#and there's no telling what this younger person may learn from you

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  6 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." - oscar wilde

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5| chapter 6

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

Despite what happened, you would have done anything to face Father Sylus again. 

He was the type of person who radiated energy from within, dedication unlike anyone you had ever met - which could be a good or a bad thing. The thoughts became an obsession, all that seemed to fill your brain. The recollection of his touch made you sweat. It was the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing you thought about when you woke, and the next few days stretched.  One thing was sure: you longed to see him again, if only for the courage to apologize.  But did you even have to apologize? He was the one who had kissed you first, right?  It was so unbelievably confusing. You’d talk yourself through circles; for once, no amount of sleeping seemed to help.  You weren’t even given the option to sleep it all off anyway or mellow properly in your self-pity. Upon learning of your ‘arrest’ from Talia, your father forced you out of the house that Sunday to go to church with him.  “What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Dad raised his eyebrows and frowned as he gripped the steering wheel, and you could tell he was trying hard not to get angry or frustrated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, hon. You came back, and you’re acting weird.  Can you just tell me what’s wrong?”  Shaking your head, you shrugged, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact on the door handle, ignoring your dad’s question and wishing he’d just leave you alone.  “You went from being happy to totally distraught since you moved out. What am I supposed to think here, huh?”  ‘Maybe everything went to total fucking shit,’ was what you wanted to say, and tried not to roll your eyes. Dad tried so hard to not act like the authoritarian or pushy father, especially after your mother had died. He was never like that. And it was because of that you figured it was time to be at least a little truthful.  “I quit my job. I don’t know what I’m going to do from here, but -” you said, “I just…needed some time to think things through.”  Your dad parked the car and turned to offer you a subtle smile. You were convincing enough, obviously. “Okay, fine. Work in the store until you figure it out. It’ll be like old times.” One hand gripped the steering wheel as he looked at you, almost seeming to peer into your brain as his eyes flicked ever so slightly. “So, uh, is this about your mom? I didn’t know you were still upset about that. I should’ve tried to talk to you more.”  You bit down your reply, feeling a bitter taste in the back of your throat, and willing it away.  “No, it isn’t. Just forget about it.”  A long sigh filled the small space as your father pressed his lips together. “Christ, I can’t be mad at you right now. I’ve always let you do what you want.”  This was strange, a particular ache settling inside and spreading to your limbs like an infection. Maybe it wouldn’t stop now that it had started. And the first instinct was to get away and run. Run and run and just get away.  “Hon, Y/N,” Your Dad’s voice was pleading, and you nearly missed it. “We can go talk to -”  “No!” You blurted, immediately regretting it, mortified at just the thought. How did you speak so fast? “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go inside. We’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t feel any better inside the church, but you weren’t expecting much to begin with. All you could do was suck it up and seat yourself beside your dad. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few unfamiliar faces, so maybe not everyone would notice your fucked up mood. 

Everything felt surreal. You were sitting there in church with the sun streaming through the stained glass windows, and your gaze landed on the one depicting the Virgin Mary.

The word ethereal came to mind. 

Everything seemed like it would evaporate into thin air. Like if you moved too quickly, you’d wake up from one of those dreams that just turned out to be inside of another dream. 

And when a hush fell over the congregation, you had no choice but to look forward. No matter how your brain fizzes or your fingers tingle. You were forced to look at that handsome face in front of the church and feel the emotion well inside you. Something that felt different than embarrassment or frustration. 

Even from this distance, Father Sylus exudes that particular aura, daring to fill the whole church with its strength. You are once again reminded of how inescapable his presence is—not through belief or goodness, but something, someone who felt unearthly, even celestial, as absurd as it felt. 

Ethereal. Once again, with that pretty word. How could you even begin to explain it? It was so easy to feel some sort of bitterness, perhaps even selfishness. Who could blame you? Everything always seemed too simple when you looked at it from a distance. 

“Good morning,” He began, his voice taking on that strangely powerful, lilting cadence. He paused, hands clasping, and his posture was different. Shoulders broad, spine straight, chin lifted slightly. “I want to take a moment before we begin to discuss why we’re here.” 

You were drawn to his words, which had formed an invisible link to you. Maybe if you closed your eyes like you did at night, you could picture that night in the car. It felt foolish because you were certain your own thoughts were desperate. How stupid did it make you seem, trying to replay the sensation? A stupid crush. That is all you wanted it to amount to, even if looking into his fiery gaze had made you feel like you were melting.

“We’re here, in the house of the Lord. Why is this?” 

If a month’s insistence on chasing after a flame could be compared to anything -

 “Free will.” His tone picked up. “Through our actions, we make conscious decisions. As far as humankind is concerned, free will also makes us human.” 

Your breathing stilled. Something terrible seized your gut, a cramping feeling causing you to grit your teeth. 

“This is a sanctified place,” he continued, voice rich and filled with energy. “Within these walls, you should experience peace. Not conflict or anger. All are free here because it is with our actions that we build ourselves.”

How the hell did he manage this? The words continued spilling from his mouth, something pulling you further. And after a pause, his gaze filtered over the room again - and landed on you. 

Time was beginning to stand still, and you swore your face began to heat up. But, thankfully, the look didn’t linger on you, moving on as he cleared his throat. 

Well, fuck. 

There was only a tiny shift in expression, and perhaps you were the only one to notice how his pause seemed more lengthy than those before it. 

"We - uh.” Father Sylus made a show of glancing down at the notes before him and shuffling a few pages. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “What I mean to say is, with free will, we struggle against our urges and temptations. Sin beckons - uh,” another loud cough. He looked nervous. Vulnerable. In more ways than one. 

Father Sylus hastily pushed aside the pages, shoulders lifting in a deep breath before looking again at the people gathered. He straightened a little, and his powerful tone returned as he folded his hands neatly. “So, how do we resist? It can be hard to…admit one’s faults.” He let out a little huff of air, glancing down again. Then, he stepped away from the podium, stepping along the carpeted dais, hands clasped behind his back and thumbs tapping against each other. 

The congregation started shifting. A glance here and there, unable to guess what he would say next. Probably wondering why their priest was acting so…off. If you weren’t glued to your seat in, well, any number of the emotions you were feeling now - you would have high-tailed it out of there already. But instead, you were frozen in place, feeling like an outsider, feeling the shift in the air more than the others around you. 

“Take those feelings and multiply them by ten.” He stated, looking towards the back of the church at nothing in particular. It was as if he was somewhere only his mind knew. 

“Opportunity is often just an invitation to sin, yes. Free will is a man’s greatest power but also his biggest weakness. With that power comes responsibility. Satan doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns in the middle of the night.” 

Oh God.

 There was a tense pause and stillness, and you wonder how you managed to sit here and listen. Those crimson eyes trailed around the room, but for another second, a brief and terrifying second, they burned into you.

“Satan comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” He laughed, bitter and slightly hoarse. Then his eyes snapped forward again, unabashed. 

He coughed, cleared his throat again, and gestured with a finger above his head. “We all - well, we all think we can overcome any challenge. Big or small. Big and small.” Father Sylus let out a shaky exhale. “Um, the point is...The point is that the devil is ready to collect when you can’t. So, the point is that - uh,” His tone shifted to something smaller that made your insides tremble agonizingly. A breathless, tight sort of anxiousness that stole through your lungs and caused your heart rate to increase. It was impossible to deny that despite the words coming out of his mouth, you actually wanted to hear him continue. “Um, sometimes I think the hardest thing is that we are human, and we are weak.” 

Before he could even continue, his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, grimacing, an anguish that you recognized. “Excuse me.” He looked like he might break, the wavering tension almost stifling the room, his expression almost tormented. 

“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he disappeared into the back, leaving everyone shocked. 

Everyone except for you. 

“And that’s why I’m never going to church again.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against one of the shelves in your dad’s store, looking over at Rafayel, who was leaning against the counter, making it his personal mission to get every last drop out of an iced coffee. “You should have seen the look on his face. What a fuck up.” 

Rafayel wrinkled his nose, looked around the otherwise empty store, and then glanced at his phone. “Yikes. Poor guy.” He sighed and tapped his foot on the floor. “Talia came home and said he had a migraine - but it’s even more hilarious that a near-public breakdown was because of you.” 

“My God, you are awful.” You frowned and stepped forward to lightly punch his arm, reaching out and catching his elbow with a grimace as he pretended to almost fall over. “That’s a horrible thing to say! You were the one who was practically encouraging me!” 

“I would never,” Rafayel huffed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week now. You’re gonna have to suck it up and face him sooner or later.” With a firm nod, he shook off your hold and dusted his hand on the faded denim of his jeans, turning his attention back to his phone and shaking the ice in the cup he held. 

“How would I do that?” You asked. 

As if oblivious, Rafayel arched a brow and smiled tightly, peering at you over the edge of his phone. His tone was less-than-reassuring, sounding almost pitying. “No fucking idea.” 

You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it as the shop door opened, just in time for the chilly afternoon to bring in your dad and Xavier. You took a deep breath at the sound of the bell and forced yourself to calm down.

As if on cue, Rafayel pushed himself away from the counter and looked in your direction. “Well, Y/N.” He said, tossing a wink in your direction that made you want to reach out and knock the silly grin off his face. “Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the store with a shake of his head. 

Your dad mumbled something under his breath before tossing a wave a little too late and heading into the back of the small building. 

Unease had settled in your stomach at your friend's departure. You felt as if you had more to say, ask, or get a general idea of as you stared at the shop's door. You ran a hand over your tired face and sighed. 

“Hi,” Xavier gave you a careful, controlled smile as you turned toward his voice. “Need help with anything?” 

You tried your best not to fidget or bite your lip. “No, but it’s nice of you to offer.” You shrugged and glanced away briefly. “Why? Got nothing else to do?” 

“Uh, I work here?” He blinked as he stepped forward. You could take in his softening facial features now that he was closer. His smile didn’t quite fade as he looked around the quiet shop. “Anyway - I um. I tried to call you last night? About dinner?” 

Tilting your head in confusion, you froze. Then, you processed the sentence. 

Dinner. Shit. 

“Oh! My phone went missing. I’m sure it’ll turn up soon or something. Wasn’t the nicest phone anyways,” you brushed some hair behind your ear. “I still can’t figure out how it disappeared!” You forced a laugh at your lie and shifted uncomfortably.

You’d completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. How fucking stupid were you? So caught up in the idea of -

“Well, uh, I didn’t plan much. So it’s okay, we can just do something another night. Right?” Xavier suggested, and you couldn’t tell if he had let it go so quickly or was suspicious about your behavior. 

Either way, you smiled, rationalizing with yourself for what felt like the millionth time that spending time with him would be a good thing. Any way to keep your mind distracted. Clearly, he still wanted to go out with you, and you certainly wouldn’t say no. After all, who could blame you for latching on anyone who showed the slightest interest? 

This would be a step in the right direction, right? Things would get better. They had to. No matter how weird it felt for you to think so. 

“That’s fine. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.” 

The worst part of it all was the sudden weight in your stomach, the ache in your chest that was becoming all too tiring. Something pushed you in the complete opposite direction of the young man in front of you, towards what you really wanted, and had no explanation for why you did. 

“Y/N?” Xavier spoke again and stepped closer, watching your expression with careful scrutiny, his hand reaching out to touch yours, giving you a new feeling of unease. “Hey, um, - you alright?” 

Your heart wrenched a little at the worry, and you wondered exactly how pathetic you appeared. “I think so. Can you take over? I gotta step out for a while.”

It grew colder as you walked along the sidewalk, sticking your hands inside your jacket pockets. Clouds gathered in the distance, inching their way towards the suburb. The air smelled fresher, as if it might snow lightly sometime at night. A breeze swept over the street, stirring pieces of your hair from its confines, and you briefly thought you should have remembered your scarf. 

Then, you came to a stop in front of the church. 

You looked down at your outfit, the jeans and the oversized blue sweater you had found in your mom's closet, when you couldn’t be bothered to do your own laundry. Perhaps she would give you strength, or at least enough willpower from wherever she was to give you the courage to turn right the fuck around and go back home.  She was always straightforward in that way, even without the drinking. If only you had taken after her in that aspect. 

For a moment, you almost turned to leave, giving yourself the opportunity to simply walk away and go home. However, after a few seconds of mental debate, you stepped along the worn walkway and up the steps, slipping your hand out of your pocket to place it on the worn wooden door. 

Somewhere in your mind was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of resolve.

Now that you had gathered whatever courage you had left, you took one last, bracing breath before pushing the door open. A jolt of energy speared up your arms, a buzzing sensation against your fingertips. Once you were inside, everything felt eerily silent. Almost too silent. But as the familiar warmth enveloped you, your body relaxed slightly as you shrugged off your jacket. 

The last light from the day was casting through the windows, and the interior was a muted, golden glow and soft orange. It felt warm in more ways than one. Despite the hushed nature of the building, energy thrummed within you. The atmosphere was inviting, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite muster the ability to step forward any further, feet stuck to the floor beneath you. It was ironic, yet in a way, expected; you felt like crying or throwing something, but maybe punching Father Sylus would give you the most satisfaction. 

The chapel seemed alien to you as you made your way further inside. 

Loneliness was all-consuming, a fear ever present and threatening in the back of your mind. You wondered why it hurt so much. And, you considered whether you have ever experienced a real connection in your life. You zeroed in on the cross beyond the rows of pews as if you could use it for answers. It glinted a little in the evening light that filtered through the stained glass. Your eyes felt dry as they fixed upon the illuminated wood, searching, listening, walking towards the front of the church like a mouse. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You asked your question out loud. The silence of the building taunted you in return, and something constricted within your chest. The rush of it all was consuming, filling your every thought with hope and expectation. A breath sucked in, and you shook your head, blinking. Everything felt off, and you had no idea what your body was supposed to do with itself. “This is so fucked. You know, this is all…just so messed up,” you choked out the whisper and, with a small gasp, swallowed. The emotions swelled. Heavy and pounding and suddenly overwhelming. 

Who gave a shit? Nothing would change. 

But, maybe - 

Would God be willing? Could He lift the spell put on you that would continue to grow? 

“Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back.” The words spilled and dropped like shattered glass. “And, uh, it’s just like, that’s fucked up. Isn’t it? Please, it’s - well, I wish I knew, God damn it. Motherfucker!” You swore louder than you should have, not recognizing your own voice. A feeling that had no name gripped your heart. This was it. You were giving up. “Totally fucked up. And you go and make me do stupid shit? What kind of test is that?” 

Only silence answered. You wondered how you should feel. As angry as you were, it felt strange to voice it. Finally, saying the words brought unusual comfort, and it was too easy to admit everything now. “Yeah, yeah. You should really apologize, God. Lord. Jesus. Whatever.” 

“I’m sorry.” The voice that spoke back did not belong to you. Echoing off the walls and the stained glass, it sent a jolt up your spine, causing you to spin in its direction. Leaning against a doorframe was Father Sylus, looking down at the floor, that shameful expression resurfacing on his face. You witnessed the repentant facade as he lifted his head and looked at you. 

It felt like a flood rushed through you, coursing, washing away the anger, seeping into every cell, and filling you with something new. Warm and soft, somehow breaking you apart as it passed. Something indecipherable but true. 

Something almost wonderful and exhilarating. 

He looked like something you could draw. That raw, exposed sort of aura. 

That same warmth enveloped your heart, the comfort expanding across your chest. There was something profound and affectionate within his gaze and the sense that you had underestimated what was truly meant by the phrase ‘care and concern.’

