is your father. But Mark has it under control, going over to the door and peeking out. You can't see who it is, but you can hear their conversation from start to finish.

"You're on in five, so get that uniform finished and get out there, 'kay?" You figured it was your father with how strict he is when it comes to time, "Also, have you seen y/n?" You freeze up at the mention of your name, you'll be dead if he so much as smells you in this room, which is the reason you sink further into the corner and as far away from the door as possible.

"I haven't, but I'll be done in a minute, don't worry." Less is more with your father, and thankfully you can hear the sound of him going on with whatever it was he was doing before checking on Mark. The door clicks shut and only then do you let out the breath you had been holding, "Shit, that was close..."

If only he knew how badly your heart was racing, and you wish you could say it was out of fear, but all you feel is hot, that adrenaline of your father finding his sweet little girl in the room of one of his scary boxers. What would he think? Sure he would tie you up in the tallest tower, but he would for sure hasMark's head on a pike in the gym. You almost miss that he is beginning to gather his things and ready himself to go out to the ring.

You still haven't given him any sort of good luck; no pep talk, no awkward friendship bracelet, no bouquet of cheap flowers. Why were you even here then? You wonder if he is disappointed, he did specifically say 'are you going to give me some good luck?' yesterday and here you show up empty-handed. But the last thing you want is to leave him with no sort of confirmation that you wish him the best.

Before he can leave, you are quick to make a move, "Mark-" You stop him with a grab to his wrist, crimson orbs look over broad shoulders to meet your own, "You said you needed good luck before the game..." What are you doing? You have nothing to give or show...

Markwaits in suspense, he had entirely forgotten the very words he said yesterday. He didn't mean it he was just teasing you a little like he always does. But the fact you remembered? He is flattered, albeit confused because he doesn't see anything in your hands and you don't have a bag or pockets on you... his head wanders, maybe a kiss? He would be more than just happy with that, through the roof even!

But as he watches you, tense where you stand and caught in some sort of conflict, the last thing he expects is to see you bend forward. He isn't quite sure what it is you're doing at first, but then your hands shimmy up and under your skirt.

What makes it even more of a smack to his face is when he sees something pink and lacy being slipped down your legs. Maybe it was how dumbfounded he was, but until you slipped your pretty legs out from the fabric and hold it out for him, does he realize that little pink lace is your panties, "A-A good luck charm for Red Riot from his... from his number one fan."

The two of you stand there for what seems like forever, did you kill him? He looks almost dead where he stands, his eyes wide, and locked on the bundle of fabric in your hand. You almost worry you did too much, "Kick some ass." You quickly take his hand and shove your panties in them, hurrying out the room with the most flustered yet satisfied grin on your face. You did it, sure it may have been a bit much, but your feelings are out there and the ball is in his field. Now it's his job to decide whether he accepts it or not.

You hurry out to the back building, knowing your father is most likely being driven up the wall by not knowing where you are. You concoct an excuse in your head, you were just in the bathroom because something you ate didn't sit right. He would believe that, right? He's always doting after you like you're still his little princess dressing up and walking around in sequins and glitter.

The building is a lot more crowded than you expected, but it is easy to find your father after shimmying through the crowd, "Where the hell were you, y/n? I was asking everyone and running around like crazy, I thought some psycho had-" You stop him with a gentle pat to his back, oh if only daddy knew what exactly it was you were doing, "Whatever, it doesn't matter, right? You're here, and you better be making sure you leeches don't go over and try to steal snacks."

Almost directly after, your father is surfing through the crowd to try and sell gym merch, memberships, popcorn, and peanuts. He has always been a businessman at heart, and you are anything but shocked to see him with his bag of random foods and trinkets to sell to customers.

The chaos doesn't last long, the familiar ring of the bell that calls attention to the crowd has the room quieting. You are familiar with the process of hyping up the crowd, when you were little and watching boxing matches on television with your father, you would imitate the spokesperson to make him laugh. You always wanted to do something like that, have all eyes on you as you do nothing but talk.

But you grew out of it inevitably, though it doesn't mean watching someone else do it makes it any less enjoyable, "Anyway, let me stop boring you all with meaningless conversation... let me welcome the man representing this very ring, Red Riot!" Everything else was a blur, Mark happily coming out, but if anyone could tell something was off it was you. The way his eyes wolfishly searched the crowds, as if he is expecting something or someone to be there...

Only after the spokesperson finishes introducing the redhead to the crowd of wild and returning fans, does he return to that strange behavior of looking around, he doesn't even pay attention to his opponent who is trying to antagonize and rile him up. What you least expect is for him to walk straight across the ring to where you are and lean down so you can get a good look at his face, "You're crazy," He whispers with one of the scariest smiles you've ever seen, "I think I figured out what we could do before dinner, you better be in that dressing room when this is over."

If anything could describe the things you felt right then, it would be both fear and excitement. Especially when he shamelessly reaches through the ring, knowing your father is completely distracted and grabs you by the collar of your shirt, and pulls you forward. You trip over your own feet, holding down your skirt when you remember you gave your panties to the crimson-haired man that has you in the palm of his hand.

Mark presses the sweetest kiss to your cheek, and if it weren't for the fact you both were in public, you would have grabbed his face and smashed your lips right onto his. But you take what you can get and flash him your prettiest smile before he has to let you go and return his attention to the man he is supposed to fight.

Everything feels surreal, your fingers constantly reaching up to touch the exact spot his soft lips had found your skin. God, if you were to die you would be totally fine with it after having that kiss, the match feels like a blur. Usually, you are ready to cheer him on, but now? All you can manage to do is watch and wait for it to be over, and with the way, the fight is going? You're certain the poor guy he is against is going to fall any second. 

Mark dodges the third punch the guy has thrown, you're starting to think he is growing desperate and exhausted. Why else is he just throwing random and uncoordinated punches? You've seen it a thousand times before, they always start going wild when they are tired and desperate. And you know Mark well, he isn't a fan of a sloppy opponent. This is why, although you flinched, you're also not surprised by the force he puts into his punch to humble the man in front of him. You hate how messy things can get, the sweat on them, blood... it's like watching two wild bears claw at one another's throats.

"Ouch! Looks like you're gonna pass out there, buddy... thinking of calling it quits and handing the win to Red?" You wish he would say yes, that he would just give up and let Mark have it for the night. You can barely find it in you to worry over some boxing match when he demanded you to meet him in his room. All of these scenarios are burning through your head, and even if it isn't what you want, you would be more than happy with another kiss.

Between the punches and swings, the blood you just noticed was dripping from Mark's nose and onto the lips he had kissed you with, it is all so overwhelming in addition to your hormones going crazy. You have never wished for a boxing match withMark to be over so badly, and it isn't even that you don't want to see him fight! You just want to see him elsewhere, specifically in private... specifically where he is undressed.

But when you see the man get Mark in a headlock, your heart drops for a second, he has this, right? You know he does, but you hate how long it's taking him to get out of that. You always get nervous for him when he takes a few seconds too long to take the advantage back, "Oh, do we have a possible turn around?" You can't stand him being stuck like that.

The only thing you know that could possibly give him the energy he needs to get out of that headlock is someone cheering for him. And sure the whole room is cheering from him, but he specifically told you, 'hearing you cheer is different from hearing everyone else, so use your voice!'

With all you have, you take a deep breath and cup your mouth to amplify your voice, "You got this,Mark!" And if anyone can pick your name from the crowd, it is him. It's like watching someone suddenly going through a drug boost, the way his arms coming up and tug himself free of the grasp around his head, all you can do is continue to cheer for him until he finally lands a good enough punch stun the guy. Red eyes find you in the crowd, and although he looks scary with the swollen lip and blood from his nose, you still get butterflies when he gives you that charming smile and a wink.

"Never mind, Red Riot has once again held his ground! Don't forget to place your bets in the back on who will win and possibly receive a free gym membership for two months!" It feels like you have been standing there for a million years, the snack table isn't even at the top of your priority list right now, you couldn't care less if they stole everything including the table!

The fight is already in the hands of the very man you have been cheering for this whole time, you didn't doubt it for a second. It is only a matter of either that man tapping out or Mark knocking him out and you don't care which it is. You are on the tips of your toes with how things are looking, Mark has insane stamina but you can tell he is getting a little fed up and tired, "Knock him out, Mark!" 

He lands a punch to the abdomen, the man curling over to armor his stomach, which anyone knows is the worst thing you can do. Right then and there, you knew it was over, especially when right after Mark knocks him directly in the nose and the guy goes falling back. He may not be unconscious, but his body language, the wooziness to his movements... you know he is finished.

"Aaaand~" Everyone counts down from three, "We have checkmate! But are we surprised with who is the winner? No!" You don't even listen to what the man has to say, not when the referee climbs the ring to hold Red Riot's fist in the air, a formal symbol that he has taken this week's fight. 

And when he looks right at you with that goofy smile of his, you can't help but to practically jumping in place with your biggest smile, blowing him a kiss. Of course, you didn't forget his demand for you to meet him in the dressing room. The moment you see him climbing out of the ring, you are high tailing out of that building. Could your father be calling for you? Maybe. Do you care? Absolutely not.