It could have been a few seconds. Or minutes passed as you stood rooted to the spot. The beating of your heart seemed to echo in your ears. Blood pulsed through your veins, the silence around you growing louder. 

“For what?” You were almost afraid to speak up. 

“For whatever you’re feeling,” Father Sylus stated plainly. Then he straightened, and his look shifted, and for a split second, he stepped forward, only to pause with his fingers twitching at his sides. Maybe there was confusion flickering in his gaze. Or longing. But he still didn’t move from where he stood, as if unable to break the tension he had with himself. After a time, he studied your face and added, “For everything and for nothing.” 

After a moment of thought, you shook your head. “That’s vague.” 

“It’s all I’ve got.” Father Sylus ran a hand behind his neck, almost nervously, eyes shifting and gaze searching. Another pause lingered between you, and you blinked a few times. He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on placing both his hands on his hips, inclining his head to look at the stained glass windows. “That…and guilt.” 

His admission seemed weighted, and his voice was heavy. You watched him take a step forward, then hesitate. 

In that second, there was a great leap in understanding. You understood that he would not look directly at you because it would break this sacred reverence between you and whatever else was going on within his mind. 

Maybe it’d always been a game, and perhaps you knew deep down that this would be his next move. The inevitable, silent communication. Slowly, you folded your shaky arms over your chest. The look that flashed in his eyes made you shudder. With a new boldness, you swallowed and whispered: “Why are you telling me this?” 

Exhaling hard, you weren’t sure whether to scream, laugh, or cry as you awaited your answer.

He swallowed, his dark gaze teeming like a fire in the low light, the red burning. His lip curled. “Because I feel like you can understand it. Why I feel this way.” 

A sick urge, sharp and needy, had you crossing the space between you, the air shaking and trembling as he finally took another stride forward. Your eyes traced over his face. Deep and pained and beautiful. His chest heaved. A strange, bittersweet satisfaction filled you. 

“I - I can’t stop thinking about -” you broke off, words quivering as you spoke. “Us. The other night - it keeps going through my head, what I said, and -” your voice was breaking again, the achy, miserable desperation settling in. 

You could tell he was holding his breath, hands now clenched into fists, gaze searching and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.” The words hung heavy as he stepped closer, finally closing the distance between you, tilting your chin, and forcing you to look at him. The grip held you firmly, though his eyes remained gentle and pleading. “I want nothing more than to pray - beg for your forgiveness. Try and restore whatever trust I’ve betrayed - but in all truth, God, I -” 

Another thick swallow, and he paused, the corner of his mouth twisting. He squeezed your chin lightly as if in search of some answer. Then his hand fell to his side, his head turning to look at the cross behind the altar. Something burned beneath your ribs. 

“What is it?” You whispered, trembling with the effort of not spilling all your unresolved thoughts. “Tell me - tell me something, anything, or - or -” You stopped yourself, feeling a little pathetic at not being able to formulate the proper words. 

“My path was never exactly clear, but,” Father Sylus swallowed thickly, sounding more scared than ever. “Someone I loved when I was younger - she -” A long sigh escaped his lips. “We were each other's firsts and…We loved each other very much.” He exhaled again. His face creased into sadness, reminiscent and haunting. A sharp pain, almost. One that lingered from emotions held within. The truth was there, plain as day, naked, heartbroken, and fragile. “She died when she was eighteen.” 

Pain squeezed at you mercilessly, tight and almost bone-crunching. You stepped closer, your brain slowly putting it all together, realization hitting. Then your bottom lip trembles as you reach out, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say after a moment, “that must have been -” Another pause, trying to settle your lungs into a steadier breathing pattern. 

He squeezed your hand, looking at you, catching your gaze and holding it, unwavering. “I went to her funeral in a church far bigger than this one with twice the congregation. And later that day, when they put her down into the ground, I listened to the Monsignor pray over her soul.” He looked away again, this time up at the beams in the ceiling. “And I really listened to what he was saying for the first time. And I don’t know why, I just suddenly felt…” He trailed off, and you moved your hand further up his arm, willing him to continue by pressing your fingertips gently into his forearm. 

He smiled at the ceiling, faint and apologetic. “I felt at peace. Everything clicked into place. As stupid as that sounds. It was like something I couldn’t understand but needed. And, well,” he shrugged. 

“At last, it finally made sense to me,” he muttered. “The power God holds over us was always right there.” Then he turned to face you, his fingers reaching and resting on your cheek, tracing the soft skin of your jaw. “And now, I stand before you - finding these feelings again, the first true connection I’ve felt in years. I don’t mean to doubt anything…but I don’t know how to...” 

He let his voice drift off before tucking your hair behind your ear, movements tender. You wondered what he could see in your expression. 

“How did she die?” You asked quietly as if the question would destroy something in the air, but you needed to ask it anyway. 

The corners of his mouth trembled as he stroked his thumb along your jawline, offering you a small, grim smile. “She was mad at something, drank herself sick. Decided a joy ride on a motorcycle might be a good idea,” he turned his gaze to the ceiling again, and it finally hit you that he kept doing that as a trick to keep himself from crying. “She lost control and swerved, hit a wall head-on. Died on impact. Stupid girl with the dumbest ideas. She used to talk about seeing if the world curved or if the stars continued forever. She was funny and smart - but not as smart as she should have been. Her blood alcohol level came back three times the legal limit.” 

“That’s horrible,” you breathed. The puzzle pieces were assembled together. A crash. Drunk. How similar it was to your mother. Only your mother hadn’t met death head-on. It was still one of those things that made you wonder; which would have been worse? The chance was so similar yet unique. Still, as Father Sylus spoke about it, you swore you felt the faint sorrow he must still carry within himself.

“Sylus, I’m -” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He said, finally regaining a certain poise about his face, somehow managing to look warm even at this moment, smiling very softly. 

At his words, you realized you were breathing harder than before, and it didn’t go unnoticed as he scanned your face. You didn’t know what was wrong with you; you felt an emotion you could no longer explain. He had experienced loss, same as you, just not in the same way. 

Father Sylus let out a dry snort. “It’s not a happy memory, but something good comes from pain. Distrust to trust. Fear to courage. Hatred to love. To an extent, those things make you understand and appreciate everything.” 

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his middle, convincing yourself you would forget how to breathe if you didn’t. You embraced him because it felt like the right thing to do, the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingertips. His hand ran up along your side until it rested on your neck's base, soft, gentle, and warm. He exhaled a little before resting his chin on the top of your head. 

As he held you, you realized that this was what you had wanted. This was what you had really been aching for. Everything shifted again, changing, rushing with a tangle of nerves and dizziness. Nothing else would settle more easily than being cradled right there, where you could breathe him in. 

“Hey, do you -” He leaned back, both hands cupping your face, tilting it to meet his own. It took him a moment to formulate his question. “I shouldn’t ask, but - do you still want me?” 

Of course you did. More than anything. 

But even then, you should have stepped away. Should have walked out without another word, back to whatever fucking regular life you thought you had. But with whatever strength you had left, you pushed everything aside and quietly said, “Yes.” 

He had pressed you against the wooden door of the office, pinning you in place after dragging you in there and shutting the door. Not that you really had any intention of going anywhere. Not with his lips moving against yours, the desperation sending sparks along your skin.  His tongue darted out, parting your lips and moving into your mouth. Hungry and forceful and tasting every inch.

“You know,” he said as he pulled back, taking a second to breathe, “It’s so hard to be good when you’re so…” He trailed off, leaving you to only imagine what he would say. 

No, you had no words or any logical thoughts, really. Perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever feel, surely. And Father Sylus ran his hands down your sides, slow and possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your sweater and bunching it up. Heat began spreading throughout your body as his fingertips crept underneath and stoked along the sensitive skin. 

“Will you let me in?” He mumbled, his lips now on the underside of your jaw as his palms spanned across your stomach as if trying to map out every inch of exposed skin. The blood pounded in your veins, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“If this is what it feels like to be tempted,” you mused, gasping as he sucked on the skin above your collarbone, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have already failed. Miserably.” 

Letting out a hot breath that sounded an awful lot like laughter, he pulled away, a smile stretching across his lips, amused. “I suppose you really have,” he chuckled. His hands gripped your hips and spun you around so you were against his desk. Then he ducked down to press more kisses along your throat. The shivers returned as he lifted your sweater over your head, tossing it aside with another wicked grin. And for the first time, you noticed the hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth. 

After a moment, Father Sylus fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until that, too, was discarded, skin suddenly bare. The sight made you stop, observing for a moment. For the first time, your fingers reached out and touched the skin of his chest, moving over the muscles and across his stomach. You marveled at the way he flinched slightly, inhaling sharply at your touch. 

Everything felt…hot, heavy, and inappropriate in the best way. 

And before you knew it, his hands were running up along the bare skin of your stomach, a barely-there brush that made your breath hitch. Then his hands were behind your back, unhooking your bra as his lips found yours again, rough and fervent. As it was removed, there was not a second of delay before his hands cupped both of your breasts, squeezing and drawing his thumbs over your nipples. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his hands shifted, fingers resting along the waistband of your jeans. 

It was like every little action was becoming overwhelming, sending pulsing waves through every nerve, vein, and muscle. When he popped the button, slid the zipper, and slowly eased the jeans down, the pulsing only got stronger—dizzying with its intensity. It was challenging to focus on anything else that would make more sense. Your mind was clouded. 

“Wait,” you breathed, sitting on the desk, pulling the clip from your hair and tossing it to the floor, the waves tumbling out. His hands never left you, still roaming over every little centimeter of you they could get access to, “I -” 

It didn’t need to be said, whatever it was. Because a grin broke out across his lips. A bright, glorious grin as Father Sylus pressed another harsh kiss to your lips like he could swallow the words down.

Stepping closer, he maneuvered you onto your back, your legs dangling over the edge of the desk. The smooth, cool wood pressed against the length of your spine and shoulders as you heard something that sounded like a book fall somewhere behind you. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails digging in. Breath hitching, your heart thumped at the roughness and passion of his movements. Something animalistic and unrestrained lay just beneath the surface, waiting, ready. 

“Let me,” he urged quietly, fingers winding over the lace underwear, dragging them down the length of your legs. Fingers stroked up again, curling and caressing your inner thighs, one hand finally reaching the place where you were already desperate, soaking wet, and aching to be touched. Without hesitation, a digit dipped, sliding along your slick folds and slipping in easily. The motion made you bite down on your tongue as his other hand ran along the underside of your knee, urging your leg up and apart. 

You felt the pad of his thumb gliding over the little bundle of nerves, back and forth in a way that made you groan. 

“You are,” his voice was low, almost a growl, and his teasing continued. “So gorgeous, laying there. I can’t stop looking at you.” One finger became two. Slick and hot as they moved into you, each stroke moving deeper. All too suddenly, his lips were crashing down against yours, kissing you hard and desperately as if set on devouring you whole. 

The only thing keeping you stable was grabbing his shoulder and his upper arm. The sudden rise of pressure rushed around you. His thumb slipped, pressing down a bit more on your clit, drawing another gasp from you, a sound that filled the room. Then he pulled his hand away, an invisible weight settling when the digits were gone, leaving you empty and still aching for more. 

“I’m on birth control,” you managed, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed that this, in fact, was actually about to happen. The fullness beneath your belly was spooling tighter, coiling. 

It was only a few seconds; that’s all it took for him to undo his belt buckle, his length freed. Straining, leaking, begging to be inside you. The size of it makes you swallow a certain anxious lump in your throat. 

“Please.” The word spilled out before you could stop it. The coil inside you grew more and more tense and throbbing. You needed it now; the consequences didn’t matter, nor did the guilt or shame. “Please.”

His breathing hitched as if a long controlled flame within had been ignited. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other hooking under your opposite knee, parting you further and steadying himself. The tip of his cock pressed at your center. You didn’t have any time to prepare because, at that very moment, he was pushing further, sliding into you inch by inch. 

The heat and fullness and pleasure coursed, trembling through you. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the grin in his tone, the soft desperation in his voice. “You, you -” but his breath choked off as he pushed all the way inside, the moan that ripped through him cracked and hoarse. 

It took you a moment to feel him fully, gasping for air and dazed beyond what was really necessary. Holding tight, you wrapped an arm around his neck, exhaling hard. The room became a haze around the two of you, the entire moment almost suspended, paused, put on hold. 

When he moved his hips again, you whimpered as he hit somewhere deep, and your pleasure spiked. 

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, raising himself just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with a certain fervor. A little dark, a little feral, something wildly possessive and hungry and yearning all at once. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Another jolt shot through you. Another strong thrust, this one harder than the last, followed by another. And another. It took a minute for him to set a rhythm, but when he did - you were sure the air was being pushed from your lungs each time. 

You couldn’t do anything but hang on. His mouth met yours in a sloppy, forceful kiss. Gasping and shuddering, you tried not to shout at the next jolt. The constant grind fills you every time. Deeper and sharper. The steady, thrumming pleasure. Intense and focused, as if Father Sylus were on a mission. Searching for something. Finding each sweet spot with whatever desperate greed drove him. Like now that he’d had the taste of something forbidden, he wanted the best of it - anything you could offer. 

He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the deep angle making you arch from the desk. 

One hand tangled in his hair, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard and pulling him closer, trying to keep him buried deep inside of you. The friction built, the pace driving forward and drawing the pressure up, leaving you malleable and aching for release. But somehow, wanting it to last as long as possible. 

When the pleasure spooled tighter and tighter, every breath came short, coming fast and shorter. Until finally with one long, breathy whimper of an exhale, release washed over you, crashing like a wave. His name slipped out of your mouth, some deep, instinctual part of your brain keeping you present enough to utter it, still pulsing around him, shaking. 

And that brought him there, a little broken sound falling from his lips. Hips snapping, driving just the slightest bit further until he groaned into the side of your neck, spilling inside you. After a moment, the stillness settled between the two of you, heavy and thick. There was no actual sound other than ragged breathing. 

You stared at the ceiling, trembling and a bit boneless, wholly dumbfounded and satisfied. Then, with every ounce of energy left, you sat up, placing a hand on his chest.

“You okay?” 

A rush flooded through you at his question, and you struggled to make sense - to be logical and reasonable. 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, “I just. I…” What was the right wording? You trailed off, eyes focused somewhere beyond him. Struggling, you kept your eyes away. How could you possibly articulate the warmth that had settled over you, the lift in your confusion that had been gnawing at you until this moment? How could you explain feelings that make no real sense? 

“I feel at peace.” A near whisper because your words made it tangible, whatever it was. And really, you did feel lighter. It was as if something weighing on your shoulders had lifted in a way that wasn’t just because of the act that had been performed. 

“Really?” A sharp inhale of his breath. 

You nodded, reaching out to hold his face and running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Father Sylus slowly returned the nod, a tentative but wonderful, hopeful smile quirking up his lips—something bright and genuine, untouched by bitterness or remorse.

Serenity had sunken in with a comforting familiarity. Settling inside, like the feeling of returning home. Like the truth had opened its door. Acceptance and serenity. Understanding. Clarity, even. The knowledge you weren’t as broken or faulty as you thought. 

A moment passed, no words spoken. Then, still breathless and maybe a bit disbelieving, Father Sylus reached out and traced a cross on your brow with his thumb. 

“Did you just -” You blinked, a bit indignant as you huffed. “Did you just…bless me?”