Not when you are holding down your skirt and running double-time right out of that humid building to get to where you need to be. Every muscle in your body is aching, every nerve aflame. If you could describe what it was you were feeling, it's like teetering over the edge right before you cum. To feel everything in your body working, like a thousand electric shocks straight to your core. 

You're so focused on getting down that hallway and into that room, your ears are deaf to the oncoming footsteps rapidly approaching behind you, "Gotcha!" A scream catches in your throat when you recognize the arms that wrap around your midsection and pick you up, no one else wears black arm sleeves like this, "C'mere." His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look back at him just so his lips could finally meet yours.

And you should be disgusted by the blood from his nose rubbing off on your upper lip, or how you can taste the iron on your tongue. But you have waited so long to kiss him like this, even if it wasn't you imagined a hundred times over, it feels better than you could ever concoct in your imaginative brain. His lips are not at all chapped, they are soft and plush and perfectly mold with yours. 

Only when his tongue playfully swipes at your bottom teeth do the two of you break apart for air, eyes locked together in a moment of silence. You've never felt like this, as if you have a million and one little feathers moving around all inside of you, "I don't what I'm gonna do to you first." His voice is like a growl against your nape, the vibrations deep and rumbling into your sensitive skin.

He doesn't let you go yet, his arms remain tight around your torso as he carries you in front of him the rest of the way to the room with your toes barely touching the ground, "What are you going to- ah~!" Your eyes tear up when he sinks his teeth into your neck, slamming the door behind him with his heel, "M-Mark... mm~" He doesn't let up on your neck, sucking at the already darkening bite mark he has created. If someone were to tell you that you would be in this situation, with Mark Markholding you snug against his front and forcing you to bend over the vanity in his dressing room, you wouldn't believe them.

"Fuck, I was so close to grabbing you and dragging you right back in here when you gave me these," He digs your panties from his pocket, "You thought that was cute, huh? Tugging these off right in front of me like that?" You know he isn't expecting an answer, but you can't expect but to give him the smuggest nod you can while looking at him in the mirror, "You think you're so cute, don't you?"

The way he speaks with you, it's almost on the dot with every fantasy you have had. To feel like the perfect bittersweet brat just for him, if this is the reaction you will get then you plan to push his buttons more often. Every word that leaves him has you further hooked on his line and you will do anything just for him to keep whispering those things in your ear, for him to grab your face and make you meet his eyes.

"I wanna kiss again..." You give him your sweetest pout, doing your best to peer over your shoulder and trying to reach behind you to bring him closer, but he is having none of your little needinesses. Your hands are gathered easily in one of his big palms, pinned in front of you at the desk, "Mark, please~" 

He gives you a shake of his head, his free hand coming up to grab your chin and keep you still for him, "Nuh-uh, look at you..." His thumb swipes at your upper lip, "Got blood all over you, babe..." You felt it and tasted it the moment you kissed him, but you couldn't care less, your tongue dragging over your upper lip to clean it up. And you didn't miss the wolfish look in his eyes, watching your tongue drag over that blood and smear it even more.

Before your tongue can retract back into your mouth, he is quick to lean forward and press his lips to yours so his tongue can pry its way into your mouth. You don't fight it either, this is exactly what you had wanted and you are getting it. His tongue tastes like mint and a hint of iron from his busted bottom lip, but it is all good to you, if you could you would dance your tongue with his until you were on the brink of asphyxiation.

But you know that isn't possible, not when he is already pulling away from the kiss in favor of leaving a trail of them down your tender neck. It tickles, but you take it like you're supposed to, only somewhat flinching when he finds the bruise he had already left. It feels like needles, burning under the playful tracing of his tongue over the bite marks in your flesh. 

"Jerk..." You're silenced with a sharp spank, and you should be whining over it, but you've wanted this time and time again. You have no room to complain that it left your poor ass burning, not when it has you craving another. He likes your little resistance, how you give him something to dance around. As much as he enjoys the idea of you being his submissive little lamb, this little game you have going on is all the more interesting.

Without warning the bottom of your skirt is tugged up, your bare and wet pussy coming right into view, "Look at you, walking around with nothing under this... I bet you enjoyed that, look at how wet you are." Mark's hand is so hot on your ass, tugging it to pull your pussy nice and open for him to look at. You look so soft, so sweet, if he could he would take a nice bite out of you right now.

"Fuck, you think you can fit it?" You try to answer, you really do, but you can't stop focusing on his hand mocking you. The way it slowly circles your ass, the pad of his thumb barely grazing at your slit, "You want it, don't you?" You nod slowly while watching him through the mirror, how his abdominal muscles flex with every movement of his body, the sweat that sticks to his skin, not to mention the evident strain in his pants.

Everything feels hot, from the tip of your nose down to your toes, it's like you've been engulfed in hellfire... in a good way. Everything he does to you feels good, even if it's just locking eyes with you in the mirror, or readjusting your hips to take in every dip, curve, and roll on your pretty self. It doesn't matter what he does, and you know that the reason he has you so worked up is simply that it is him.

You are aware that the two of you are strapped for time, being here and like this is as unconventional as it can get. You know you can't be too loud, and you both can't take as long as you want, but you plan to make the most of it. If anything, you still have time to possibly exchange that dinner date for something else and you're sureMark wouldn't mind that, not with how you can feel his breath down your spine.

As much as you dreamed of your first encounter with him to be romantic, the moment you slipped off your panties and put them in his hand drew the line between a romantic night out and the potential that night you both won't be able to keep your hands to yourselves, "You're gonna watch me fuck you," He points at the mirror for you to look, not that you haven't been staring at yourselves through it this whole time, "I want you to see the slutty faces you make."

For a moment, you actually believed that he would finally fuck you, as foolish as that is, but rather than pulling off his own pants he is guiding you to sit on the vanity desk with your front showing in the mirror. The awkward position forces your pretty thighs open, giving you a look at just how ruined your pretty little cunny is, how your slick sticks to it and dribbles just a little onto the vanity you are sat on.

No words are exchanged between the both of you, his eyes are locked on your changing expression while yours are locked on his wandering hands. His fingers snake their way from your waist, gradually moving upward and under your shirt. His palms are rough and calloused, still wrapped in the gauze you had done prior to the fight, pulling at the sensitive skin of your torso. The fabric has the hairs on your neck standing up and when his large hands grope your tits through your bra you feel a familiar electric shock goes straight to your core.

"What're you making that face for?" You hadn't realized the way your face scrunched up in response to his hands, and the cocky smirk on his face only makes you all the more embarrassed, "Are you sensitive here...?" To test his intuition, his fingers push under your bra to feel at your bare tits, grinning at how soft they are and the way they fit so nicely in his palms.

You hate how it makes you feel, how every swipe of his thumb over your nipple has your hips bucking just a little, "M-Mark... mm- ah!" You're caught off guard by the mean pinch he gives your pert nipples, giving the sensitive buds an observant twist, watching your every reaction and every little twitch of those soft thighs. You look perfect, completely at his mercy and leaning back into him as his hands do what they please under your shirt, "Hah... y-you don't have to be so harsh..."

"No?" You shake your head in response, a cute little pout pulling at your bottom lip, "But I like how you react and look," One of his hands pull from beneath your shirt in favor of hiking up the bottom of your skirt to reveal your swollen and dripping pussy, "You seem to like it, too... making a mess all over yourself." He isn't wrong, you love it. You love the burn of your nipples with every painful twist, how your tits feel sore from his tight squeezes.

But simply touching them aren't enough for him, he wants to see them. You're already a pretty little thing, he doesn't doubt for a second your tits will only add to the list of things he likes about it. As well as to the list of things that turn him on, you being at the very top of that list.

You peer over your shoulder expectantly, eyes flicking from his down to his lips, you give him the only hint he needs to lean forward and slot his lips with yours. His tongue tastes just as good in your mouth as it did before, dancing teasingly and brush under your tongue. It's a wet, icky feeling but also one you wouldn't want to share with anyone but him. And with you so distracted by his tongue dancing with yours and tracing over your teeth, it gives him the perfect chance to do as he pleases.

One hand is swift with guiding your shirt up and over your tits, and it doesn't take much effort for his two fingers to get the clasp behind your back to snap open. The only obstacle being the straps that prevent him from completely taking the article of clothing off, but you're already on it, all without breaking the kiss you are sharing with him. While you work your arms out of the straps but also keeping your shirt on just in case you two have to make a run for it, Mark focuses his attention on your spread legs.

Opening just one of his eyes allows him to see the arousal that sticks to your cunny shimmers against the light of the room, all he has done was kiss you and play with your tits... you're a perverted girl, getting this wet over nothing, he bets you were thinking things that would leave even him a little shocked. Maybe later he will make it his mission to drag those fantasies out of you.

With the way you're situated on the vanity, feet planted on the desk as to give him the best view of your entire body in the mirror, it is easy for you to spread your legs impossibly wider for his hand that continues to slowly travel down your navel. The kiss breaks, only for you to little his jaw and neck with kisses, stopping right under his ear to begin sucking your own hickey into the sensitive skin.

Nothing could have prepared you for when his fingers finally met your throbbing clit, dragging over the neglected nerve, barely applying pressure with how he circles your clit and smears your arousal over your pussy, "You're a messy little thing, aren't you?" A pathetic hum of agreement passes your lips at his question, one you know he didn't expect you to answer. But he doesn't pay too much attention to that, not when he is dragging his fingers down between your folds to spread you open, "Fuck, you're so tight..."

Mark prods his middle finger at your not-yet-prepped entrance, watching how your walls suck his finger inside in desperation for some sort of relief. All this teasing and beating around the bush has your poor insides churning from the suspense. It's only one finger, but just as you expected that one finger feels a million times better than your two fingers. He knows how to curl them, to rub at the spongy patches inside of you, "Mm~! I-It feels good there..."

"Where?" He coos at your relaxed expression, "Here?" His finger rudely jabs at the spot he knows is making every muscle in your body go lax, to which you flash him a less than pleasant glare, "I'm just playing with you." His index finger is careful with how it slowly eases itself inside, pushing in with your middle fingers and getting you used to the stretch. It feels good, no discomfort in the slightest, and you can assume it's because of the way he continues to mess with that single spot that had your knees buckling.

His fingers push in as far as they can go just to mess with your walls, grinding and curling at the sensitive patches of nerves, only to remove both fingers entirely just to give your poor clit a few wet pats, "Ngh-Markiii, stop teasing it hurts..." He knows it does, he can see it in your twisted expression with every tap your clit receives, how you go from relaxing in his arms to flinching at the abuse.

But he can't help himself, not with how adorable you look bucking into his hand when he circles your clit, or your thighs twitching at the intrusion of his fingers. You look stunning, grabbing at his wrist when he is too rough, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. If it means seeing you continue to make such soft noises and to continue to breathe out his name like that, he'll keep doing what he has to do.

"If you don't want me teasing you, what do you want?" Oh, he can tell you weren't ready for that. It reads entirely in your flustered expression, and his fingers continuing to pump inside of you aren't doing anything to help... especially with the lewd squelching sounds your cunny just can't seem to stop making. It's humiliating, to say the least, how your pussy sucks his fingers inside desperately, the eroticism of watching his fingers disappear inside of you.

"M-Mark...: You don't even want to say all the things you want him to do to you, how do you tell him you've always wanted this? That night and night again you have touched yourself to the thought of him doing just about everything to you, from bouncing you in his lap, riding his face, bending you over, and having his way with you. You don't know where to start.

Mark can read it in your eyes that you have your words lodged in your throat, "If you don't tell me, this is all you're gonna get," He emphasizes his words with the pats of his fingers against your clit, "So be a good girl and speak up." You know he won't let you go until you give him exactly what he wants, the words are right on the tip of your tongue!

Your breath gets caught in your throat when his fingers slip out from your cunny, only to begin rubbing your clit back and forth, "I-I..." You squeak as he only seems to be rougher with you, purposely making you trip over your own words, "Mark~ fuck, fuck fuck-" Your fingers dig into his wrist, "I-I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna-" A strangled breath gets caught in your throat when he quickly pulls his fingers from your clit, "W-Wait, I was close,Mark!"

"Answer me and I'll let you cum." 

His lips on your throat make it all the more difficult, but without the added pressure of his fingers abusing your poor cunny, you finally muster up the words to tell him, "I want you..." He gives you that look, the one that shows he expects more, "I want you inside me-"

"What do you want inside?" He coos, fingers brushing under your chin to bring your focus to him, "My fingers?" You shake your head with a subtle smile, "Hm... this?" He sticks out his tongue at you, only to earn himself another shake of your head. He feigns ignorance, pretending he has no idea what you could be possibly talking about. 

Your sneaky fingers reach behind you, Mark didn't even notice because of how absorbed he was with your cute tits, cupping at the bulge in his pants, "This..." He didn't expect you to be so bold, not after how stubborn you were just being, but he likes the playful squeeze you give him, "Does that answer your question?" Your snooty little comment earns a sharp pinch to your clit.

"Yeah, it does," Through the mirror you can see him undoing the belt that holds up his pants, watching the cargo material fall around his thighs and revealing just how strained his aroused cock is against his briefs, "C'mon, get down and bend over the desk." You didn't expect him to be so quick to give you what you want, but deep down you think he still has something up his sleeve.

Without arguing, you climb down from the vanity as you were told, watching Mark in the mirror as you lean forward and put your weight on the desk. As much as you were watching him, he was also watching you. His eyes dragging down the curve of your back to your soaked pussy peaking from under the hem of your shirt, he has imagined this very scenario time and time again, and here you are right in front of him.

Somehow the real thing requires so much more thought than if it were only in his head, knowing whether you're okay, making sure you're not uncomfortable. No longer is it all just him and his dirty thoughts, he has to worry about your feelings too. And he is fine with that, but he never expected himself to feel like he has two tons on his shoulders by simply looking at you. It's one thing for you to be in his head bent over, but for you to be bent over actually in front of him? Well, let's just say his nerves aren't cooperating.

Maybe you noticed this, enough that briefly stand up from your previous position to meet his gaze, "I'm kinda nervous..." If he knows it isn't just him that's a little fearful of the unknown, there is a possibility it could bring back his confidence, "We can start slow and find our flow, right? that's how it's supposed to be." You're right, and he knows you are, maybe it was the thought that you had these high expectations that were making him nervous.

Little does he realize, as much as you want to be pretty enough and good enough for him, he wants to be just the same for you. But seeing the way you look at him, no sort of judgment or expectancy behind your eyes, giving him your signature smile, helps to melt all of that frustration and uncertainty away. You've always been good at doing that.

He isn't sure what came over him to cup your cheeks like that and pull you into a kiss, and sure the two of you knocked teeth from how urgent the kiss was at first, but the passion behind the kiss seemed to cast every sliver of doubt and second-guessing aside. All of your focus is on him, and his focus is on you in that very moment. 

The electricity that surges through you with every push of your lips against his, tugging at his lip only for him to bite back and do the same to you. It's like you two found a middle ground, the kiss connecting you both in a way nothing else could, blindly guiding you two in the position you both need to feel comfortable. Somehow you finding yourself seated on the vanity desk and his hips between your spread thighs.

You break the kiss, lungs burning from holding your breath for as long as you could, eyes falling down between your spread legs, "Ah..." Your breath catches at the sight of him beginning to push inside, you didn't get a well enough look at how big he is, but the feeling alone is a little unnerving. You aren't even sure how much is in, but it feels like more than you truly think it is.

"Don't pay attention to that," His voice is hushed, grabbing your attention and making you pick your head back up, "Does it hurt?" To be honest, it doesn't, it's more like this full stretch that is only slightly discomforting. Something you weren't prepared for but believe you can handle. You shake your head, not wanting him to think he is doing something wrong, which he isn't.

His hair looks so soft, albeit messy because of the fight, but nonetheless still silky and you can't keep your fingers from combing into it, "I want another kiss," Your fingers tug the tie from his hair and watch the red locks fall to lay over his broad shoulders, "Unless you're too nervous to kiss me, hm?" 

Your challenge ignites a fire within his chest, you sure know what things to say and when to get him riled up. And what you just said about him being too nervous? Oh, he isn't having it. Mark doesn't even need to speak for you to see the "game on" look in his eyes, and it doesn't make you any more shocked when his hand finds your throat and uses it to pull you forward.

The air is knocked from your lungs at the jerk of your body forward to meet him halfway, but you don't complain for a second, not when he gives you the confidence you had thought disappeared. It feels good to have that authoritative role back in him, for him to be taking back control with how he wants you and what he wants to do to you. Through the sloppy kiss that he has you locked in, you can feel your body being laid back on the vanity.

To your surprise, you have enough room to properly lay back, and with that Mark takes advantage of it. The desk perfectly supports your weight, allowing him the chance to grab your right leg and hoist it over his shoulder to create a more open angle for him to have you in. Immediately you can tell the difference in the feeling with this position, it pushes deeper at your walls rather than just rubbing past those spongy patches.

"Ngh... fuck, th-there it..." You can't form the right words to tell him how good it feels, even with the slow and controlled pace he has set for you, "Mark, I can take more. Please." You don't even try to hide the need in your tone, how it comes out as almost a whine rather than a polite little request. And he doesn't mind the demand, if you need more he is going to give it to you. After all, you're used to being daddy's little princess.

"You really think you can take more?" You nod your head, your hum of affirmation coming out as a moan, "Yeah? I don't think you can." His words contradict his actions, his back arching forward as he picks up the pace. No longer is the room echoing with nothing but moans and the obnoxiously wet sounds of your overwhelmed cunny, but the added volume of skin slapping skin makes what you both are doing here all the riskier. 