He looked a bit sheepish, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your collarbone. “Guess I did.” With a slight chuckle, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91

[jacob-blogs]

I’m a gay 29 yr old dating a 22 yr old. I have always dated older men and this is a first. I’ve known them for about 2 years and we became bfs this Jan. I haven’t been this happy in such a long time. But tbh the age difference bothers. Like, I didn’t want to be one of those gay couples with a huge age gap (no shade, but you know the stigma behind that :/). We met online during lockdown and started out as friends. Bc of the age gap I didn’t even consider them a possible romantic partner, yet here I am lol. They have treated me way better than the other men I’ve dated that were my age or older. I guess I’m just worried about what other people may think, and I worry this will lead me to sabotage something genuine? I really do love them. Thoughts?

Genuine thoughts?? Hold on tight babe, because this is gonna be a long one.

As I've gotten older I've understood more the value of boundaries in relationships, and for me, they generally revolve around sex. I can offer friendship, I can offer sex, but those two lines can't meet because it leads to a situationship that I consider to be dating/romantic involvement.

In my mind, age is reflective of life experience, but it does not dictate whether a friendship is genuine or not. Nor does it dictate whether a sexual entanglement is valid or invalid.

In this circumstance, I imagine an ideal relationship: one that involves you, the older party, trusting your partner as though they were your own best friend and possible sexual activity that revolves around consent.

Unfortunately life is not ideal, and it's important to be aware of things like power dynamic and life experiences. And while I could describe all of the negative possibilities those two present, I'd rather surmise what I think: it is very easy to suffer a breakdown of communication because the parties involved may not have any idea of what the other is talking about. This isn't exclusive to relationships with age gaps, so keep that in mind.

If you are confident in what you feel about this person, and you are confident that those feelings are reciprocated, then there's no reason to care about what other people may assume. They are not the ones involved in your love life; they are not the ones putting in the effort to strengthen those romantic bonds; they are not the ones who dictate your future. You are.

I can't say that you will not sabotage your relationship, anon. I also don't know who you are. All I can suggest is that you fully explore where this avenue may lead. If there's an opportunity for you to learn something about yourself, why not take it??

[starogeorgina]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Corruption kink, loss of virginity, fingering, hand job, mention of blood.

Deep in thought you pace the floors of your bedchamber the cold floor below, pinching at the pads of your feet while you palm at your breasts. It was the hour of the eel, and the only light was from the candles and flickering flames of hearth.

“Byka mēre.” (Little one)

Startled, you use your hands to conceal your breasts. You look across the room and see a tall figure by the fireplace, “cousin.”

“Hmm,” he lets our disapproving tsk. “You should be asleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

He wasn’t wrong. Your father, Ser Gwayne, and yourself travelled to the red keep so he and Queen Alicent could find a suitable husband for you. It wasn’t uncommon for Aemond to visit you before settling for the night, but he usually didn’t come so late.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

Aemond ignores the question and finally turns to face you, his expression hard to read. In a stern tone, he asks, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Pirtirys.” (Liar.)

Frowning, you shake your head. You hated it when Aemond spoke in High Valyrian. He knew how badly you wanted to learn it since the histories of House Targaryen fascinated you, but as you grew up in OldTown and had Hightower blood, you never got the opportunity to learn about such things.

“Some may consider what you’re doing unbecoming of a young lady soon to be married.”

Feeling embarrassed, you look down at the ground. “I was told simulating your breasts makes them grow larger.”

“Oh,” he smiles at you mockingly. “And who told this?”

“A couple of my ladies... Why are you here so late?”

“Your breasts are in proportion to the rest of your body,” he says, ignoring your question. "Plus, I can tell when you are lying. So tell me, Why are you groping at yourself as if you’re putting on a show in a whorehouse?”

“I… I was told if a woman touches herself during sex it can bring her pleasure; I just wanted to see if it was true.”

“If you wish to know, you only needed to ask.”

Stepping forward Aemond lowers your hand and replaces it with his mouth. If anyone else had tried to touch you in such a way, you would have screamed, hit them, and ordered the knight standing guard outside your room to kill them.

But with Aemond, it was different.

The warmth from his tongue was a stark contrast to the feeling of your fingers. He takes one of your breasts into his mouth, teeth grazing soft flesh, sucking at your nipple. A small moan leaves your mouth, encouraging him to keep going.

A sudden knock at the door causes you to leap apart. Aemond leaves the room without saying anything, his head held high while you hurry to fix your nightgown for your handmaiden entering the room.

—

Aemond couldn’t get you out of his mind, his sweet younger cousin, his little one.

You were only a few years younger, but growing up, you were much smaller in height, which is why he gave you the nickname. All the teasing was in jest, of course; you were his favourite, and the prince could think of nothing worse than upsetting you. You had an innocence he had never seen in another person, even now that you had become a grown woman.

The more the Prince watches lords parade their sons, themselves or whoever the next male heir in their house was to his uncle Gwayne, he grew more and more irritated.

You were his beautiful, innocent girl; he wouldn’t allow for you to be ruined by some man unworthy of you.

He would be the one to marry you.

As far as the one-eyed prince was concerned, you were his to love and cherish, and he would be the one to take your maidenhood to seal the deal, making sure you were his forever. And in the back of his mind there may be a sick satisfaction knowing you would allow nobody else to touch you in the way he already has.

His sweet girl, all ready to be corrupted by him and only him.

—

The next few weeks were long and tiresome. Your father had paraded you around court while eagerly listening to every lord who came to him and said why they should be your husband. But none of them paid any mind to you, the bride.

However, Prince Ameond was a different matter. During the rare few hours you had, he would come and keep you company. He gifted you books of Targaryen history, a pearl necklace, and a silk dress that was similar in shade to his dragons scales. He even read poems to you.

And not once has he tried to touch you again. Perhaps almost being caught scared him, or he was no longer interested.

Aemond was reading while you practiced needlework in silence until a sudden thought crossed your mind. “Do you think of me as spoilt?”

“Jason Lannister is a cunt,” he says sharply. “He only referred to you as spoilt because your father refused his marriage proposal on the spot. Out of curiosity, what do you want in a husband?”

“I want a husband who pays attention to me like you do.”

He smirks, placing his book on the arm of the chair. Aemond waves for you to go over to him. “My lady, do you want a man like me, or do you want me?”

“I want you, my prince.”

When you stand in front of him, his hand immediately goes to your hip. “My uncle still has lots of lords to speak with, but I may know a way he would agree for us to be married immediately if that’s what you truly wanted.”

“What is it?”

“If you’re no longer a maiden, then Ser Gwayne would have no choice but to betroth us.”

“I would be dishonoured.”

“You would be married to a dragon.” His grip on your hips tightens. “I would be the only man ever filling your womb with their seed; no dishonour would be taking place.”

“Why do you want this?”

Aemond thinks hard before answering. The prince was completely obsessed with you, to the point it was borderline possessive. And from the moment you became of age to be married, he has been hounding his mother to arrange a marriage between the two of you, but as always, she put duty above all else and insisted on waiting to see who else asked for your hand, but Aemond couldn’t let that happen.

He’s silently for so long you start to grow nervous, “Aemond?”

“You are mine, little one, and always have been.”

Swallowing thickly, you step back out of his reach and remove the thin material covering your body, then move to straddle Aemond’s lap. “Then make me yours forever; claim me so no other man can have me.”

Aemond claims your lips with his own. With one leg on either side of his lap, Aemond lowers his hand underneath you with ease, using his finger to spread the small amount of wetness dripping from your folds to and drag it up to your clit. After a few moments, he urges you to move off him. Aemond lifts his hips and pulls his clothing down until his cock is free, then pulls you back onto his lap.

You look down at his penis, watching as precum forms a glistening tip on the head of his cock. Holding your gaze, Aemond guides your hand to slowly start stroking him.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “You are doing good; I’m going to prepare you now so that it doesn’t hurt so much.”

Your stomach clenches.

Aemond slides one long, slender finger inside you, then adds another. He pumps them back and forth while rubbing at your clit. You feel a weird sensation, like your core is starting to spasm. You still stroke at his cock, but your movements are now weaker than before.

“I feel weird,” you mumble.

“It’s okay, that’s good. Let the feeling take over.”

A few seconds later, you cum over his fingers, whimpering his name. “You’re doing so good,” Aemond withdraws his fingers from and lines his cock up. “I’ll try my best to take it slow.”

Placing one hand on your backside, Aemond holds you in place as he eases into you. Feeling the sting of his cock stretching you, you whine, “It’s too big!”

“Tis only the tip, little one. Rub your clit, it will only feel better.”

Doing as he says you start rubbing as Aemond pushes you down until his cock is completely inside you. It felt weird—a good weird. Aemond holds onto your hips again and starts to slowly move you up and down; you spread up the rubbing motions.

“I think I’m going to cum again.”

“Then cum for me,” he says before kissing you again.

You moan into his mouth when a similar feeling as before comes over you. Aemond’s thrusts become sloppy as he approaches his own peak, spilling his seed inside you.

After a few moments of kissing and Aemond stroking your back tenderly, you remove yourself from his lap. Glancing down between your legs, you notice blood-mixed arousal sliding down your thighs.

Aemond tilts your chin up gently, “tis normal for some women to bleed.”

“Oh.”

You step back and reach for your nightgown to redress, suddenly worried this might have been a mistake. Why if Aemond decided you weren’t good enough to be his wife?

“What happens now?” You ask shyly.

“I will have one of your ladies prepare a bath for you,” he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “You need to do nothing else but rest, and while you do that, I will speak with my mother and inform her of what transpired. Then I suspect come morning she will be meeting with Ser Gwayne to discuss our betrothal.”

[oh-no-its-bird]

Team 7 gets zapped into the warring states era but it's like, team 7 either mid or directly after wave-arc.

They're babies!! They're untrained little babies!!! None of them have gotten that good good character development yet!! Kakashi is still actively desperately wanting to not teach them!! (tho he may have just gotten his "ahh fuck. I actually have to teach them, huh." Moment)

Sasuke looks like a carbon copy of a younger Izuna and it's going to cause problems

Naruto thankfully doesn't look much like an Uzumaki, but his tendency to very loudly introduce himself is going to get him into trouble

Going w my usual flavor of "the Hatake are a very small but very famous clan known for being fucking insane", people are seeing Kakashi and going "oh god oh fuck what are one of THOSE guys doing here oh sage preserve us please don't eat me" as Kakashi just kinda stands there like 🧍‍♂️

Sakura is the only one safe from not being fucked up and over her clan, good for her!

-> back to the Hatake thing.

The kids still know virtually nothing about their sensei so they're learning all this stuff about his clan and believing every word of it, from the believable rumors to the insane.

Sakura, in a hushed, worried voice: "Sensei,, is it true ur clan eats people??"

Kakashi, who's father died before he could tell him almost anything about their clan and genuinely doesn't know but at this point is starting to get a little worried about it:

Kakashi, who also never passes up the opportunity to fuck with someone: "only stupid little students who ask stupid little questions <3"

Sakura and Sasuke: *worriedly look at a confused Naruto*

For convoluted reasons they run into the Hatake of the era and after introductions they look at the kids and are like,

"Oh!!! Ok, so this is your kid, right? :)" pointing at Sakura.

And Kakashi is like. ",,no."

"Ohhh, ok. So this one is your kid then?" *points at Naruto*

",,,,,,,,no."

They look at him confused then nod at Sasuke. "So then that one's your kid, right?"

"None of them are my children."

*visibly disapproving / disbelieving side eye*

One big difference between this and the team ro time travel one is how much less trustworthy Kakashi comes off to literally everyone who looks at him.

He's a trained adult shinobi, probable bloodline thief (with no way to prove his innocence), and he has 3 children from 3 different clans (2 of which are indirectly enemies bc the Uzumaki is a Senju ally) (1 of which might have a direct relation to the Uchiha main house) and comes from an infamously volatile "wild clan" from another country entirely (Iron country)

He is NOT getting out of this with talk no jutsu bullshit. He has a target on his back from day 1 and it will take a minor miracle to get even a single person hear him out

Anyways uhh—

Saying Tajima and Butsuma are still alive but due to die in some months (till team 7 accidentally interfere and somehow accidentally save Tajima, maybe also Butsuma but I'm more biased towards Tajima so I'm thinking just him actually)

Kakashi sees baby Kagami and feels like he's been hit by a truck bc he looks just like a miniature Shisui and he has hang-ups about his "suicide"

Half-Hatake Tobirama is catching HEAT from Kakashi's antics. Why does one of ur cousins have a sharingan. Where did he get those children. Do you know anything about this. Is it your duty to help hunt him down bc hes your blood. If not yours then it's definatley the Hatake's, call them immediately and tell them to clean up their mess.

Bloodline theft is like THE ultimate no-no for all shinobi, especially in this era. To the point that even ancient enemies will sometimes temporarily set aside grudges to kill bloodline theives. Kakashi is so fucked, someone get him out of there

Mmmm there are like still bits and pieces of thoughts floating around in my head for this but I can feel myself getting distracted and want to get back to art fight so I'll leave it here for now

[sant-riley]

[Random Task force 141 × gen z! member headcanons]

A/N: Reader goes by the codename Teddy in my writing! Along with she/her pronouns :) I am also extremely biased with Ghost so her main pairing is more towards with him compared to the others <3. I know absolutely nothing about the military so this is not accurate I am so sorry💀.

CWs: Dark Humor, Age gaps, Simping, crude humor, cursing. (not sure what else but lmk!)

Chances are, you're the youngest in the entirety of Task Force 141. Just a good couple of years younger than Gaz.

When Laswell brought her in to meet the group, they couldn't help but stare at her in confusion. A tiny girl who couldn't have been older than any of them. Soap couldn't help but chuckle while Ghost nudged him in the side to shut him up.

"This is your new rookie on the team, her callsign is Teddy. Treat her well."

All the men nodded, watching the younger woman shyly smile and wave towards them.

First they realized that her humor was, in Ghost's words, fucked.

Any minor inconvenience had her saying she wanted to be hit by a car or some type of bodily harm, Price quickly whirling around with eyes widened. "Now, I don't think that warranted that kind of response, don't you think?" "Oh it definitely did, Captain." And she'd walk away without another word.

He swears he gets gray hairs from everytime you make casual talk of you dying. He actively tells the others to check on you bc he genuinely don't know if you're serious or not.

Ghost is not up to date with shit, man uses no social medias oncesoever so everything she spouts is wildly out of pocket. References to basic things like tiktok, Twitter, Instagram? He just silently stares at you like you're on drugs. You can't really use your personal phone on base but you try your best to explain memes to him. He sighs and rubs his forehead with a groan of "I'm too old for this shit, teds." "Oh come on! You have to at LEAST know the meme about the marines eating crayons!" "What the fuck are you on about?

The only ones who know vaguely what the fuck you're on about sometimes are Gaz and Soap, despite them still being a few years older.

Granted, they are not caught up with everything but they actively make it a point on leave to try and be up to date bc of you and your mannerisms. Plus it makes you happy when they fire back a quote they learned.

Can yall imagine Soap on tiktok, what random shit he'd have on his fyp bc he doesn't know how the algorithm works 😭.

Teddy has made every single one of them a personal playlist when she does have her phone, Soap once caught her adding songs and hasn't stopped teasing her since. Price and Ghost pretend not to care and barks at Soap to leave her alone but they're equally curious. Ghost contemplates stealing her phone to see it.

Doesn't matter how serious or dark their job may be, you simp for fictional characters, loudly. Price has learned to tune it out, Ghost although slightly jealous, finds it endearing, Gaz and Soap indulge you and will actively ask about why you like the characters you do and how much you love them bc they like to see you excited. It's a nice feeling when they're always in life or death missions.

You're the smallest one in here okay, everyone can easily throw you without batting an eye so they all take turns training you! They all despite knowing you can take care of yourself, would still like to teach you all they know so should you come against a taller/stronger opponent, you'll be okay.

You are the most protected person in the entire squad, esp when going out for drinks, Ghost will put you in the middle between him and Price and basically make a wall of muscle around you. He says he doesn't care and that he just doesn't want to be pestered by creepy people coming up to you but he will literally stare down any man or woman who even tries. He is the creepy one in everyone else's scenario. Soap just laughs and tosses back his drink.

They all notice your ticks and tells, seeing your leg start to shake when you're anxious, when you start cracking your fingers when you're restless, how you will avoid eye contact at any cost. They start to find ways to soothe you in their own ways. Price will give you a pat on your shoulder, sending you a smile.

Gaz nudges you with his body to take your attention off the situation, or he'll simply start asking you random dumbass questions just to see your face change.

Soap will, if he has gotten permission before, just pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, running around with you while you scream for him to let you go. Is also not against tickling you straight up to get you to smile.

Ghost tried to be as subtle as he can be. If yall are sitting close to each other, he'll make sure some part of his body is gently pressed against yours. Whether it be his foot, thigh, hand, some part of him will ground you. You try and reassure him that you know he doesn't care for personal touch but he just says to shut up.

Meeting Graves was a trip, for everyone involved besides you and Grave. Absolutely having no control over calling him a irl Fix it Felix. You were on Graves shitlist and honestly you wouldn't be surprised he betrayed yall for that one comment bc of how angry it made him.

Constantly being told to be quiet, but you cannot help it and will make little quips over comms. Ghost takes after you and starts to say horrible "dad" jokes that make you choke trying to hold back. Soap hates both of you and calls you unfunny.

They realize you're impulsive, especially when you show the amount of tattoos you have.

"I joined the military to fund my tattoo addiction." "You know what? That's not even a surprise."

Going home on leave is always a bitter experience, you never look excited to go home. So one of the guys (usually ghost) will offer you to come with them. It helps 3/4 all live somewhere in England so it's easy to see them/ take trips to their place.

They're all attached despite knowing better. They can't help it and they know they care for you so much more than other force members.

Ghost and Soap bristle when Alejandro makes a mention that he'd offer you a spot in his team, impressed with how you can take opponents twice your size.

"¿Te interesaría quedarte en México?"

"The Hell she will."

-

If you'd like to be tagged in future works, please comment under my rules that are pinned to my blog!

[marvelandponder]

one amazing thing about the Owl House finale is that it finally contextualized for me one of the central metaphors of the show. Spoilers for the series finale Watching and Dreaming ahead.

we good? no one spoiling themselves? beauty

for a long time now, I thought we had a pretty standard coming-of-age metaphor dichotomized by the show's central antagonists. you've got your protestant witch hunter Belos who introduces a maturity and ugliness to Luz's narrative; he clearly represents a particular, restricting form of adulthood, and just when Belos becomes his most threatening, boom, enter the Collector, Luz's dangerously naïve inner child to ruin all her development on the Boiling Isles. Seems simple enough

what I didn't anticipate was just how specific and personal their roles in the story actually are to Luz once you have the full context from the series finale

look again

this story - this whole series - is about the grief that a neurodivergent kid experienced at a young age, introducing the cruelty of loss and adulthood before she was ready to handle it. and, how to reclaim a more whole understanding of herself as she rebuilds her life with people who get her

Belos is designed to infect the titan carcass like a disease. a cancer. it's super goddamn significant that the titan is King's dad (King, who became Luz's younger brother). they set up Belos not just to be another fascist kids' cartoon villain (although yeah, he do be doing some of that), but to specifically become a force that oppressed the weirdness from the one place that understood Luz. the Iles. the dad. And by the end of the story, Belos's goopy body-horror isn't just for show, he's just like the cancer or other terminal disease that took Luz's dad from her

he's the thing Luz hasn't processed in season 1 that comes in at the end like a warning. he's the threat that forces Luz to grapple with her own humanity, feeling somehow (often completely unjustifiably) harmful to those around her, through the grief she doesn't want to be a burden or the weirdness (neurodivergence) others don't understand. he's the force that says there is something wrong with you, Luz, give in to your grief, this is what you can't face. this is the lie you've been telling to those closest to you: that you're okay

then you have the Collector. (notable that he's a collector, and we see Luz's mom and dad had quite the collection of nerdy memorabilia)

the Collector is the child too young to understand death. Too young to understand consequences, or why their playmates don't feel like playing anymore with someone so weird and maybe a bit too involved in their own world. The Collector is Luz's inner child, that kid we see right before the "worst week ever" — the one who didn't and couldn't understand what was about to happen even as it was going down. unapologetically weird, a bit destructive and short-sighted, but wholly colourful, wholly themselves. that's why the Collector wants to live out Luz's adventures, but without all the depth. just the fun escapist fantasy

but don't think I forgot the internal conflict! :D

because Camila's role also gets an added depth too: Camila was framed at the outset of the series as someone who loved Luz, but wanted her to fit inside a box that she just didn't. later, Luz completely misconstrued her mom's breakdown when she learned that Luz chose to run away. as many people have pointed out by now, Luz misremembers the actual dialogue that Camila says: Camila only wanted her daughter safe, not to lose her. Luz meanwhile felt like she had to choose to destroy this part of herself, or give up her connection with her mom altogether

but we know now Camila actually deeply relates to Luz. she may not understand Luz's fascination with horrific things like on the boiling isles (very akin to a kid getting more grim hobbies in the wake of a death, like Luz's taxidermy), but she loves Luz for who she is. all of her. she never wanted Luz to change

Luz was the one framing the central conflict of the show as go back to her mom or stay in the boiling isles. Luz was the one who felt like she had to punish herself by rejecting the one place where she felt like herself. once Camila realizes what's been going on, and how deeply connected it is to the loss of Luz's dad, she knows Luz is trying to make a "very bad choice for herself." And she won't let that happen (what a great mom!!)

But Luz does have one real choice ahead of her

because of the inner child who once again has to confront death (this time, Luz's own), Luz is able to connect with a father figure, the titan, the one place she feels understood. in the form of a power-up that makes her into a fantasy witch straight out of the Good Witch Azura, the one place she got joy after that huge loss, the titan gives her the strength to face the cancer—a force draining everything good in her life from her and making her question she deserves it in the first place—but only if she can choose herself

and that means choosing happiness, choosing found family, choosing love and friendship and self-discovery in the place she feels most at home! every bond she's forged, everything she's worked for, it all comes down to choosing to face grief and move on in life with weirdos who stick together.

hoot hoot, that's some good metaphor

[fluentmoviequoter]

California Dreams

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Nolan!reader (John's younger half-sister)

Summary: You move to California to be closer to your brother John after your mom dies. There, you meet Tim Bradford and begin dating. When your boyfriend and brother meet each other, you're surprised to learn it isn't their first interaction.

Warnings: r and John have the same mom, mostly fluff, brief angst, flirty and soft Tim

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Pennsylvania and California are completely different. When your older half-brother John flew out to Pennsylvania after your mom passed, he kept you at arm’s length. You were close growing up and stayed close into adulthood, so the sudden distance confused you. It wasn’t until after the funeral that you realized he was protecting you from the drama that may have tainted how you remembered her. More than what you already knew, at least. That wasn’t what shocked you the most, though. Most shocking was the question John asked before he left: Would you consider moving to California? We’re family. It took a few weeks, but once you were alone in the place where you grew up, you decided that John was right. So, you packed up your life and moved across the country. That change was the first of many.

“John,” you groan over the phone. “You practically raised me, but you won’t help with this? You’re not a very good brother.”

“I’m an excellent brother if I made you the person you are,” he counters. “But I have work, so it’s not that I won’t help you buy a mattress, but that I don’t have time.”

“Bailey would help.”

“Bailey also has to work.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll just move back to Pennsylvania then.”

“You sound like Mom,” John says before he laughs.

“Hurtful. I have to go.”

“Enjoy shopping. Love you.”

“Clearly,” you mumble. “Be safe.”

You end the phone call and look around the neighborhood. Maybe walking aimlessly while talking wasn’t the best idea. Every house looks the same, and you don’t remember if you turn right or left to get back to your house.

“Excuse me,” you call to a man walking a dog across the street. “Sorry, I just moved here, and I don’t remember how to get back to my street. Could you help me?”

He nods before he jogs across the street to talk to you. “Sure. Which street?” he asks kindly.

You tell him and he looks toward his right to explain, “Turn left at this corner, go down two streets, make a right, and it’ll be on the right.”

“Left, two streets, right, right,” you repeat. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem.”

His eyes drop to your Penn State shirt, and you roll your shoulders to stand straighter. If you knew you were going to meet a gorgeous man on this walk, you would have changed out of your moving/cleaning outfit.

“Can I ask you a favor in return?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah,” you reply, pinching your brows together.

“Join me for lunch?”

Your brows unfurrow quickly to raise. He must feel bad for you, being new in the area.

“Or dinner, whichever works better,” he adds after a moment of silence.

“For what?” you inquire softly.

“A date, or a welcome, if you prefer.”

“You’re asking me out? Why?”

“Why not?” he counters with a heart-stopping smile.

“Are you going to keep answering my questions with questions?”

“Are you going to accept my invitation?”

You shake your head to clear it before answering, “I’d love to go out with you. Lunch sounds amazing. Give me a few minutes to change?”

“I’ll come pick you up in twenty. Meet you at your corner?”

“Okay, yeah, sounds good,” you ramble. You take a step to go past him before you stop. “Can you tell me how to get there again?”

He tips his head back to laugh before repeating the directions. As you walk, you repeat left, two streets, right, right; left, two streets- why did he ask me out? – right, right.

When you exit your house twenty minutes later, he is waiting at the corner just as he said. He leans against the driver’s door and smiles when he sees you walking toward you. Your decade-old Penn State shirt and paint-stained bottoms have been exchanged for a date-worthy outfit, yet he looks at you the same way as he had before.

“Before we go on a date, I thought I should at least introduce myself properly. I’m Tim,” he says, offering his right hand.

You shake it, surprised by how gently he touches you. He repeats your name softly after you introduce yourself, and as he helps you into the passenger seat, you know that moving to California was the right choice. For more reasons than John.

“I’m stealing his best brother ever mug. He doesn’t deserve it,” you huff.

Your hands are on your hips as you look at the mattress on your driveway. When John said he’d drop it off for you after work, you thought he’d bring it in. No. He left it in the middle of the night and sent you a text to let you know it was there. Based on what he’s told you about being a cop, you should be grateful that it wasn’t stolen, but now you have to figure out how to get it inside and on your new bed frame by yourself.

“I can do this,” you tell yourself.

Someone clears their throat on the sidewalk behind you, and you turn quickly.

“Tim,” you breathe out, relieved to see him rather than a stranger. “Hi.”

He nods in place of greeting before he looks to the mattress. “Did your brother drop that off?”

“How did you know that?”

He points to a piece of cardboard taped to the end closest to the road. You walk toward him and sigh when you read it.

“Enjoy. Love, your favorite brother,” you read. “He’s such a jerk.”

“Really?” Tim questions.

“No,” you admit, rubbing your jaw briefly. “He had to work late and didn’t want to wake me up to get it in.”

“Do you want some help?”

“No, it’s fine.” You turn toward Tim to ask, “Did we have plans?”

“I was hoping we could make some. But seeing as you have a mattress to babysit, maybe I’ll come back later.”

“Give me twenty minutes,” you request quickly. You look at the size of the mattress and amend, “Thirty, tops.”

“Or…” Tim begins, leaning in. “You could just let me help.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Get the mattress inside and then we can go?” you agree.

Tim shakes his head, betrayed by his smile, as he steers you toward the mattress.

“Why are you here?” you ask.

“I just told you. I’m here to take you on a date.”

“No, I mean, why aren’t you at work?”

Tim shrugs as he squats. He flips the mattress on its side effortlessly, and you step back as you watch his arms flex under his sleeves. “Do you want to watch or help?”

You clear your throat quickly and walk to the other end. “Help,” you whisper.

“Do you trust me?” Tim asks dramatically.

“Run me into a wall and you’ll regret it,” you answer.

Tim scoffs before he instructs you to walk backward toward your front door. Within a few minutes, Tim has the mattress inside, out of its protective wrapping, and placed on your bedframe. He leans against the end of the mattress while you change, and rushes to hug you when you emerge.

“You’re happy today,” you murmur as you return his tight grip.

Tim hums in reply before he leads you to his truck. The bouquet waiting for you on the passenger seat makes you happy, but suspicious. His dropping by mid-morning to take you out isn’t inherently odd, but the rush to get you wherever it is he’s taking you is interesting.

Tim parks outside the restaurant he took you to the day you met. You said you loved the food, but Tim has been expanding your California taste by taking you to different restaurants on every date you’ve been on in the last two months.

“Are we going to go in?” you ask softly.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asks quickly.

You grab Tim’s hand as your smile grows. “Tim, look at me?” you request. When he turns his face and sees your smile, you answer, “I’d love to. Nothing would make me happier.”

“Really? Nothing?”

“Fine, not much would make me happier,” you correct with a chuckle.

“Thank you.”

“Is that the proper response?” you tease.

Tim rolls his eyes but leans across the console to kiss you before lunch. Moving to California was certainly life changing.

“You’ve been busy,” John says as he walks into your house.

“I know we’re family, but there’s this thing called knocking. It’s all the rage in Pennsylvania, you should try it,” you call from the kitchen.

“Then why’d you give me a key?”

“Because California is scary.”

John shakes his head as he joins your side. You shove him away from the oven before he can touch the food, and he scoffs as his hand raises to his chest.

“After every meal I’ve made for you!” he exclaims.

“Thanks for the mattress. I think you could’ve dropped it off a little nicer, but I appreciate it.”

“Where is it? I thought I’d be helping you carry it in when I came over.”

“One of my neighbors saw me staring at it and mumbling about how terrible you are and helped me get it in.”

“You let a stranger into your house?” John asks loudly. “Have you learned nothing?”

“John-“

“This is not Pennsylvania. We don’t know everyone and their dads. That was incredibly stupid. He could’ve been casing the place!”

“I never said it was a man,” you mumble.

“Okay, she could’ve been casing the place!”

“Hello?” Bailey asks from the front door. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you answer while John yells, “She let a stranger in here!”

“Let her explain,” Bailey requests calmly.

“Thank you,” you tell her. “John, I know you’re worried about me, but I wouldn’t let anyone that I didn’t trust into my house. You know that.”

“And you trust your neighbors after two months?” he asks.

“When he’s my boyfriend, yes, I do,” you answer, tired of arguing with him.

Bailey looks between you and Nolan, and mouths Good job when you meet her eyes.

“Since when?” Nolan asks after a moment.

His voice is back to its normal level, and he’s your half-brother again, not a protective cop who thinks you’re in danger.

“Officially? A couple of hours. We’ve been dating for two months, though. We met the week I moved in,” you explain. “He helped me out. I didn’t tell him anything personal until I got to know him better, I promise.”