His cock is ruthless, no matter the pace he uses you can feel every vein and the slight curve of his member, it feels too much even if he isn't giving you enough. The size itself is a problem, and he likes to use that to tease you; you're too small, you can't take it... it doesn't matter. If he finds a way to make you feel little and weak in comparison to him? He goes for it.

And you don't mind, you like the dominance, how he keeps you pinned down with one hand on your throat and the other pinning your left thigh down. You feel completely at his mercy where you lay, unable to do anything but take it, "Mark, fuck, fuck-" 

"Shh," He warns you, "Don't forget where we are." And you haven't, the whole time you two have been doing this all you could do was worry over someone walking in or by or something, "Don't need your father finding out his little girl is getting her sloppy pussy stretched open... and it'll make it worse if he finds out I'm the one doing it." You know that, but you're a big girl, you don't need your father's permission to get laid!

Unfortunately, you keep that attitude too. Why should you have to keep quiet? You're having fun, that's no one's business but yours and Mark's. "B-But... but I like it-" You gasp when your right leg is brought down from your shoulder in favor of both knees being pinned to your shoulders, "Ah- too much, too much, too much~!" 

Mark, as much as he loves your sexy moans and cutesy whimpers, he doesn't love the idea of either of you getting caught like this, and what better way to fix the noise problem than shoving the panties you kindly give him right in your mouth? And it's only better that the pink of your panties looks nice hanging from your glossy lips. 

"That's what you get, babe..." He pants out each word and adds salt to the wound by flashing a cocky grin, "Bad girls who can't keep quiet when they're told get dirty panties in their mouth." If only he knew the things he was doing to you, the strikes to your core his cock cause, how his intimidating dominance over you has your insides turning, "But you don't need your voice to make you feel good, right? Look at you..."

It's ironic that he asks you to take a look at yourself, a mirror is just behind you and you can't see yourself from this angle. Luckily for you, your redhead is one step ahead to make sure you can really see how slutty you look right now with those panties shoved in your mouth. Mark takes your hips, wordlessly guiding you to turn around onto your stomach and plant your feet back on the ground.

You are forced to look yourself in the eyes, to see the little tears pricking the corners of your eyes, look at your swollen lips and your panties, and to make it all the more humiliating, Mark is standing right behind you. He is staring right at you, making sure you know he is there and watching you, and if that doesn't make you nervous... you aren't sure what does.

A hand comes down to grip your chin, fixing your head to look straight at the mirror and more specifically yourself, "Don't look away from that mirror, understood?" His voice is at least two octaves lower than before, rumbling in the pit of his chest and vibrating against your back. It shakes your core, but in the best way possible, tingles running up your spine and back down.

It isn't long before the warmth and fullness of his cock is sinking back inside of your gummy walls, making itself comfortable deep inside of you to the point his tip kisses gently at your cervix, "It's all the way in, y/n..." He whispers into your ear, "You ready? You think you can take all of it?" The only right answer is to nod your head, humming desperately and letting him know you're ready, you want it. And who is he to deny that? His pretty girl wants her cunny stretched, why shouldn't he give in and let her have it just how she wants? 

Unlike before he doesn't let you prepare yourself, oh no, the pace went from zero all the way to one hundred in exactly one second. It was like being plowed into, the force of his hips bouncing you off and into the desk. And if you looked horrible and worn out before, you looked twice as bad now. Your sparkly eyes rolling back to make way for the oncoming flow of tears, your entire body trembling with his thrusts.

"Mmph~! Nngh-" Even through the panties he can hear you, muffled and incoherent but still like music to his ears. You take him so well, struggling maybe, but you don't complain for a second about him being too big... and it probably is because your panties are down your throat. But if you really did need him to stop, he is sure you would find another way.

"Feels good, right?" He can't tell if you're nodding or that's just your head moving in sync with his forceful jerks, "Having this little pussy nice and filled... bet you couldn't wait for this the entire match, right?" If you were able to answer, you would be screaming yes from the hills! But instead, you can only stare him in the eyes through the mirror, tears and all, and he can see just how drunk you are on his cock. A pretty whore for him to fuck.

If he had known you were such a perverted slut, so needy to have a dick train you, he would have grabbed you by your cheeky yoga leggings and made you ride his dick while he did bench presses. And seeing you like this? You would have done it without question.

"You're getting all tense, y/n..." His eyes trail down to watch himself disappearing inside of you, and the ripple of your ass smacking his hips, "You gonna cum? This pretty cunt gonna make a mess for me?" You're more than just close to cumming, it's like a fire in the pits of your core, and every pass of his member inside of you has your thighs jumping and twitching, "Yeah, that's it, babe."

Oh, you wish he wouldn't call you that, the things it does to you... and the overwhelming pleasure of his tip plunging into your poor cervix? You feel like you're on the verge of passing out, "Don't look away," He keeps your head straight and makes you look straight ahead at yourself, "Watch yourself cum." You aren't even sure if you have it in you to hold it in long enough to properly look at yourself, let alone the energy to keep your head up.

Your eyes are locked on the mirror, your breath fogging it up with the forceful pants your lungs push out. If you were wearing makeup, you're sure it would be leaving streaks down your cheeks from the tears. They aren't tears of pain, not even close, but rather ones of overstimulation. You aren't sure how much longer you can last, but you don't have time to dwell over it, not when you watch the hand not pinning your waist to the vanity snakes down between your legs.

If the panties weren't in your mouth, you would be protesting and begging him not to. You aren't sure you could handle it! His cock is already tearing your poor cunny in half, his fingers will surely break you. But you can only watch in fear, and anxiously wait for his fingers to meet your throbbing pearl between your legs.

"Mmph~! Mm-" Your nails dig into the desk and back arches to try and get away from his fingers, but Mark doesn't give up, "Mm! Mmm~!" He knows you're protesting, he knows it's too much for your sensitive little cunny. But he wants to see you come undone, to see more of your pretty tears and those sparkly eyes roll back in absolute bliss. And with the vicious pace his fingers inflict on your burning clit, you aren't far from that edge.

"That's it, babe... that's it, I wanna taste this pussy when finish. I bet you taste so sweet, just as sweet as you look right now..." And he isn't lying, you've never looked as stunning as you do right now. No angel could compare to you, nothing. The sweat coating your skin and your juices tainting the apex of your thighs, "I got you, baby-"

He doesn't have the chance to finish his pep talk before he feels you come undone beneath him, your squeals and whimpers completely muffled by your stuffed mouth. Your poor nerves going off of the wall, thighs jumping and nails digging at the wood of the vanity, and your pussy squirting all over his cock and onto your thighs. You're embarrassed by the mess, but to Mark? It is the biggest ego stroker he could have encountered... he got you to squirt.

"Fuck, good girl, good fucking girl..." Mark slows the thrusts, as much as he wants to cum he can see how worn out you are, "Take a deep breath, princess. Just like that," You try your best to do as he asks, but it's so difficult with how quick your climax comes and the panties being in your mouth. You put all of your weight on the vanity, fingers clawing at it as if it could help ease the electricity shooting through every inch of you.

Mark sees you and he thinks he may have been too rough, "Shh, c'mere." The panties are taken from your mouth, saliva soaked into the thin fabric and sticking to your chin, "You okay?" Fingers, although rough and calloused, gently brush over your cheek to gather your tears, he worries he may have forgotten himself somewhere and been too hard on you. 

And your expression, weak and twisted, for a moment makes him feel horrible. What had he done? This was his first time having sex with you, something he has wanted for so long, and he just screwed it up. His eyes watched your every move, lips opening to say something and hesitating for a minute, you were probably pissed at him.

"Y-You..." Little tears prick at your eyes and he panics, "You didn't even cum inside of me, was I not doing enough?" For a moment, silence befalls the both of you other than your pathetic little sniffles. Were you really... that worried over him finishing? Is that really what has you on the verge of crying? If he could, he would eat you up right where you stand in front of him, you're too cute.

Two hands cup your swollen cheeks and bring your face close, "You want me to cum inside of you? That's what you worked up?" You nod your head all while leaning into his hands, "You're so cute, but I think you need to take a break, babe. You're shaking." He can tell you're teetering right at the edge of too much, he fears if he does anymore he may actually hurt you.

"But I want..." He shakes his head and kisses the tip of your nose, "Then... Then I'll suck it off." You won't let up so easily, he just gave you the best climax of your life, and if he thinks you'll let him walk out of this room with blue balls he is more than just wrong. 

Mark wants to argue, he knows you should clean yourself up and you both should get out of here. He isn't even sure what time it is or how long it has been, the fights could very well be over and neither of you has any clue. But what harm can you getting on your knees do? Maybe give you a sore throat, but he is sure with how loud you were, muffled or not, you are already on the train to a strained voice.

"Make it quick, I still wanna take you to dinner." Even after all of this, somehow taking you to dinner may just be the highlight of the night. Sex is great, but for Mark Markit is the intimate, quiet moments that mean the world to him. All those times you would open early or stay late with him, he cherished those memories. Unlike him, you could not care less about dinner or memorable moments or anything, you're far more focused on what his cum might taste like. You've thought of it a million times, and finally, you will be able to know. 