“I trust you, I do,” Nolan assures. “Sorry for yelling and worrying.”

“I want you to meet him soon, John. Just give me a little time, okay?”

“That sounds nice, and I won’t pry before then. Promise.”

“I will,” Bailey interjects. “What’s he like?”

“He’s amazing,” you answer.

Nolan lets his head fall back; he hasn’t listened to you talk about boys since you were in high school, and he thought he would never have to again. That doesn’t mean he isn’t happy for you, and you know that.

“Hey,” Tim greets as you open the door. “I brought your favorite snacks and popcorn.”

“I love you,” you sigh dreamily.

“Should’ve brought popcorn sooner,” he muses.

“I need to ask you something before we start the movie, though.”

Tim freezes in your kitchen.

“I didn’t say we need to talk, Tim. Just have something to ask,” you clarify. “It’s not bad.”

“Go ahead,” Tim agrees.

“Will you come over for dinner on Friday and meet my brother?” you ask, wringing your fingers together.

“Your brother?”

“Yeah. He’s- he’s all I have left since my mom died. I know that it’s a lot to ask-“

“Yes,” Tim interjects. “I’ll be here. Tell me what to bring.”

“That was easy,” you mumble.

“I have a hard time saying no to you,” Tim admits.

You smile, and Tim shakes his head. He points to the couch, and you walk away from him to get comfortable for movie night. You understand his dilemma completely. All you can do now is hope that John doesn’t do anything to push Tim away; you don’t think he wouldn’t do it on purpose, but he can be overbearing and protective.

Tim parks on the street in front of the house beside yours. He sits in his truck for a moment before he gets out. You told him he didn’t need to bring anything (repeatedly, because he asked a lot), yet he carries a case of your favorite drink as he approaches your driveway.

“Bradford?”

Tim looks up from the sidewalk and sees a familiar truck and face in your driveway.

“Nolan?” he asks.

“What are you doing here?” they ask simultaneously.

Neither answer but square their shoulders and stare at one another. They’re both protective, for different reasons, and the surprise of seeing each other brings that out. As they continue evaluating one another, trying to think of a logical explanation but failing because they’re thinking of you, the front door opens.

You step out and see your brother and boyfriend staring at one another in your driveway. They don’t look up, so you walk toward them. Your smile drops as your excitement evaporates. Maybe one of them said something or they came in with assumptions. Whatever is happening between them, you can’t risk losing either of them.

“Why is Tim Bradford here?” Nolan asks suddenly.

“I’m her boyfriend. Why are you here?” Tim counters.

“Boyfriend?!” Nolan repeats incredulously.

“Stop, both of you,” you say. “Just- just come in and I will explain everything.”

Tim tears his attention from John and follows you inside. He whispers an apology as he sets the drinks on your counter. When John walks in, though, Tim goes back to the hardened cop John knows. You’ve seen Tim’s protective side before, so you aren’t surprised by his change in attitude.

“Tim, John is my big brother. Half-brother, technically, but we’re incredibly close, so I wanted you to meet him. John, Tim is my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for a couple of months, so I thought it was time to let you meet him,” you explain.

“Why didn’t you tell me I worked with your boyfriend?” John asks.

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t tell her you were a cop?”  he asks Tim.

“He did,” you interrupt. “But he’s Metro, so I just assumed you hadn’t met. That one’s on me.”

“Well,” Tim begins, “nice to meet you, John.”

“What are you talking about?” John inquires.

“I’ve only met cop John, not brother John. Does he talk less?”

“More,” you mumble.

“That’s enough out of you,” John tells you.

“I have to go finish dinner,” you say. “Be nice.”

“I’m not going to give you the whole talk, but don’t hurt her,” John says quietly.

“I wouldn’t,” Tim promises. “I promise you that.”

“She’s happy. Thank you.”

“She’s amazing.”

“That’s because I raised her.”

Tim presses his lips together and slaps Nolan’s shoulder as he says, “No it’s not.”

“Thank you both for coming,” you say after you clear the table. “And I’m sorry for making everything awkward by not mentioning you to each other.”

“It’s not your fault,” Tim replies.

“You had no way of knowing,” John agrees. “We’ll stop fighting.”

“In front of you,” Tim says into his glass.

“I’ve got an early shift, so I have to head out,” John says as he stands.

He hugs you and says goodbye, and you walk him to the door before returning to Tim. You perch on his leg rather than sitting across from him now that you’re alone. He tilts his head to kiss you, and you relax against him. Dinner was both better and worse than you hoped. It worked out, though, and that’s what matters.

“I’m so glad you don’t act like your brother,” Tim says as you pull back.

“Don’t make this weird,” you reply as you lean in to kiss him again.

When you lean away and stand, Tim follows you wordlessly. You retrieve another drink from the case he brought but set it aside to wrap your arms over Tim’s shoulders.

“Who won the staring contest?” you ask.

“Clearly, I did. I wouldn’t have stayed otherwise,” he answers.

“You and John… you’re both protective, but you put that aside to do it together, or whatever that quiet conversation was. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

“I’m supposed to thank you. You’re the one who introduced me to your family. I just asked a yes or no question.”

“That’s not true. I met Kojo.”

Tim smiles as he pulls you closer. He and Nolan may not get along perfectly (who does? you remind yourself), but they both love you in their own ways. When Nolan said dreams come true in California, you thought it was a cheesy ploy to convince you to move, but he was right. Your dream is kissing you right now, and you’ve never been happier.

[zzencat]

Why Do I Still Feel Unsatisfied? - Timeless Reading (for anyone)

When things are content and slow, going normally as one would expect, you still feel like there’s something not quite right—something missing. Now what? Are you supposed to be happy? You have everything you need…what is there to complain about? Why is life so stale? So boring? Am I doing enough in my life? What is this stagnant energy?

Note: Social media may have an influence on these feelings.

- Remember: clear your mind. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, fill up your chest to the fullest, feel the air brush against the ridges of your nose. Breathe out. Choose the photo that you can’t take your eyes off of.

——————

Pile 1. To Speed Up or To Slow Down.

You might be in denial. You try to think that you’re okay and you’re doing well enough—you have everything you need to survive, so what’s the matter with you? What’s the hold up? Are you going out on the weekends to the same places? Maybe repeating the same old routine, with or without friends? Perhaps you’re staying home and indulging in the same habits every weekend. Why are you just lounging around in the kitchen or living room with an oversized shirt and running your hands through your hair, wondering what to do now that you have time? It’s getting boring and you need some spice to your life.

Try looking into a hobby that you had interest in during childhood. Maybe you were shunned for having a such an interest. Do you do a lot of online shopping? Have you ever wanted to start your own business or clothing line? Honestly, to me it feels like you’re financially stable or on your way there and you know you will be. But it feels passionless. Maybe you had passion in the beginning and it died out. The excitement wasn’t there anymore, or maybe you had to be in this profession because you had to. To impress parents, guardians, the people around you. I feel like this group could do well with a side hustle or multiple. You seem like well-adaptable people so you could deal with the uncertainty and unpredictability. You also seem very friendly, like a team player type of person. You do what your told, and have small moments where you count as “rebellious.” Perfectionistic. My mind keeps going back to this…maybe you want to open up your own online shop? Or clothing/beauty brand or business? You might struggle when things get too quiet at a hangout with your friends or other people, maybe feeling pressured to say something or lighten the mood. For some reason, it’s always your responsibility to do something. Who put that on you? Where did you learn that from? That you should take charge and try to do something or else it’s your fault? Why do you feel inclined to do that? These would be good questions to think about.

The Challenge For You: Pick up a hobby and perfect it. It helps to record yourself working on this hobby, mistakes and all, and post it somewhere where people can see. Closest friends, family, or complete strangers. The reaction will make your more relatable and you’ll gain a lot of support. I’m seeing a soft smile and a genuine pat (“you’re doing good! you got this!” vibe) from your friends or people online. For example, “Day 1 of playing the violin” or “Day 30 of frisbee throwing”. This group seems to be heavily reliant on validation, internal or external. You need people to be there to see when you’re doing well, and people shouldn’t see your mistakes and if they do, you’ll try to move on while beating yourself up in your head. Very perfectionistic and while this helps you in your career or professional life, you should allow yourself to make mistakes, laugh about it, and be more soft towards yourself. Perhaps you got shamed for making a bunch of mistakes when you were younger, taught that mistakes aren’t okay and that you should be perfect, but all the energy here—from my spirit team to yours—is telling you that it’s okay to not get it the first time. Humans are meant to adapt and grow. There’s no fun in getting something the first time around. It’d be beginner’s luck. It’s about the journey and what you put into it that will add tremendously to your charm. It makes you human and it makes you, you. So learn to forgive yourself and build up that confidence.

Points of Interest: xxfj vibes, but mainly isfj/infj, nurse, libra, middle person/mediator, trying to get out there more, lowkey don’t want to socialize all the time but is forced to (whatever this may mean to you, take it), needing validation from others bc your own doesn’t count, suppression, “busy is good”, inner loneliness, void in heart, helping others but not yourself, “was it always this quiet or was i just used to the noise?”, slow down, hustle culture, “this is what I should be doing” (very vague, could mean different things…but this definitely applies to people in this pile), people pleaser…messy hair, in a rush, busy, busy, busy…“Damn it- why isn’t this thing working?!”, coffee, too much coffee, “dude, are you okay?”, stress, “living life in the fast lane as they say…” (for some reason, maria by justin bieber came up- we got any beliebers in here?), social media, parents, boss, workplace, Jane(?), idk why the black mirror episode called “joan is awful”, “I’ll take what I can get”, don’t want to burden other people, fear of humiliation, standards on other people are not as high as the standard you put on yourself, anxious, always moving, check, check, check…restless energy, “it’s on me”, responsibility…

———————————————-

Pile 2. “I guess…” is not an answer.

This pile floats between pile 1 and 3 but leaning towards 1. The people in this group could share many of the same doubts and feelings as pile 1. But I will say, if you felt drawn to all or any of the other two alongside this one, I suggest you reading those as well. This gives me very infp vibes. Shy but likes to/would like to dress up a bit more, follow the fashion culture, find your own style. There’s a bit of a childlike nature to this group and I’m not sure what it is. Like maybe a financial insecurity or you want to date someone really badly. Like a person who watches a bunch of kdrama’s but never goes outside OR you do go outside and you don’t have the balls to ask someone out. I’m getting couch potato but a cute one. Curled up in a blanket and binge watching in bed. Watching other people chase their dreams and goals while you’re still wondering what yours are. Do you binge-watch a lot of shows or movies? I feel confused reading this pile, as if I’m supposed to be looking for something but I’m either not mature enough or I just don’t know what to look for. Probably struggles with parasocial-ness. Very online, maybe chronically online, if I might add. Maybe you’ve never gone out on a date before. If you did, you’d be super awkward, say something dumb on accident, giggle too much, or just full on shy, laughing a lot, red faced. Do you struggle with a lot of anxiety? A lot of daydreaming or fantasizing. If your friends ask you to go out with them, you either say yes immediately or you make up an excuse of why you can’t go just to lounge at home. But I feel frustrated. I don’t know where to look. Maybe you prefer to rock out with your headphones, blast music, and have a dance party in your room by yourself. Timid. Can be sassy at times. Probably dramatic. Do you still live with your parents, by any chance? I’m getting middle class to lower upper class, maybe even upper (but a lot less so.) Kind of spoiled energy. Maybe people have done things for you your whole life or have chosen the path for you to be on already. Maybe they’ve made decisions for you your whole life.

The Challenge For You: Go outside more and be more observant of people, especially if you think you struggle with social ineptness. If you’re timid, maybe your voice is too quiet that it draws people’s attention or you’re so anxious that you do something loud or reckless that captures attention. Do you have an interest in something that you could capitalize on? Like something in the arts? Maybe you can sell art online, draw for people, get yourself out there without engaging in fights online—it’s not worth your time, I promise. Put your phone down and read a book. Find something you like outside your phone or on any of your devices. This group seems constantly overstimulated with devices that you can never just sit and stare at the wall for a minute. It would help for you to think about the future for a little bit, even if it overwhelms you. If you’re in high school, get a part time job or do research on something you like. Practice gratitude and acknowledge the things that you have that others don’t. There’s a lot of immaturity, emotionally as well, in this pile, like you haven’t figured yourself out yet and you’re just waiting for things to fall into place. If I had to sum this up, it would be to pursue something that you can’t let go of and don’t let other people decide for you. Be more assertive and work on leadership skills. Work on time management as well. Laziness could also be an issue. Find yourself.

Points of Interest: infp vibes, dreamy, pursed lips, fidgeting, immaturity, “maybe if I dress normal, I’ll look normal”, dresses in all black, oversized shirts, beanies(?), don’t bring attention to me, small handwriting or circular letters, pink lead pencil, makes hearts on your “i’s”, secret romantic, easily jumps to conclusions, expectations, “daddy bought it for me”, be more thankful, ambition where?, do something you love and make a job out of it, oversleeping, “i don’t wanna think about it”, impulsivity, anxiousness, effort, purpose, going with the flow…

———————————————-

Pile 3. “Let’s get this over with.”

Feeling very much a laaaarge lack of energy here. Very drained pile—emotionally, physically, mentally, some or all. Sometimes you feel it’s tiring to keep smiling, like you have to force it to seem okay. You’re in need for some warmth in your life, maybe some hugs or people telling you they’ll be there for you (and mean it), but you may or may not express this need to people; I’m mostly feeling that you keep to yourself a lot, not wanting to burden people. Very introverted energy, like “I’m just here” energy. If you go out, you don’t talk a lot or you need a drink/substance to help you loosen up and talk/act. Are you always tired? Staying up late and staring at a screen, or struggling with insomnia? Or it’s the opposite and you sleep too much—the whole day. Lethargic energy. There’s not much to say about this pile because I think you already know what to do, you just struggle. This could be a health issue or concern that you’re not taking seriously. Are you taking vitamins? I’m getting a zombie or very sedated state. Skin losing color and dark eye bags or under eye circles. Could struggle with depression. You don’t want to be forgotten but you want to be alone. You’re okay with solitude. Maybe you struggle with motivation in general, or motivation to take care of yourself, again, health is coming up—other people could be concerned about you and they tell you or they don’t. I would take a closer look regarding your friend group and maybe reconsider who you’re letting in your world. They could be impacting you for worse. You could be good at photography or have an interest in it. Half-assing most projects or assignments. You probably answer texts late, never answer, or give really short responses. I’m getting the sense that you really just want to exist without judgment or being perceived. Like living like a ghost and move through life seamlessly. You could have a knack for pc games or computer science. Either way, take a shower. You might feel cold often or experience coldness easier than your friends.

The Challenge For You: Join clubs where you know no one. Go alone and make it a secret space for yourself and go for at least 8 months. You’ll find that it can be therapeutic. Yoga classes with old ass ladies can help since they’re just focused on stretching. Find some friends that are ambitious but unmovable, like good leaders. They could influence you to take better care of yourself. Next, find friends that actually care about you and your health, not the “do whatever you want; it’s your life” type of friends. You should visit a sauna some time or go on vacation to a warm-hot country. You could even move there and you would be even slightly happier than now. I would encourage you to seek therapy—with a GOOD therapist. Either you haven’t had the interest or time or you haven’t had a good experience with therapy at all—do not give up. Maybe a counselor at school works. If not, move onto the next option. Confide in better friends, friends that can physically help you get up and move out of your slump, not ones that encourage/enable the bad habits. It’s time to turn your life around pile 3—I seriously think that I don’t need to be telling you these things cuz you already know. You’re definitely not dumb- you just lack motivation. Talk to someone about it or find friends that force you to change your life for the better, the ones that drag you out to go to the park with them. Get out of your comfort zone and start moving. Get that blood moving around your body—someone needs to force you to run, but after a shake rich in protein.

Points of Interest: headphones (maybe AirPod max), cozying up in the corner where people can’t see you, smoking, grey skies, crows, photography, good camera, still camera, cold hands, bitten nails, blue fingers, shrugs, poor blood circulation, pale skin, eating issues (eating too little or too much), needing dopamine and finding easy ways to get it, “i don’t care”, still lack of motivation, sunshine, grumpiness, unchanged sheets, old white tank top (for some reason), your room could use some cleaning, exercise…

—————————-

That is all!! I hope you have enjoyed. Feedback is heavily appreciated and I would love to see what pile you chose in your reblogs! As a new reader, I’d like to get as accurate as possible when it comes to picking up energy and doing these readings for you. Remember to take what resonates, leave what doesn’t! Let me know what was accurate for you :) Thank you for coming to my Teddytalk today. (sorry it’s a lame joke ik jsfkdjs)

[sunshineandspencer]

Friendly face (Part 3)

A/N: I know I said I always succumb to peer pressure, but that did not need to be tested. Also if I did a Hotch(or Spencer) taglist, would anyone be interested, also.. how do you do a taglist?? I may be 20 and from the UK, but I have only been using tumblr for about two months, I’m learning (slowly). [I’ve made a form for a taglist!! it’s underneath the parts!!]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Receptionist!Reader.

Summary: Little does the team know, their little receptionist and their Unit Chief had been closer for a lot longer than any of them knew. And while he’s brilliant at hiding it, she is now.

Word Count: 825

Warnings: please, stop requesting the fluff it hurts my little heart

part 1! and 2!!

be added to the taglist!!

Honestly, she could come to work with a massive neon sign floating above her head saying ‘stupidly in love with Aaron Hotchner’ and it would have probably the same effect as she normally does to him.

While he goes through the rules, needing to check about whether their relationship - yes, relationship - was actually legal, they needed to keep it secret.

A serious conversation they’d had over dinner well over six months ago, one that she’d seem to conveniently forget whenever they were actually in the office together. Thankfully that isn’t very often, unless he’s personally asked for files she stays by her desk.

Sometimes, he will admit, he requests reports just to get her into the office, but not very often.

However, it seemed to have been just often enough for his coworkers - Emily, mostly - to realise. From there, and after getting everyone else to join her, they were trying to find exactly how much the pair actually cared for each other.

Crowding together at the round table, quickly giving everything they’d noticed before Hotch arrived.

Emily starts, grinning at both Morgan and Spencer, nothing better than a bit of office gossip.

“So, she doesn’t hide anything. But, we’re all well aware that he sometimes uses excuses to get her into his office. But I noticed that she always leaves post-it notes on the files that she does give him, and they do look sickeningly sweet. It’s hard to believe Hotch actually likes that.”

Spencer chimes in, wringing his fingers lightly. He loves gossip as much as the next person, but the receptionist is a sweetheart and treats him so kindly, plus he doesn’t really believe in talking about other people’s business.

However, he’s invested in her happiness, and knows that there’s more to the pair than meets the eye.

“Well.. he smiles at her, more than I’ve ever really seen. And he does things for her that he wouldn’t do for anyone else. He helped her set up her desk and made sure she settled properly with the team.. plus Penelope found the paperwork and he requested her to be moved up.”

“What?! She didn’t tell me that!” Morgan looked pretty dejected, and Emily could only pat his back apologetically. But as much as they want to say that Morgan is her favourite, Spencer is everyone’s favourite.

He just shrugged, and Morgan kept talking, needing to add in what he’d seen - and profiled - about the two of them.

“Whatever. We’ve all seen how smitten Jack is with her, kid practically has hearts coming from his eyes. And I heard them talking about her having stayed over on the weekend. And we all see the way Hotch is with the two of them, it’s like the past decade of the job lifts off him.”

They all eventually came to the agreement that they believed that Hotch and their receptionist were together, and they needed to know more. The achilles heel of most profilers, the desire for gossip whenever they can get it.

Hearing footsteps approaching, they quickly nominated Spencer to ask Hotch, panicking the younger agent as he spluttered over his words.

As Hotch stepped through, with her following close behind, files in her hands as she waited for Hotch to take them. Waving to the rest of the team happily, very grateful the images weren’t on screen yet. Emily booted Spencer under the table and he jolted, getting Hotch’s attention.

“Hotch!” His voice cracked, how cute. “I uh- we, we wondered if you and uhm.. if you two--”

Christ, she wanted to take pity on the poor boy, looking up at Aaron. Thankfully he seemed amused rather than irritated that they’d worked it out. Looks like they got their answers on whether or not the relationship was allowed.

He nodded at her softly and she grinned, leaning up to peck his lips quickly, stuffing the files into his hands.

“Let me know if you take the case?”

“I’ll text you.”

Grinning, she winked at Spencer, which earned her a warning “sweetheart”, which only fed into her giddiness now that they didn’t have to hide it. Loving the surprised looks on their faces, even though Morgan was definitely acting as if he knew the whole time. Exactly as Aaron said he would, god she loves that he knows them so well.

“Stay safe you lot. Bring my boyfriend home safe or I’ll hunt you down!”

As she walked out of the briefing room, she smacked Aaron’s ass and scampered off giggling, being followed with his scolding voice.

“Dove.”

Eventually, he had to turn back around to his grinning teammates - bar a very embarrassed Spencer who now avoided his boss’ gaze - he sunk into his chair. Waiting for whichever one was going to say something first.

Emily, of course, was the one to speak up first, looking at him all innocently as if she didn’t know damn well what she was doing.

“Dove~?”

“Don’t push it.”

Want more?! Good!

[pia-nor481]

I can do it better

Max verstappen x reader smut 18+

3.6k words

She was sat on their-her bedroom floor trying to recollect herself when a loud knock to the front door broke her out of the state she was in. Her eyes were red and cheeks painted with tears. Hoping that the knocking would stop she continued to stare at herself in the full length mirror opposite her hunched over body. Evidently, it didn't stop, she practically shouted the person behind the door to wait a minute. In the mean time, she stumbled up, pulling a shirt over her body and rushing to the bathroom, in hope of cold water freshening her face up; Although it was hard to look presentable at this given time. She could barely stay up her two feet while walking towards the front door. She didn't know where her things were, phone definitely blowing up with her friends asking how her night went, even if they got a hold of her, she wouldn't answer, they'd had enough of her complaints of her love life.

Once she reached the door handle, she opened it a crack, trying to avoid her body being seen. "Sorry to just turn up but my flight leaves tomorrow and you weren't answering, and need some of my stuff before I go." Max was a pretty observant person, he had to be; so nothing slipped past him. "You open the door like this for all the men who knock?" He joked lightly, knowing she often took what he said in jest. He looked back up to her face when there was no further comment. "No, what's up? I can tell something is wrong." He said letting himself into her flat, placing his keys and phone on the counter next to hers, he saw the ample amount of WhatsApp notifications. "Come on, you can tell me what happened." It was so obvious that max still cared for her. Their relationship was always messy. They fought constantly, it started as little things; the floors not being cleaned properly or a few things left in awkward or annoying places. Both of their friends said it was good that they were fighting about things like that, claiming it was healthy to have small bits of conflict that could be quickly resolved. But it soon became a big problem when carer got involved, he was always traveling whether it be for the actual race, England to help with development of the car, or visiting his home to see his parents or even Monaco to be with his friends, but her job required her to be in one place. They tried hard to make it work, she book flights to come and see some of his races or he would stay until Wednesday night of the race week just to spend time with her, but it just wasn't enough.

There had been a few times were Max had heard her on the phone with her friends trying to convince her to break up with him, but every time she would shut them own. "He's toxic, leave him before it gets worse. There can't be anything that makes it worth the stress and disappointment." She would shake her head before remembering that they couldn't see her that's one thing Max really enjoyed, her tendency to show rather than speak. "If he's toxic, I'll wear a hazmat. You don't get it, I love him." Hearing her say things like that always made him smile. He loved her just as much, if not more. Every time he'd come back he would spend all his time awake comforting her, making her feel secure. She wasn't overly talkative when being asked questions, preferring to just shake her head or even pretend she didn't hear it; but not with max. He tried to make sure she would communicate with him, even when they fought, he'd let her scream and shout at him, he wanted to hear everything she had to say, so he knew how she felt, so he could help, He didn't get the luxury of expression when he was younger and that caused many problems. He learnt from this, he learned how to be better, he learned how to love. Max loved, no, loves her so much; it was hard for him to put it into words sometimes, she knew this, and was okay with him showing his love physically. That may have been a part of the problem, they were never close enough for him to show her how much he loved her. Although he is not the only one to blame, she was stubborn, overly so. She hated being wrong and so did he. So Max tried his hardest to not condescend her when she was wrong, but that wasn't often.

"Come on." He had to bite back the pet names he gave her in the years they spent together. "You can tell me what happened." She also hated voicing her concerns with him. She never worried about cheating, Max would never. It was like she felt neglected, but she couldn't say that, it was selfish, she was the one who said they could make the distance work. As max looked around the room he noticed how empty it was. With all of his things gone it didn't feel like home to her anymore. His house in Monaco didn't feel like home either, not without her. She looked up from her feet to meet his eyes. "It's embarrassing." His shoulders dropped, she was stupid sometimes, she didn't realised how silly that sounded to him. "And I've known you for how long?" He paused walking back towards her, resisting the urge to hold her close, to pull her into his chest and cradle her head. "At least it wasn't someone else's fault." he said slightly relieved, her eyes were still a cause for concern, even now he was prepared to fix any problem she had. The silence was loud, his anger pooled at his fists. "Right?" His eyes scanned over her whole body, making sure she wasn't hurt. "Its stupid, and I'm fine by the way. Can't you just grab your stuff and go?" she asked, almost pleading for him to leave. He was not going to leave her alone, not when she was like this.

Max went against his better judgement and hugged her, she needed it, no matter how many times she wanted to be left completely alone. "Tell me. You always feel better when you say what you're thinking, not just shouting at the mirror." She was almost reduced to tears, not only because of his words, but because she was so embarrassed. "Promise you wont laugh." She whispered through teary eyes. "Promise." He pulled his chest away, so he could look her in the eyes as she spoke. He wanted her to feel listened to, cared for. "So my friends set me up with his guy called Matthew, right." Any remaining anger turned into jealousy. He was fuming that his girl was going on a date with some guy. He pushed his feelings aside briefly, wanting to hear the rest of her story. "Well, we went out to this pretty nice place and it was going well, at least I thought so. Anyway, we came back here and he started kiss me, and you feel me up and stuff." She really didn't want to give her ex-boyfriend the details of her hook up. She paused still embarrassed. "Was he blonde and foreign as well?" Her face became warm as he let out a chuckle, this actually comforted him a bit, to see her go out with guys that reminded her of him. "Glad to see you have a type." She gave him a pointed look as an initial response. "Sorry, go on." Shifting her feet to avoid the shame. Max gave her sweet look, enticing her to speak. "When we, um, went to bed it was, uh, fine to start with but you know, he couldn't make me cum, it didn't seem like he was even trying." Her voice was shaky, her nerves were sky high, but she continued because, for once, Max was right. "So I may or may not have sent him out of the flat." She says with as sigh, looking up at her and grasping his arm for a bit of support ,not physical, but emotional, he was comforting to touch. "I am so glad I was your boyfriend and knew how to actually please you or I don't think we would have lasted as long as we did." He spoke with a crooked smile, ready of a light slap to his chest. "It's not funny Max." defeated, her shoulders slumped slightly as she tried to pull out of his tight grasp. "It is a little bit, oh no, please don't give me that look. I'm sorry I swear."

"So let me get this straight, you wanted to hook up with this guy, Matthew, and he was being a selfish prick, and now you are all desperate and pent up. That I can defiantly work with." Confusion covered her face as Max picked her up by her waist and began walking them towards the bedroom. She hooked her legs around his hips during his venture. She would often scold him for doing things without warning or saying things that he shouldn't. She began to kiss his neck, wanting his attention back on her. She knew it wasn't a good idea, but she would worry about the consequences later. One of his hands slid down her back, giving her ass a nice squeeze, he knew she liked it, not that she'd say so, he had to figure that out for himself.

Once his knees touched the edge of the bed, he placed her on it, immediately pushing her shirt up, "No underwear as well, you really do treat the guys at your door well." He let out with a smirk, before pushing her thighs apart further so he could slot between them. The ghost of his breath had her shuddering, she moaned when his lips finally touched her cunt, tongue licking a long stripe over her slit. Max looked up, not even being able to see her face as her head was thrown back at the slightest amount of pleasure. She really needed to feel him. He began to suck on her clit lightly, not wanting to rush into it and run the risk of ruining her orgasm, it hurt him to make her wait any longer, knowing she had spent so much time dissatisfied. Max shook his head side to side sending waves of bliss through her whole body.

Max got good at eating pussy from practicing on her. There were times where he spent more time between her legs than not. Her moans got louder as max put more pressure on her clit, heightening the sensation. "Could he not do this to you? No? That's what I thought." He breathed against her cunt, making her hips shift towards him. Max pulled her knees over his shoulders as he went back in, the noises that filled the room were quickly becoming pornographic. He could feel her twitching and clenching as he ate her out, Max moaned at the feeling, knowing it would tip her over the edge. "Yes, Max. Please, it feels so good." She barely got out, lungs burning. As she began gasping for air, Max could feel her ankles cross behind his back, squishing his head between her thighs. She came hard, harder than she'd done since the last time they were together. No matter who she slept with, no matter how many times she made herself cum it was never the same. "Did that feel good? Was that better than Matthew? Yeah, I know it is."

She pushed Max back slightly so she could slip off the bed and on to her knees. She undid his belt as quick as her shaky hands would allow her.  She squeezed him lightly and ran her hand over his cock a few times before actually pulling it out, she licked a long stripe along the underside, right along the thick vein of his length. Max let out a breathy groan as she took his entire cock in her mouth, reaching down her throat. His hands quickly found her hair and made pace in tangling them. He guided her up and down his cock watching from above with a pleased look on his face. She pulled off with a loud pop, then she tongued the space between the head and shaft, he let out a guttural moan at the feeling, urging  her to take him back in her mouth, it felt phenomenal. Once she hollowed her cheeks again it all became too much for max, she made him cum so hard he started to feel almost lightheaded, seeing stars, hunching over at the feeling. "Fuck, you feel so go baby. Always making me feel so good." He praised, not one lie leaving his lips, although he got to cum every time he had sex, it didn't feel as euphoric as it did with her. 