You ease yourself onto your knees in front of him, Mark fixing his pants out of your way and leaning back against the desk as he watches you make yourself comfortable. If he thought you looked beautiful lying underneath him with your knees by your ears, he isn't sure what to call you on your knees. Your gorgeous eyes looking at him through those lashes of yours, tongue dragging out and over your lips.

"Don't hurt yourself, pretty girl... I saw you struggling before when I started picking up the pace." You don't like being talked down to, but you know that's just him trying to get you worked up and you won't let him have that satisfaction. 

All of your weight is put onto your knees as you lean forward, the tip of your warm tongue licking your own cum from his cock, "Be nice to me or I'll use my teeth." He can't argue with that, and he knows you will do it. Your tongue drags over the veins, tracing them carefully, breath hot and fanning over his ready-to-burst member. If he had it his way, he would grab your pretty face and fuck this squishy mouth of yours, but he already pushed it and he wants you to go at your pace now.

"Fuck, that's good... tap it on your tongue for me," You stick out your tongue and do as he says, "Shiiiit, you look so hot right now." You know you do, if anyone could see the hearts in Mark's eyes, it's you... and those hearts are practically jumping out while he watches you rubbing your tongue over his messy dick, doing everything but putting it in your mouth, "C'mon, y/n... please."

"You want me to put it in my mouth?" You feign innocence while looking up at him, giving him puppy eyes and suckling at his tip. Mark nods breathlessly, even so much as adding an extra, needy please to really show you how much he wants it. He was so kind to give you exactly what you want, it would mean not to do the same for him!

Making yourself comfortable, you open your mouth wide enough to fit his tip inside, tasting that sweetness of your juices on your tongue. Is this what heaven feels like? For him to be guiding your mouth on his dick, cooing words of praise every time you successfully ease the tip in your throat without hurting yourself or choking too much.

The two of you see, hear, and know nothing but each other at this moment. Eyes locked together and no sound other than him breathing shakily and the rare pass of your name on his tongue, mixed in with the disgusting wet sounds of your throat stretching over him. You two wouldn't have been able to pick up on the footsteps coming down the hall, or the call of two very familiar names who just so happen to be missing at the same time.

And neither of you would have been prepared for the door to open, let alone, for the one person both of you feared catching you to be standing in the doorway in shock, horror... and Mark locked eyes for just a second, a second that allowed to see the seven layers of hell in your father's eyes, before the door slammed shut and feet moved down the hall faster than you could pull off of Mark's cock. 

"I... I think we should get out of here before he comes back."

[vitzi9]

Could you do a story but with male reader pleasee <3

Come out, come out

Creepy!Ethan Landry x Male!Reader

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

CW/TW: Phone-sex, sub!Ethan, AMAB Reader, stalker Ethan, dirty talk from Ethan (like really), reader has a dick and has he/him pronouns, FILTHY

(put me in jail)

Been dead for months and came back to life for some smut, what a life man (I do not respect myself)

I didn't know if you meant male reader as in AMAB or else so I post this and I'll probably do others where reader's genitals parts are not specified.

05/05/2024 (3147 words)

Your relationship with Ethan was not the easiest. He was hard to understand, for anyone really. You’ve known each other for a few months, been really close as well. Chad, his roommate, was often absent. Whether working or out with friends. While Ethan was calmer, learning his lessons and globally just more insecure to go out that much.

Of course you’d offer to come to his place when he was bored or wanted to hang out with you. You met in class, you were paired together for a project and became good friends ever since. Ethan and you spent almost every afternoon after class at his place, talking, working or watching movies. He wasn’t an open man, for example, he categorically refuses you to enter his room. Though Chad, who you stumbled upon one day before he left for his girlfriend’s, assured you he was forbidden to enter as well.

Ethan was a private man, you did not know anything about his family or love interest, you did not even know whether he liked you or not, as you sure started to like him. How could you not ? He was kind, nerdy, smart and handsome. Sadly, you believed he never thought about you that way.

Until one night, after a movie session that exhausted you both, you found yourself cuddling on the couch, dizzy and half conscious.

It started when two men on screen start getting closer and closer to each other. You know how there's more gays showed on TV, sometimes you hate it because people look at you weird when this shows up, like you're the one who fucking put it in the movie.

But tonight, you hated it even more because your crush was here.

The worst is not knowing if Ethan is gay or not. Straight men love to laugh about gay sex, (why, you don't know but maybe it's funny) it's possible for him to start saying things like "Aha gay funny and weird aha peepee in the ass" or some shit. But Ethan's finger, who was on the cushion between you, inches towards your thigh. Confused, you tried to read his face but his eyes were solely in the screen, cheeks burning red.

It escalated quickly from there, he pulled you onto his lap, his hands were groping your ass, your lips on his, you touching his chest, his tongue against yours. You did not have sex with him as Chad came back in the middle of you humping his roommate, interrupting you and forcing you to separate from each other. You also did not have sex with him seeing as the next day he avoided you like the plague. You never actively told him of your attraction for men, but never hid it either. You left clues, small interactions when you’d mention finding someone handsome, never speaking about women you find sexy or, whatever straight men usually talk about. But you think you showed it enough that night.

Ethan, on the other hand, kept his love life pretty secret from you.

He never mentioned any crush or exes, whether it was men or women. Ethan could be friends with anyone, yes, you know that gay men could be friends with men as well but you were getting desperate to find out what he really was so you were taking what you could. What if he has a crush on Chad ? It was possible, after all. Or maybe he was talking to men online, you never know. But he could also very well talk to women online, and have a crush on a girl somewhere.

Ethan is cute, he’s sexy, even. Of course you’d be devastated after your kiss. He ignored you ! You read online of straight men trying things with men only for the thrill of it, to know how it is and everything but you never experienced it for yourself. Ethan isn’t like that, right ? Has he even had any partner before ? You don’t remember it.

It's dragging your own feet that you enter your apartment. Shoulders tensed and legs burning. Taking out your keys out of your pocket, you inch them towards the door only to let them drop on the ground. You sigh, feeling your nerves on the edge of exploding.

You crouch down, picking them up before putting it in the keyhole only for the key to be stuck. You frown and, confused, you push the door. It opens with no resistance.

What the... ? You didn't lock the door ? What crossed your mind this morning ! In such a crazy city no less ! But as there's no signs of any intruder being here or having been here, you simply unprepare yourself in the bathroom before enjoying a shower.

Drying up quickly, you realize having forgotten your pajamas in your bedroom. Towel around the waist, you search tiredly in your closet for any clothes you can sleep in. Seeing none, you question yourself about where you last put them. Did you put them in the washing machine ? You don't remember. Then where are your damn pajamas ? At one point, you grab a simple shirt before going back to the bathroom.

You place the towel on the heater for it to dry up but in doing so you take a look at yourself in the mirror. You frown.

What's that ? That's not your t-shirt ? You take it between your index and thumb, creasing the fabric. When was the last time you invited someone over ? Did it belong to one of your exes's ? You can't seem to remember.

You sniff it for a second, even if the odds were low, that maybe the person's smell would still be there. It's not, well, you don't think it is anyway. It smells clean, not a perfume, more like simple laundry.

As long as it's clean ! And nobody ever asked you to give it back so... Guess it's yours now. Before leaving for the kitchen, you check the pile of dirty clothes in your closet, learning with surprise that a lot of your supposed clean clothes are in it.

Okay, you're definitely going crazy to forget such things.

You rub your face, trying to wake you up before finally going to the kitchen. Phone is discarded on the counter while you search for anything good in the fridge. But a ringing followed by numerous vibrations grabs your attention away. Dragging your feet to your phone, you're confused at the sigh of a number you previously erased, waning to forget it.

Ethan Landry.

Ethan is calling you, you know it because you memorized his number. You let the ringtone pass, hoping he would give up. When your vocal messaging informed him to leave a message, you thought he would finally send you a text and let it go. But he called again, and again. Until you pick up, after the third call.

Only to be greeted by utter silence.

Great, he harasses you by phone and doesn't talk. What is wrong with him ? He better have good excuses.

“Ethan ? you ask, confused. A throat clearing on the other hand of the call is the only proof of his presence.

-Uh, hi, man. How, uh, how are you doing ? he asks, more awkward than ever. He’s out of breath.

Weird, why is he talking like that ? You check the time with a frown, he’s probably still in public transport, hence his breathless state. It’s Wednesday, the day he goes for errants. That’s probably where he was.

-I’m fine, man." You insisted particularly on the last word. "How are you doing ? Why the late call ? " It’s not that late by any means, it’s only 7PM (19h) but it’s confusing coming from him, especially after his long absence.

-I was just… Checking, I guess. It’s been a while.

Of course it has, he’s the one who ghosted you.

-Right, that's not really my fault though…” Awkward. What's he going to say now ? What does he really want ?

-Yeah, I kind of panicked, I guess. Sorry about that." And that's it. His sole excuse is "I panicked". Great. Nice. He clearly cares for you a lot ! How could you crush on this guy ?

You’re able to hear crumplings on his side, which makes you ask yourself whether he is really in transports or already home. Though, there is no way you’ll ask him directly, that’ll make him believe you still think about him and remember his week’s schedule. Which you do, you still think about him and know his damn schedule. Ethan takes a deep breath, as if to instill courage into himself.

“It’s gonna sound weird, I’m aware. He pauses, preparing you (or himself) to his next words. Can you just talk to me ? You can tell me anything, really.

-What ?

-I can't sleep.

Is that a good or bad thing that he thought about you before sleeping ? You’d say bad, as he ignored you for weeks before, visibly, deciding he needed you enough to come back.

-Wow, I’m flattered you thought about me to fall asleep. You say ironically. Am I that boring ?

-No, you’re not… You’re not boring. He gulps his saliva. Just talk to me, please. I like your voice.

Something’s wrong with his voice. It’s like he remains out of breath. Maybe he’s running ? He’s a strong man, he’s probably doing a marathon or something. Wait, what are you talking about, he said he needed to sleep. He’s not running at all. Then what the hell ?

-Ethan, are you sure you’re okay ? You sound weird. What are you doing ?

-Nothing, he says, but you clearly hear him exhaling a long puff of air out of his nose. I think I’m a little sick.

-Ethan ? you ask again, resulting in him coughing after, you guess, badly swallowing his own saliva.

-Just talk to me, okay ? I’m on the edge of sleeping. Particular choice of words, Ethan.

-I don’t have anything to say, honestly. I worked today, that’s all.

-Tell me all about it.

You’re a cashier, there is literally nothing interesting enough to brag about. People are mean to you, others are nice. Being a cashier is long and boring.

-Helen, you know the girl with short hair I told you about, you start after seeing he wouldn’t let go. Ethan simply hums. She dropped the big pile of canned goods at the entrance and it fell on an old woman. She threatened to sue us.”

After this, you simply told him all about your day, even the most boring stuff. It was nice to have someone listening to you after a long day, on the other hand, it was Ethan you were talking to. Never had he interrupted you, only sometimes humming at your words or letting some kind of throaty sound out, making you aware he was still awake.

Sometimes as well, he would inhale, or exhale, louder, as if falling in and out of sleep.

But most of the time, his sheets would crease under him due to his constant movements. You don't know, but he seems agitated. Maybe he had a hard day ?

“...but he told me it was my job to clean after him ! I’m a cashier, not a slave. I told him I’d call the manager and, of course, he got escorted out. Seriously, people are so impolite, why do they think it’s okay to look down on me ? He did not answer, did he finally fall asleep ?

-Ethan ?” you ask, almost whispering.

He’s not sleeping, you realize. You clearly still hear his frantic breathing, he’s talking, too. You can’t quite understand but it looks like curses. “Ethan ?” you call. Putting the call on speaker, you listen carefully to each sound coming from him. What the hell is he doing ? Your ear catches another sound, lower, distant but very much here. Confusion paints your face, you approach your ear on the screen hoping to hear better.

Faint, swift wet sounds paired with his frantic breathing create an image of Ethan you never thought you’d hear. You can only think about one thing, him laying on his bed, jerking off talking to you.

This can’t be real. Ethan, it’s Ethan on the phone. He’s not a creep. He’s a shy man, and most of all, he’s straight. Ethan can’t be attracted to you, right ? Your heart is pounding in your rib cage from panic, stress, excitation; everything at once.

“Ethan are you fucking touching yourself over me right now ? he quietly moans.

-Yes, yes I am. Please don’t hang up, just… Just wait a little bit, please." His phone hits something, probably his chest, because now all you hear are the wet movements of his hand on his member.

Is it you or is it getting kind of hot in there ?

You stare at the wall, completely lost and overwhelmed by the situation, eyes not wanting to close. Ethan is jerking off on the phone, right now. He’s moaning, having stopped hiding by now. Is it a red flag ? It’s sort of weird to masturbate on the phone with someone not even aware of it. Ethan mutters something sounding like a question, you gulp, regaining your senses and asking him to repeat.

-I need to suck your dick really bad.

Oh !

Heat spread throughout your whole body in a generalized shiver at his words. You were absolutely burning from the inside. It’s now necessary to choose or you won’t be able to later. Are you really turned on or are you just missing being desired ? Are you excited by Ethan or do you just like the idea of him finally returning your affection ? You wouldn't have been turned on if your ex told you he's been touching himself and not even listening to you, in fact, you would have got angry and humiliated. But it's Ethan and you won't meet a man like him ever again.

-Face-time me, he pleads.

Taking your phone away from your ear, you click on the camera icon without thinking. Immediately, his clothed legs appear as well as his dick, your eyes going as wide as saucers. His jogging pants are soaked, it’s sticking to his skin through the fabric. Your member twitches in your pants, one of your hands quiver closer to it.

-Look at me, he whispers.

How many times has he came already ? And was it on the phone ? You didn’t even hear him ! His dick is shiny with cum, his hand is sliding on the tip, holding it firmly. His sighs only grow louder and louder. Backing against the counter, you start rubbing your dick through your pants, enthralled by the scene before you.

All of this, just for you ?

-I’m sorry, he whimpers, I’m sorry. I… His hips move against his hand to follow the movement but he moves so fast that his dick slips out of his hold, resulting in a frustrated sigh leaving his lips. Seeing him acting so desperate has you putting your hand in your pants immediately.

-I shouldn’t have ghosted you. He mutters, fueling your ego by finally obtaining remorse from him. It’s bad, but you’re so damn horny right now you’re drinking his words. We should’ve fucked that day…

-Yeah, you sigh dreamily, we should've.

-Let me see it, let me see your dick. With such hungry words, you can’t do much but oblige. You lower your pants enough to take out your cock, pointing the camera at it. Ethan moans, his hand going down to play with his balls. Knew you’d be sexy.

Fuck, the effect he has on you was almost worrying. You were so down bad for him, glad he’s in the same situation. Knowing he thought about you like that for a moment as well was so sexy you could burst in your pants.

Blinking slowly with eyes hazed by desire, you notice his legs moving to the side, spreading open. You now realize, even if it’s logical, that he’s in his room and that you’ve never seen it before. He displayed lot of posters on his walls, it's dark so it's hard to see what is it. Looking haphazardly around him, your eyes widen in confusion, curiosity replacing horniness for a brief moment.

Something caught your eyes in his room, you did not notice it until now as his dick was honestly more important than anything, but a book is on his bed. Your hand slows its movements on your member, utterly unhinged by its content. It’s not a book but a photo album, it’s disgustingly stained with cum and the picture in it is well too familiar for your liking.

-Ethan, is that…

My face ? you thought, not having enough strength to end your sentence.

-Yeah, he moans, so sexy like that. You’re so sexy when you don’t know I’m here. So handsome. My man, mine, so sexy.

What ?

-Want you to cum on my face like I cum on yours. His hand rubs frenetically at his dick. I’d... I'd swallow it all for you, he sighs. Want to be all yours. Forever. He ends his sentence on a shaky note, making you believe he was on the verge on coming.

His movements gained speed, wet sounds invading both his place and yours. You were second guessing everything really hard.

-Want to be your cumdump for you to use when you want...” Getting chill from his words, you hang up on the spot, throwing your phone on the counter before you. Looking down, you stare at your semi soft member, suddenly feeling disgusted by what you did. You get dressed up again, putting a hand on your tummy as if to prevent you from throwing up.

What the hell was that ?

Since when did Ethan… How did he… Why… He was jerking off to pictures of you ? What is wrong with him ? At one point, Ethan must have finished his business as your phone vibrates on the counter. You send daggers at it, not wanting to look at it one bit. But somehow, you do anyway, only to regret it instantly after. He sent you a photo.

A photo of that damned book, your head close-up full of his cum with his dick on the lower part of the screen, followed by a smiling emoji. You stare at it for a while, asking yourself at which point were you supposed to guess that Ethan was a psychopath. After some seconds, he sends you another text, one you almost shiver over.

“What do you think about coming over tomorrow ?“

[loverofstufflof]

Black Myth: Wukong rant because I’m just… so tired of you people.

I hate the community this game has cultivated. I hate looking through the tags and seeing people tearing each other apart over a game based on a story I love.

There’s two stances:

Those who say that merely interacting with the game is in support of all the terrible things the developers have (allegedly) done. Who parade accusations that many have stated were mistranslated and that the situation is far more complicated than it appears.

Those who mock the former by making a straw man of their concerns while simultaneously displaying their misogyny, racism, homophobia, and general traits that make it clear they’ve never touched a woman in their life.

One is slightly more tolerable than the other. Neither make me feel welcome in enjoying this project I’ve been looking forward to for years.

I will be talking more about purple, because I don’t speak Chinese, and feel that I have no authority speaking too much on orange.

Purple people are beyond insufferable.