"Get up here." he said, pulling her up to her tip toes for a kiss. He slipped his tongue practically down her throat, tasting himself in her mouth. Max never understood how other guys could possibly complain about their girlfriend wanting a kiss after blowing him. If she had no problem kissing him after eating her out, what was the difference? The mix was divine, it sent blood rushing to his cock almost immediately as their lips touched. He let his hands run wild over her body, missing the warm of her skin against his. He missed being able to touch every divot of her body. He missed the control he had over her, and the trust she had in him. He was almost as pent up as she was. Max made a point of picking her up again, just to throw her back down on the bed. He noticed the framed painting was put back up above the bed. When they were together, it was almost exclusively on the floor as they got lazy hunting for it behind the headboard, He was disappointed that it was placed back to its home. Max caged her head between her arms as he kissed his way down her abdomen before he gave her cunt one final kiss. He slid his cock over her clit just to tease, he got the same reaction buy only pushing the head in and out a few times before slowly slipping his whole cock in inch by inch. She was swimming in pleasure with max slowly marking her, her neck covered in bites, a few bleeding slightly, her chest was covered in red marks, he needed to mark her as his again, no one was allowed to touch what was his. Not anymore. "Fuck." Max strained, sounding breathless and choked as he continued to pound into her, just how she always liked. He was too hot not to moan over, so she did, and he indulged her, usually he'd have to cover her mouth with his hand or push her face into the pillows to avoid noise complaints, but tonight he'd let her do anything, all he wanted was her back in his arms. He continued to abuse her walls while she gripped the bedsheets tightly, her knuckles becoming white with the new found strength. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head while the remainder of her make up began to smudge and run. Max was fucking her so well her face was painted with tears of joy, and it was just so hot. Max became impossibly harder seeing her fucked out face. He stared to fuck her deeper, hitting that spot that made her go blind with pleasure. "Oh yes Max, always make me feel so good." Her inability to articulate proper sentences was a tell tale sign she was close. Max learned how to read her like a book and it was so beneficial in times like this. 

He quickened his pace, feeling quite close himself. He could she some of this hook up guy's stuff still in her room and it just fuelled the fire. "Matthew didn't make you feel nearly this good did he, sweetheart. You can be honest because I already know." He was interrupted by a thud against the floor. "That's it, good fucking girl for me." he praised her, knowing she would melt from his words, his voice was something she admitted masturbating to when he was gone. She claimed it was mostly because of his accent, but also the tone and the pitch, it just got her so hot and bothered. "Think you can hold on just a little longer?" He asked, feeling her clench around his cock, it made it hard for him to resist. "Only for you, Max." she moaned aware it would edge him on further, fucking her felt exclusive, she was a rare and only he could have her. Perhaps he was a bit possessive, but that didn't matter now that he was with her. One of his hands slid up to her throat, pressing lightly on the sides to only slow the blood flow to her head; his other made way to her clit, rubbing fast circles with just enough pressure to really make it feel good. "Please, just.. just like tha..that." She managed to slur out before her words were cut off by a whine. Her orgasm hit so hard that her head was pushing deep in the mattress and her legs began to spasm and shake. Max only now allowed him self to cum, while she was coming down. He pulled out, shooting plenty of long, thick ropes of cum all over her torso, mainly her perfect tits that her just couldn't resist. They both sighed quietly with small laugh. 

Max gave her a chaste kiss before walking leisurely to the bathroom and picking up a towel to clean her up a bit. On his way back he turned the AC on, anticipating that she would ask him to stay; if he was he want to be touching her the entire time, in order to keep her close he needed the room cold. He brushed the towel over she skin as gently as possible, although it still pulled a moan from her. "I know, but I have to, Darling." He threw the towel to the corner of the room, knowing she'd complain about it later. "Were are my clothes?" He asked quietly, looking back at her on the bed with a grin plastered to her face. "Where you left them before moving out." still in the wardrobe would have been an easier answer but she wanted him to know she didn't want him gone. She anticipated him coming back and wanting to stay, as usual she was right. He put his classic black t-shirt on before climbing in bed with her. "I'm not putting that frame back up." was the first thing she said after coming out of her orgasmic haze. He pulled her practically on top of his body and held her close, as if someone was going to take her from him. "I know." was all he said, trying to think of the right words to convey his feelings. "I never stopped loving you." Was all he could say so he coupled it with a tight squeeze. "I know." It was her turn to give a dry reply and kiss his neck sweetly. "This is great pillow talk." Max laughed out quietly and he could feel her smile against his chest. "I'm so sorry, I should have tried harder. I shouldn't have blamed you as much as I did, I'm just as responsible. And I most definitely should not have told you to leave and never come back. I regretted it immediately, you know. As soon as I heard the door shut I lost it. I don't deserve you Max, but I need you so much." His heart ached hearing her confession, feeling her tears wet his shirt slightly. "I shouldn't have walked out. I know what you're like when you get angry. As soon I closed that door I couldn't bring myself to leave. I slept outside that door, your neighbour asked what happened and I started crying to her. I kept in touch with your friends, or at least I tried to. I needed to make sure you were okay, but it doesn't seem like they like me much. So don't say you don't deserve me, you do. We will make it to the end, I promise you. I wont lose you again. I love you too much for that." She wiped her now joyful tears as she kissed his lips again. 

There was a loud repeated knock on her door, they tried to ignore it, assuming it was their neighbours complaining about the noise, they normally gave up after a few knocks. But this one persisted. "You stay here and keep warm alright, I'll se who it is." Max got out of the bed a recovered her body in blankets while walking with unnecessary pace towards the door. He swung it open aggressively. "Look I'm sorry about that but can I just get the rest of my clothes and leave, there's no need to-" The guy, who max assumed to me Matthew, stopped upon seeing Max. "Sorry man, but that's not happening. Not while I'm here. I don't think you even deserve it, especially if you can't make such a desperate woman come. Only took me three minutes . So fuck off now will you." Max said before slamming the door, feeling relieved as he reached her again. "I love you so much Max."

[r0-boat]

Lucifer headcanons PLSPLSPLSPLSPLS (Maybe what most citizens of hell think of him? And how they and the kings react when mc gets close to him?) PLSPLSPLSPLSPLS

I'm not confident in my Lucifer headcanon's since I wrote that Lucifer breeding fic but heeeeeere hhhhh

Lucifer headcannons

NSFW&SFW

Lucifer was once an angel and as angels the assistance of God they help make humans and devils so it would make sense that Lucifer one of God's most prized angels would know a fair amount of human and devil anatomy.

Perhaps he became Hell's greatest doctor because he felt guilt of how much useless slaughter he and his brothers did. So, instead of killing, he wanted to help. And his subordinates, supportive of his dream, became healers and doctors with him.

However, he is still the demon of pride, and he wants to be your primary care doctor, and he will not sway his will. The Kings really don't fight him on this because, well, he is the right person to trust with your health.

My most favorite headcanon (and probably the least true, to be honest) is that since his fall, he is slowly learning about sex and sexual attraction. And you are playing a heavy hand on corrupting him, and he loves it. He was a pious angel; though not perfect to many of his brethren, he was considered highly regarded. And now look at him, fucking you till you cry in an act so obscene that it would make his brothers weep. Corruption kink Lucifer. Go brrr.

He wants to corrupt you, just like you corrupt him, but how do you corrupt someone who is already sinful filth/affectionate

Lucifer sees you as the perfect partner to try sexual acts with because he trusts you the most, and he likes you. That goes without saying. Unbeknownst to you, Lucifer is a fast learner. Once you teach him how to pleasure you, the next thing you know, he'll be making you writhe and scream.

Lucifer is a little bitey during sex. Especially when he is about to come, he clenches his teeth before to stop himself from sinking his fangs into your neck, but he can't help it. He needs to feel your soft skin in his mouth. His favorite places to bite are your neck and your thighs, other than your tears and your cum,. Your blood is the third favorite taste.

Lucifer is on the more serious side; jokes tend to bounce off his head. Especially ones made by younger devils... So much so that he gets angry when anyone mentions any word he cannot understand.

As the demon of pride it is his way or the highway. He can break any rule he wants but you, less you want to be a brat (please do He likes to punish). You may not break any rules of his.

Lucifer is as caring and gentle as he is strict; your tears frighten him just as much as it arouses him. He doesn't want to see you cry if it's not from pleasure. His gaze will grow soft, his voice deep and gentle, calling you cooing as he wipes away your tears.

He still has that little bit of animosity toward you He knows it is not your fault. He tells you straight up that it's because he is an angel. Even though most of it is mostly gone, he still gets a slight sickly pleasure from making you cry; He can't help it. He's a little bit of a sadist when he comes to you.

Everyone knows what Lucifer's penmanship looks like but no one can fucking read it. It's a mess of This is the most doctor shit you've ever seen. To you it just looks like an L and a squiggle written in a shimmering gold font (expensive fountain pen gift from Mammon)

Mammon likes Lucifer in a sort of "ooh, that man is pretty; never had an angel in my collection before." Where when Lucifer sees Mammon, it's mainly with Satan, so his first reaction is "God damn it not again."

He still calls you child of Adam or child of man And he still apologizes for it.

Lucifer is quite the romantic despite now becoming a devil, he thinks that hellborn devils should learn that sex is much sweeter when the tension is right. Basically his version of "these youngsters are still young SMH"

Lucifer unironically likes Twilight.

Lucifer texts like he is a character AI bot with perfect English and punctuation. Good luck trying to text him back because he knows nothing about text slang.

You annoy him so much and he loves it. You're so cute please keep pissing him off he'll still love you even when he kicks you out. He literally can't stay mad at you.

He's wondering how the fuck are you still alive You've been wondering that yourself all these years. Maybe that's why you so protective over your health now.

Dads you a lot. "You have to eat this finish your food it's healthy. Blah blah blah- too much screen time is bad for your eyes." "Blah blah blah-humans should get at least 8 hours of sleep Go to bed- blah blah blah." "Stop eating shitty foods and actually cook a decent meal-blah blah blah." at this point, calling him Daddy is becoming less of a joke.

Also Lucifer: buys you chocolates, takes you to fancy dinners.

Lucifer hates being called Daddy. And he hates that he's starting to like it; please stop.

[yagirlpurplefox12]

Logan’s Firecracker

(Logan Howlett x Female Reader Insert)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“When you get to young Xavier, tell him to find me. Young me would have loved to have been in a school like that,” you pant out to Logan with blood dripping down your nose.

“(F/N)—!”

“Now go, I’ll hold them off.”

Tears start to make his vision blurry as he clenches his jaw…very unwilling to let you go but he knows he has to. The Sentinels have taken over and he has to go back in time to stop this from ever happening…but that means losing you…

“(F/N), I…”

Looking from his face to the door, you know the others are holding off as best as they can but dying at drastically quick rate. Focusing back to Logan, you give a small carefree smile and kiss him on the lips. The first and last kiss.

“I love you too. Now go fix the past and tell Xavier to find me. Bye, Logan.”

Getting away from his grasps, you salute the others in the room and lock the door behind you. In front of you is carnage and more Sentinels than before. Getting ready, you feel the space and gravity around you and send out a burst of gravikinesis force sending the Sentinels flying.

You know you are going to die like your friends before you. But be damn if you let them get to Logan and the rest of hope without a fight.

And a fight did you bring.

Along with a horrible death in the process.

But technically that never happened.

Now Logan stands in X’s office as he is given the details on what happened after 1973. Seeing Jean, Scott, and everyone else, he’s happy to have everything back to how it should have been. Though, there is one person on his mind he can’t forget.

“Logan, as I said before you have a class to teach. Now since you just learned about the changes, I’ll be in the classroom with you if you want.”

“That may be best,” Logan grumbles, still thinking about his girl. About you. A strong woman who made him realize love can come anytime and in surprising ways. A young woman originally from shield who had gravitational powers. You were also much younger than him meeting him when you were 23. But as the two years past with the both of you fighting side by side, more than a friendship blossomed but was never dealt with considering the uncertainties of death.

Arriving to the classroom, Logan notices some young friendly faces that either died battling the Sentinels or should be with Magneto instead of here.

After class greets him and Professor X and the bell rings, the door suddenly slams open and a flustered, short, young adult with a shit eating grin on her face chuckles nervously.

“Sorry I was late Logan, training got a little fun now that I can do some cool shit.” Professor X shakes his head at your language in front of the kids as the class laughs at your seemingly normal everyday behavior.

Seeing you, Logan can’t help but to feel that tight feeling around his heart and throat. Looking down at Xavier, the older bald man smiles at him and nods.

Logan then looks back at you and watches you.

“(F/N),” he starts, catching your attention.

“ I know, I know, language. It’s a hard adjustment.”

“How about taking over today’s lesson?”

Your eyes widen and you start to giggle out of nervousness and anticipation, “Wait, for real?”

He nods and tells Professor X he’s not needed.

‘How about you take the day off and be with her? Since you’re officially back now, I think you deserve some peace.’

Logan smiles and nods his head, Xavier now rolling to the door but not before telling you to behave. As he sits back and watches you teach the class in a VERY entertaining way keeping the young teens attention, he feels a burning sensation behind his eyes. He’s grateful he doesn’t remember anything after 1973, for it would honestly be super awkward if he had to see you as a child. He’s grateful Xavier listened and, just like he told Logan in his office before they headed to the classroom, Xavier found you just a week before you accidentally kills your family and everyone in the apartment building. He’s just really happy to see you, alive, and as geeky and animated as ever. Like you’ve never changed. No matter what pst or future, you’ll always have the lovely, bubbly spirit. Once class ends, Logan gives them homework and as Xavier promised he let everyone know there will be no history class for the rest of the day, surprising you.

“(F/N), how about we go out and enjoy our free day?”

“….really?”

Logan can’t help to feel flustered but he knows he has to do this, he doesn’t know if you feel for him the same as in the other timeline, but he would regret it if he never tried.

“Well I’m on my period and I’ve been craving strawberry ice cream and Puerto Rican food,” you slide up to him with the smiles he wants you to wear everyday as long as you live. He wonders if he himself before ever pulled a move on you, whether that is taking you out in a date or simply hugging you. He gives back your smiles and gives in to his feelings for you. Reaching behind your head, he grasps the back and messages between the lower part of your head and your nape. “Let me get you those well deserved treats.” Your cheeks flush from his actions and words but your smile only grows bigger. “Well, let’s go then! Oooh, and last week you promised me a ride on your bike, let’s go,” you grab his hand and he lets you pull him towards the garage. You answered is unheard question. He is meant to like you and from your hopping and smiling and even flushing his arm to your body, you are meant to like him as well. Your arms squeezes to him and you lay your protected head on his back the whole ride to the closest town that you said has Puerto Rican food.

It’s lunch time by then but since it’s a workday not many are out. He buys all the food you want and lets you feed him yourself of everything he never had. The whole day, the two of you were getting closer and closer. “Logan, are you feeling alright?”

“Hmm?”

The two of you are ending your day licking ice cream after spending and hour and a half at a book store. Piles of bags are next to him, every book he saw you remotely interested, he bought.

Had to get a lot of gay manga but if it makes you happy, it makes him happy.

“Well, you’re always so broody and very cold many times. You also have a tendency to yell at me and abuse the hell out of me during training, but for the past month or two you’ve been very nice to me…and today…I guess what I’m saying is don’t be an asshole and get my hopes up. I know you know I like you, I mean since I was 15 I’ve literally asked you to be my prom date every year. Was this day just to tell me that I’ll never have a chance or what?”

Logan freezes for a moment, and watches your face get saddened per second. He remembers from the other timeline of you being insecure about…well everything. You were just always joyful while making stupid untrue comments about yourself. He’s not gonna let you think like that.