I think that most of this came from a Screen Rant review that listed one of the game’s flaws as “a lack of diversity.” This is an accurate analysis, and has been warped beyond belief.

I can understand the outrage… a bit. When playing a game surrounding Chinese culture, in which you play as an inhuman character fighting equally inhuman enemies, it doesn’t make too much sense to request racial representation. And when there isn’t any romance, representation for sexual orientations also wouldn’t work. Including anything in those merit would feel forced and out of place, I agree.

But you wanna know what the reviewer wrote?

She was concerned about the lack of women.

She felt unwelcome when playing a game made by rumoured misogynists because there were no women at all.

And she explicitly said that the game was still enjoyable despite this.

She gave it such a “low score” (3/5) because of the performance issues and repetitiveness. By her own rating, the game was listed as “Worth a shot despite its flaws.”

Everything got so bad they had to take down her name for her safety.

People in the purple category took this review to mean that the “woke left” was “pushing an agenda” and “trying to cancel this game for not having pansexual nonbinary black people.” Which, as I’m sure you can now understand, was not the case. The boycott surrounding this game is purely based on accusations targeted towards the developers, not the game’s content.

Of course, I don’t expect many of the aforementioned people in this category to care too much. I’ve seen the Steam reviews where they praise the lack of women. I’ve read the Reddit threads where they feel grateful that there’s “finally a company who understands the male authority.” I’ve scrolled through post after post on Tumblr that “no one would want to play a game where females jiggle their tits around while doing nothing.”

That last one gets me. It’s really telling what you can learn about a person when they say things like that.

The point is, these people make me feel very unwelcome in a community that previously made me most comfortable.

So let’s recap:

The people who I would find community with are portraying the mere interest in this game as a sin that’s worthy of being blocked and shamed over, and the people who are actually in this community remind me why I’m terrified to walk alone.

I have a lot more that I want to say on this, but I don’t really have the words quite yet, and still need to do a fair amount of research (which I probably won’t be doing because holy shit I’m so done with this). Maybe I’ll come back and add some more, but for now I just might block the tag entirely.

I just feel shitty ‘s’all ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ

[leopardcoffee]

𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕡𝕤, 𝕞𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕡𝕤, 𝕒𝕡𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕪𝕡𝕤𝕖 𝟙/𝟚

Bang Chan/F!Reader

Part 2 here

synopsis: Chan's never warmed up to you, regardless of how much time you've spent together. It wasn't just reservation, at this point you were sure. No, it had to be you.

Warnings: drinking, sexual undertones

Author's notes: hi! you might know me from my Star Trek works (probably not), but I write k-pop too! I have the finished work on ao3 and the 2nd half should be uploaded here soon. If you have something you want to see, my inbox is always open!

Word count: ~3.1k

Your breath puffed in front of you in the cold winter air, small white clouds against the darkness. A gust of frigid wind blew past, and you tugged your scarf tighter around your neck in indignance. Trudging all the way downtown after a long day of work to go clubbing for Minho’s birthday was the last thing you wanted to be doing right now.

A dull, chilly ache had settled itself into your bones earlier this afternoon and had been with you since. You’d been shivering at your desk, hunched over your spreadsheets for hours until the clock had mercifully read 5:00 pm. Instead of the comforting monotony of going home to your quiet apartment, you were going to spend the night squashed into a booth, just tipsy enough to be uncomfortable. But you loved Minho, so of course you’d make it to his special day, even if it was just the slightest bit agonizing. As you walked, you tried to convince yourself to have a good time. 

You missed Jisung’s beaming smile and Felix’s warm personality, seeing them might shake that lingering cold out of you. And of course, you’d be doubled over laughing at Changbin and Hyunjin. It’d been a while since you’d seen Jeongin, he must be almost done with his bachelor’s by now, you’d have to ask him about it. And Seungmin had just recently finished reading that book you’d lent him- It’d be so nice for us all to be together again. Oh, and Chan.

Furrowing your brows thinking of Minho’s friend, you tried to keep your mind open. Just because Chan would be there didn’t mean you couldn’t have a good time, even if you were sure he would brush you off like lint on his sweater.

For some reason beyond the scope of your understanding, Chan had just never warmed up to you. When Minho introduced you -his neighbor from childhood- to his friends from grad school, you were terrified. Despite your reservations about intruding on their lives, they had welcomed you with open arms into their little family. Never again did you doubt the validity of your friendships with the boys outside of your relationship with Minho. Chan had been a different story.

You thought maybe he was just quiet around new people, but that proved not to be the case. He was perfectly polite to strangers, acquaintances, all the new girlfriends Jisung seemed to have, everyone. Whenever you stepped out of the room Chan’s entire demeanor shifted, and shifted right back when you returned. Whatever he would be saying would die on his lips and he would retreat out of the conversation almost immediately. He was a moonflower and you were the sun, you closed him up.

When you did have the misfortune of interacting with him, it was charged and short-lived. Whatever you said he automatically disagreed with. If you were all going out as a group, the two of you would argue incessantly until things came to a head in an all-out fight. The hateful things you’d hurl at each other made your mutual friends avoid getting the whole group together at all costs. You recalled a trip you’d all taken out to the country for a day to get away from work and the city.

-

 It started innocently enough, with you and Chan getting stuck in the same car, him driving with you in the passenger’s seat. It’d been a wildly unlucky scenario, but the others had already gotten on the road while you both had work to finish up. The plan had been to just drive yourself, but of course, this was exactly when your roommate had desperately needed the car. In her quest to set you up with Chan, she’d told you she needed to pick her sister up from the airport, which was technically true. After getting in his passenger’s seat you’d wished you’d told her to walk.

Another driver’s careless merge had almost ended in disaster. You’d been sitting in silence driving on the highway for about an hour, a fragile peace over the two of you. Someone had cut Chan off, and reflexively he had thrown his arm across your chest as he hit the brakes to keep you from flying forward. He barely stopped from crashing directly into the car in front of you.

 You were both rattled after the near accident, Chan pulled over and the two of you just sat in silence, processing. You couldn’t remember how long you’d sat there, Chan’s arm resting across your thighs. Tears of relief began pouring down your face. Chan gripped the steering wheel in one hand and took your hand with the other.

“It’s ok, it’s ok. Shh, we’re ok. I got you, sweetheart, I got you.” 

His thumb drew circles on the back of your hand for the rest of the drive while he murmured you reassurances. Every so often he would glance at you, such tenderness in his big brown eyes that it made you want to burst. It could’ve been a turning point in your relationship, a gateway to a newfound peace between you, if not for Jisung.

“Channie! Y/Nie! What’s this, huh?” It started the minute Chan had parked the car and opened the door to help you out. Both of you were still rattled, so you gripped his hand back in yours without thinking. Jisung’s taunted relentlessly until Chan snapped.

“Quit it Jisung. We almost got into an accident and she wouldn’t stop bawling. Couldn't drive the rest of the way if she didn't shut up. Keep that bullshit to yourself, we’re still nothing.” You tried not to let more tears fall when he carelessly dropped your hand and pushed his way inside your accommodations. Moments ago he’d been holding your hand so tenderly in his own, now you were left standing there like a fool, 7 pairs of eyes boring into you.

-

You’d tried picking the other’s brains for reasons why Chan might think to treat you so coldly, but they never did anything but sigh and ask to drop it. Even Minho wouldn’t crack, just look at you with heavy eyes. Whenever you asked, a bleak aura overtook your conversant. It wasn’t worth it. There was another instance when you felt as though you had seen beneath his facade. 

-

You’d cornered Chan in Seungmin’s kitchen when everyone had been over for a movie night. It had initially been an accident, you’d only gone to refill Felix’s popcorn bowl when you’d spotted him. His wellbeing wasn’t in the forefront of your mind, but when you’d walked in on him gripping the counter, head down and eyes squeezed shut it’d tugged at your heart. You’d stood still for a moment, assessing what you had been seeing. 

“Are you alright?” 

Had been all you said, deciding to keep it simple. Chan wasn’t the most convivial person you’d ever met, but it wasn’t like him to keep to himself to such an extent. Your heart pounded in your chest when he’d turned his head, those soulful brown eyes that never seemed to be looking at you finally meeting your own. Something flickered in their depths that lit a fire in your heart. It felt as though he’d ravished you with nothing but a glance.

“Yes, just…collecting myself. It’s nothing, please don’t waste your worry on me. Go back to the boys and finish the movie, I'll take care of Felix’s popcorn. Please Y/N, forget this.”  It fell from his lips as casually as the time.

You’d nodded, gasping quietly when his fingers brushed against yours as he took the bowl from your hand. Daring to look up, you saw him already gazing down at you. The ember in his eye from moments ago was now an inferno consuming you. His eyes raked over your body and lingered over your lips. For a moment neither of you moved, fingers barely brushing. 

He’d pulled back so quickly you almost hadn’t realized it. Face on fire, you slunk back to your place at Jeongin’s side and pretended to become absorbed in the movie once again. That had been the longest conversation you’d ever had with him. Barely more than 5 minutes, but it felt as though he’d split you open and seen your heart.

-

Against your will, you felt your face heat up as you recalled the incidents. Those deep brown eyes haunted you, worst of all when it was late at night and you were alone in your bed, with nothing but your desire for him. You were almost there according to your phone, so you pushed the thoughts of Chan from your mind as you walked up to the group of men waiting outside the club.

“Y/N!” Jeongin was the first to greet you, quickly followed by the others as they showered you with welcomes.

“We missed you the other day,” Changbin said as he threw an arm over your shoulder. “You seriously gotta get out more. Come clubbing with us next time! I solemnly swear I will try to get you laid.” He crossed his fingers over his heart in mock solidarity as everyone around him burst into laughter.

“Hey, if all else fails, I’m sure we can arrange something.” He flashed you his million-dollar smile that made all the girls swoon as you keeled over laughing. Any apprehension you’d been harboring before melted away as you leaned into Changbin’s side, so grateful you had a friend like him.

“You better take her out to dinner first if you’re gonna come on her like that.” Came a familiar deep voice from behind you. Feeling two arms wrap around your waist and squeeze, you beamed. Felix had arrived.

“Missed ya,” He said simply, squeezing himself in between you and Changbin. “Where’s Chan?” 

Minho shrugged and Seungmin looked down at his phone, checking for a text. “He should be here any minute now.” 

“I’m here.” 

Stiffening, you tried to keep your cool as Chan’s voice drifted over your head. He walked up behind Jeongin and Hyunjin. His presence was august- powerful and noticeable, even unintentionally. Words flowed from his plush lips like poems, composed for the sole purpose of- 

What were you thinking? You were talking about Chan. Get a grip.

 “Let’s go birthday boy, it’s cold outside.” His symphonic voice reverberated through you, throwing you even further off balance than you were before.

“Hell yeah!” Hyunjin took off like a bullet searching for the ‘perfect place to sit’, a fruitless endeavor for him as he would be spending all night on the dance floor anyway. Jisung and Minho followed dutifully after him and the rest of the boys disappeared to get drinks. With a sinking feeling in your stomach, you realize they had split up, leaving you alone with Chan. Swallowing, you stared down at your sensible but pointedly bland work clothes, feeling like a fool for not dressing better. The looming reality of Chan’s presence beside you made you feel meek, and you wilted like a flower in the sun.

“Y/N, Chan!” The saving grace of Minho’s voice wafted over to you. “Why are you two just standing around, come on! It’s my birthday, drink in my honor!” 

He shoved mysterious fruity cocktails into both your hands and whisked you over to the booth Hyunjin had procured. Everyone was talking and laughing, fully relaxed and blissfully unaware of how world-shattering it was when Chan’s arm brushed against your own as the two of you sat down. 

Conversation flowed and you nodded along, doing your best to stay engaged and your mind ran wild. Nimble fingers brushed your waist every so often as Chan shifted to reach across the table for another drink. Each time you felt thunderstruck.

“Alright, the party starts now. Shots!” 

Changbin appeared seemingly out of thin air with more shots than you’d ever seen in one place. The sight of so much liquor was daunting on its own, never mind that you’d have to drink it. What would they think if you got too drunk? Would your makeup still look ok? What if you made a fool of yourself? What would Chan-

“Get out of your head Y/N! We’re letting loose here, none of your worrying. We gotta party like we did in college, do it for Minho!” Changbin slid you a shot. You squirmed in your seat, unable to escape your thoughts. “C’mon Y/N!” A chorus of ‘Yeahs’ and ‘Come ons’ drowned out your inner voice, and before you knew it you’d thrown your head back, downing whatever Changbin had given you. 

Slamming the shot glass on the table, you leaned back in the booth and smiled. Everyone celebrated you taking the first shot by following suit with their own. Glancing around the table at your friends laughing, your eyes landed on Chan. It made you frown when you noticed the number of glasses he’d accumulated this early on in the night. 

But Changbin was right, everyone was. Worrying about Chan had never done you any good. Every time you brought up your insecurities about him, they shut you down. They knew it was eating you up inside, you didn’t deserve to agonize. If all he was ever going to do was ice you out, you wouldn’t waste another moment. Throwing back another shot, you let the warmth of the alcohol tingle through your body. This was nice, maybe you did need to get out more.

“That’s it, I’m dancing. Don’t ask me for anything, I don’t know you.” Hyunjin predictably made his escape from the group first, making a beeline for the first attractive person he saw. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was your newfound lack of interest in what Chan thought of you, but you followed after him with Jeongin and Jisung in tow.

You felt a slight prickle of nervousness as you made it to the dance floor, you hadn’t done something like this in a long time. Before you could even begin to think, Jisung grabbed your hand and pulled you up against him. Jeongin joined in, and the three of you danced like lunatics. 

You loved the boys dearly, but not quite in that way, so drunk dancing sandwiched between the two of them had no consequences. They didn’t care, so why should you? It was freeing to feel desired. Basking in the attention, you dragged them closer as the alcohol removed your inhibition. It felt selfish being the center of attention, you laved yourself in it. 

-

Chan scowled down at his crossed hands. He knew he was bringing down the mood with how much he was drinking, but what else was he supposed to do? 

“Chan, man, I think you should call it quits pretty soon.” Seungmin was the first to break the silence. It’d been almost 30 minutes since you’d left, and the tension had only been building since. Felix and Minho nodded, and Changbin put his hand on Chan’s shoulder.

“M’ fine. Don’t worry about me, especially not on your birthday, Minho.” He mumbled, unable to look his friends in the eyes. His heart clenched knowing he was worrying them, the boys he’d grown to love like brothers. 

Ordinarily, he’d listen. No, ordinarily he’d have never let himself get so out of control. But tonight was different, the feelings he’d been trying so hard to keep inside were forcing their way out. It was stupid, how badly he’d been pinned beneath the weight of his feelings and the reality of his predicament. How can you love someone you barely know?

“Dude, clearly something’s up. Spit it out, I’m not doing the run-around tonight.” Distinct finality was embedded in Minho’s statement. No wasn’t an answer he could get away with this time. This was his comeuppance for closing himself off for so long. If the truth wasn’t going to come out on its own, it was going to be forced out. Before he could stop himself, the words he’d spent countless nights agonizing over and carefully planning tumbled out of him in a drunken slur.

“M’ in love with Y/N. ‘Know it’s stupid, she barely knows me. Didn’t mean for it to happen, jus’ did.” 

Nothing happened. The world kept turning. Chan kept breathing. People danced around them and the words just sat there, quiet and raw. His throat felt tight and his sternum ached with the painful reality of what had just happened.

“Sorry. ‘Knew I shouldn’t have said shit. Gotta keep staying away from her, can’t mess anything up for you guys. ‘Jus forget it, I-”

“Chan, you’re kidding.” Felix was the first to regain his composure while the others gawked at him. “Are you so dense that you don’t realize what you’re doing to her? Can you seriously not tell that she cares about you, that she wants to be near you, to know you no matter how much you push her away? I mean, is it really that difficult to imagine that she might-”

Felix’s voice became nothing but a dim buzzing in the back of Chan’s mind as he stumbled out of his seat. Wherever you were, he was going to find you.

-

Heat crashed over you in waves as your partner’s hands ran down the sides of your body. At some point, you’d gotten tangled up with this handsome stranger, and you had no desire to part from him. Jeongin and Jisung each paired off with a different woman, just as lost in their respective moments as you were. Minho and Changbin were drunkenly dancing, not a care in the world apparent to either of them. Hyunjin seemed to be having the best night of all, he was nowhere to be found.

The music peaked and you pressed your back against your partner’s chest, sighing out as his lips met your neck. You think his name was Jay, but you’d forgotten it the minute his hands had come to rest on your hips. Whoever he was, he’d managed something no one had been able to since you’d met Chan, he’d made you feel bold. You twirled around in his arms as he spun you to face him, your lips inches apart. Fingers threaded themselves between the curls at the nape of your neck. You were so close to kissing him that it made your body vibrate. Just one more inch.

“Get off my girl.” You stiffened in his arms, sobering up like you’d been splashed. That couldn’t be his voice, yet it was unmistakable who’s hand was curling around your waist.

“Your girl?” Jay said, clearly reluctant to release you.

“Yeah, my girl.” He tugged you forward into his chest, and Jay quietly slipped away into the throng. Whatever appeal he had provided for you vanished into nothingness as Chan’s hand came up to hold the back of your head, the other wrapping around your waist. His eyes bore into yours, swimming with something you couldn’t place. Your heartbeat picked up in your chest as you noticed his eyes flick downwards.

Chan stared at your parted lips, your cheeks flushed red like a Roman beauty. You stared back at him, his large arms still locked tightly around you. Neither of you made any indication of releasing the other. The people dancing and the sounds of the music faded into the background as you stood in his arms. It felt as though his gravity had finally sucked you in, with the way he was looking at you, you knew there was no escaping your feelings for him now. 

My girl, my girl, my girl.