Gently grabbing your chin, he guides your face to his and wait, seeing if you’ll object. Your eyes and the lick to your lips give him no objection. Moving forwards, both of your mouths collide to a deep and passionate kiss. Your bodies feeling the same tingle and longing. Dropping your ice cream to the ground, you grasp his hair, pulling to get a deeper kiss as he groans in your mouth. “I love you (F/N), I want to take you on dates every weekend, treat you like the queen you are, and god I want you so badly,” he states between kisses. You can’t help but feel for him the same, “I love you too Logan. I just can’t believe a hunk of a man like you would be interested in flabby me.”

“Don’t talk about yourself that way, you’re gorgeous inside and out,” he growls at you.

You guys headed home right after that, but Logan wants to take his time with you. To cherish you. You invite him to your room to watch the Child’s Play series, cuddling, and eating popcorn and snacks. He kisses your head and inhales your scent. He scents your shampoo, perfume, skin, and even the little musk of want coming from under the covers. “Love you Logan, can you sleep here, with me?”

“Of course, love you too you little firecracker.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[mooncalf87]

so I have been writing the ghosts for about two years now and I have actually gotten a good handful of people asking how I write each ghost so well SO I'm going to break each character down simply here!!!!

Thor: Thors first language isn't English, so its okay to make is dialog a little silly just like in the show. He's a big tough man but he also has a huge soft spot make sure to incorporate that if need be

Sass: Sass is the youngest main gang ghost- he died at 25. He is not a wise old elder, he is closer to being a kid then any other of the main ghosts. He is still learning new things every day and is still stuck in his nearly fully developed mind, remember that!!

Isaac: he's smart! He may seem silly and goober like at times- AND HE IS- but he is also very smart. He want to Dartmouth, he was an attorney!!! He knows what he's talking about!!! He is also from the 1700s so he doesn't really use words like "gonna" or "yeah" or modern slang as much as the other ghosts do

Hetty: Despite being the character i write the most, I think Hetty is the hardest to write. She has arguably had the most character development out of any ghost- ranging from her marriage, to her children, and even her death- Hetty is constantly changing and growing very visibly with the show. Apply that to her in writing! And just like Isaac she uses old-timey words and no slang. She also doesn't like vowels

Alberta: Alberta is from the roaring twentys. The years where everyone was throwing out the old and bringing in the new! Alberta is a party girl, she's outgoing and self obsessed (which is not necessarily a bad thing) but she also cares about her other ghosts, more then I think any of us can tell. She also moves a lot, her body language represents a lot of what she is thinking and saying- same for Hetty

Flower: Flower died high, but she is still a person. I've seen lots of people, including myself, dehumanize her and treat her as some sort of puppy. She is, sometimes, like a silly little kid- but she is also a fully grown woman who can do things for herself!! Flower got into law school, she is incredibly smart!!!!!

Pete: Pete is a father. He is a parent and a protector, he is constantly guiding his troop and his family! He is the second oldest of all the ghosts and has always been the troop leader, he is constantly in the background of everything and he ALMOST NEVER chooses sides. But he isn't just a wet towel, we've seen him literally bitch punch Thor!! He is also a HUGE hand talker and is always shifting from foot to foot

Trevor: he is a bitch but he is also very incredibly smart, just like Flower. He worked on Wall Street, he went to Pen. He is much smarter then we give him credit for! He usually has his hands clasped infront of him like Pete, but he is also a hand talker! He cares a lot about everyone, especially the younger ghosts + hetty

NOW remember these are just what I make sure to apply to them while writing!!!! Remember to find your own writing style and character projections :3 you can find my ghosts fics on Ao3 under Mooncalf87!!!!

[simplyreveries]

Dorm Leaders watching their S/O beat up someone that shit talked them. And they do it without a scratch and walk off to them like nothing happened, and the only reason why they noticed was because of some blood on their uniforms

riddle rosehearts

the look on his FACE when he sees you straight up sucker punch someone for calling him names, most likely some student in his dorm telling him off frustrated and badmouthing riddle to their friends. he was speechless??? like??? he quickly regains his composure and manages to have you and the other (more so you) back off before anything more happens and it escalates. he may even temporarily use his magic on you two as a swift warning.

riddle will remove it once the student is gone and scold you for doing and resorting to such violence… though yes it was good that you had, good intentions with him and mind he’ll huff and tell you that is not how to do it! he’ll end up rambling in a flustered moment after having that happen and because out of defense? he's never felt that before or had someone to do that for him really.

he’ll ask and wonder if aces stubborn and fighting tendencies are rubbing off on you, he’d know as he GOT hit by him before. he’ll exclaim and be like “I told you, dear, they're a bad influence on you tsk..!” hehehe. he makes an effort to keep you strayed and quickly moved away if some situation like this occurs, especially after knowing just how far you are willing to go for him… after he’s gone on long enough to you about how that wasn't a good idea, you swore you could've seen a hint of a smile on him.

leona kingscholar

leona is used to hearing some sort of snarky hushed comments about him from other students, thinking he doesn't have such a keen sense of hearing, at times. he really could care less and mostly likely will not be caught thinking about it even later on. there were times where maybe yes, they would sting him slightly but that was when he was younger and, in the castle, hear comments regarding him and his place beside his brother. once again, he has gotten used to these kinds of things and finds it rather pointless to dwell on. he doesn't want to pity himself.

but… you are kind of the opposite when to him and he actually is genuinely shocked for once when he sees you getting personal and physical with some random octavinelle student that made some snide comment about him. leona had always known that you had an overprotective and forward flare to you— hell he loved that about you, but he actually was not expecting that one bit.

he will grab your arm and stop you from going any further from terrorizing this poor student, he’ll grumble what “an idiot” you are for getting yourself into such a mess, for a mere comment towards him. he’ll have some smirk on his face, he doesn't seem to be taking this seriously one bit.

azul ashengrotto

like leona he has had to learn to “toughen up” and learn to ignore them (though he does most likely take them to heart at times) he holds his front and persona ever the same remaining unbothered and frankly ignorant. he is quite used to others talking poorly especially as his reputation is poor among various students haha. but he doesn't seem to care, he is quite happy to see his business grow actually.

azul seems a little taken off-guard when you start a whole fight with not one but a group of students??? l mean, most violence he is used to is from the twins to some student who’s defiant to fulfill or deal with the effects of their deal. when he is past the initial surprise, he stops you and tells you to only ignore them, azul will claim its foolish to engage. he tries to keep a fake “oh terribly sorry about that...” to the students to make sure they won't do anything. if something were to happen though because you decided to pick a fight out of his defense, he could always send someone like floyd, not you!

not going to lie though, moving away he did feel a sense of pride knowing that you're someone that's so willing to go such lengths for him, not to mention, he's impressed. you’ll still find him going on and telling you that you shouldn't be doing that, it could lead you into some larger mess with other troublesome students. but he’ll chuckle and tell you he finds it endearing.

kalim al-asim

kalim is pretty liked for the most part by other students and his dorm, minus the whole fiasco that happened during his chapter. he is just the kind of person that wants to be able to get everyone's approval and he’ll stubbornly keep being persistent. however, in a school like nrc where they're so many people the opposite he is bound to get annoyed, mean comment from someone. SO, when you decide to take that extra personally, he is so??!! he is not one for violence like ever...

after he sees how willing you are to defend him by literally fighting the student, he absolutely will quickly get in between you two and stop the situation before it even begins to escalate, trying to make light of it all with a nervous smile and laugh, he doesn't want to see you or the other person fighting!

he'll look over you all worried, he doesn't want you or anyone to be hurt, especially on his own behalf. he just has this shocked and bewildered expression as he does so, like he is flattered and thinks it's nice that you care for him but not so aggressively! haha.

vil schoenheit

this man is a celebrity…. words do not affect him. he is really used to comments online but also around him during his school life, though he is surprised there are some so bold to be expressive about their thoughts of someone like him. he doesn't think much of them, at most shooting them some glare or even an unamused look from him. if he’s particularly stressed or upset about something beforehand he won't hesitate to throw his own comment as well.

he is shocked but carefully removes you before things get any sorts of serious after you decide to start that. the last thing he would want is for you to be hurt in some sort of silly reason, as he doesn't seem to care about what others think of him. if anything, vil would only be more concerned about you than that unpleasant student. he does know quite the temper and stubbornness you can get; he’ll move you by the arms away if he has to.

vil would look like he is frustrated but his face is just painted with concern for you— he’ll stubbornly bring you to his room and make you sit down in front of his vanity, leaving the student way being (frankly surprised that you decided to sucker punch them for talking ill of vil). vil will carefully tend to your hands, shaking his head. he’ll kiss your knuckles when he’s done, get your uniform cleaned and warn you not to do something like that again!

idia shroud

if idias feeling mean back (most of the time) he’ll probably just do something scummy to the person online and call it a day. but at the end of the day, he avoids people like the plague, so this happening is rare— he isn't exactly the most confrontational person either, unlike you who willingly get into the student's face getting slightly physical about to jump in and defend your boyfriend. that is until the student runs off.

he freezes and pauses for a moment, really unable to stop staring at you as the whole situation unfolding in front really trying to register what you just did. then he would give off his weird little snicker and giggle, after witnessing the whole thing, he finds it amusing that you're able to do that to some student, knowing you're a human— the magicless one yet you're able to do something like that for him??

honestly, he loves it, you've opened his eyes and made him realize that he is definitely attracted to that lmao. yet he groans when you go on and still fired up about the student, he’ll tell you it's too much of a trouble to do these kinds of things.

malleus draconia

he is quite used to hushed whispers and looks from passing students, though it is discouraging because he doesn't want that from others— there's another part of malleus if he's upset or feelings particularly spiteful for it… he could get really intimidating himself, no doubt about it, if he really wanted to. he never does anything too bad, but he sometimes messes with others if he is in the mood. at the end of the day though, he is used to sebek quickly charging up ready to defend his honor at any moment of the day and telling him calmly to let them be.

nevertheless, he is genuinely surprised when you suddenly are willing to fight people literally for him. he finds it entertaining at first but then when he realizes you're being serious and get tough with a particular student he's like OH. with the quick move his hand, he’ll quickly move you and pull you away with some magic and prevent you or the student form doing anything else.

he’ll have some amused look on his face, as he remembers the face on the student when you were about to swing at him. as he lightheartedly scolds you for being so rough and doing something that could end with you getting hurt.

[woniverse-writes]

"Moth to a Flame (part 7)"

Bada Lee x Reader

part 6 ⟵ part 7 ⟶ part 8

series masterlist

summary: y/n l/n is the youngest team member of Jam Republic, competing in the second season of Street Woman Fighter. she’s got the sweetest smile and the most vibrant personality, but she also may or may not be the biggest hothead on the show when it comes to defending her teammates. apparently that’s attractive to Bada Lee.

word count: 9k

warnings: swearing, minor angst if you could even call it that, tbh this doesn't feel like my best work so i'm sorry, not proofread, nothing I write is a reflection of anyone's true character and is a work of total fiction

After Deep n Dap had been defeated by Wolf’Lo, There were a few days between the elimination and when the crews were supposed to gather again to learn the group choreography for the trailer. In that time Jam Republic had been booked and busy- they had a long-awaited team dinner, went to some dance classes, and even taught some of their own.

Y/n specifically took a class with Harimu at 1 Million, that happened to to be taught by Redy. the three hung out before heading to the studio, grabbing lunch and bonding over dance and being the youngest members of their crews. 

“So how’re things among the other Jam girls? Are you all getting accustomed to things here?” Redy asked after taking a sip from her mimosa

“They’re all doing great- as I explained earlier, it wasn’t really hard for me to get re-situated, but I was actually really nervous for them at first…” y/n explained briefly, causing both 1 Million dancers to tilt their heads and furrow their brows

“Aww, why? Because of the language barrier or just being in a different country?” the older of the two questioned again

“A bit of both- I knew the language would be hard for them since it took me years of studying to even be able to speak and understand it somewhat fluently, but I felt okay enough to be able to translate for them… I was mostly worried about how we’d be perceived by Korean netizens I guess, since we’re such a diverse team…” The youngest dancer played with her straw once she finished her sentence, a bit shy to admit her original concerns for her team. The other two nodded sympathetically 

“Well, have you made any other close friends?” Harimu finally chimes back in, wanting to avoid the deeper conversation that she felt was about to arise

“You and Lusher seem pretty close- Tatter too!” Redy exclaimed, having remembered the girls’ reactions to Y/n, as well as how easily the blonde got along with her during the rank mission. Y/n smiled softly and was about to confirm their friendship before the other 1 Million dancer snorted and began talking again

“Now that you say that I can’t help but be curious about what’s been going on between you and Bada” she teased out of curiosity, not noticing how quickly the younger dancer’s face dropped. Y/n didn’t say anything at first, taking another sip from her drink, causing the two to look up from their own over at her.

“...there’s nothing going on between me and Bada… we aren’t even friends…” Y/n softly tells them, leaving both of them shocked

“Woah- what??? Did something happen?? Just a couple of weeks ago you two were all over each other!” Harimu loudly explicated, earning a smack to the arm from her teammate

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to Y/n, we understand… I especially understand that Bada isn’t the greatest at communicating so…” Redy comforted the girl, but y/n just chuckled a bit sadly before sighing

“It’s okay, I don’t mind explaining it to you guys…” She told her two friends and then did just that. Y/n explained how she and Bada became close quickly, how they hung out as just the two of them on multiple occasions, leaving out the parts where things got a bit too intimate, but it wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks. Then how things went south as soon as the pressure was on for the mega crew mission. By the end of the retelling, y/n’s mouth felt dry and she couldn’t help the feeling of shame that arose once again at the remembrance of how childish and immature she had acted.

“Wow… I didn’t think it was gonna be that bad…” Harimu mumbled, reaching over to take a sip from Redy’s mimosa, causing the other to fumble to try and stop her before immediately giving up to pay attention to their friend

“I’m so sorry you had to experience that Y/n… you didn’t deserve that.” Redy reached across the table to hold Y/n’s hand, the younger looking up to meet her eyes before pursing her lips

“I mean… I kinda did… maybe not all of it, but at least most of it-”

“No way- I wouldn’t even say you deserved a quarter of it” the younger 1 Million dancer cut her friend off, not liking how self-deprecating she was sounding, causing her teammate to nod and hum

“Harimu’s right- sure you said some things you shouldn’t have and you may have started the argument, but if Bada had been so mature herself, you two probably would’ve been able to get out of that fight with your relationship still intact.” the oldest of the three intelligently remarked, causing her teammate to hum and nod while Y/n just sighed

“I can’t believe you two haven’t talked at all since then…”

“Redy she doesn’t even wanna look at me or acknowledge my existence when we’re in the same room, I wouldn’t be able to get close to her even if I did wanna talk to her…” Y/n pouted and leaned against her hand. They all sat in silence for a moment until Harimu sat up straight with a gasp

“Have you tried getting her attention? Like- maybe you don’t have to be the one that talks first!” she exclaimed with wide eyes, leaving the other two with very confused expressions. She sighed dramatically and continued with her idea

“What if you try to make her jealous??” Y/n gave a deadpan expression in response as Redy rolled her eyes and mumbled an ‘oh my god’ under her breath

“Girl- I already told you we weren’t… a thing… so how would that even work?” the youngest questioned exasperatedly 

“And I already told you how I don’t believe that for a second, BUT- “ Redy snorted as she couldn’t help but agree with her teammate since they’d all seen how Bada and Y/n looked at each other

“We do what every dancer does when they’re trying to make someone jealous- a duet…” Harimu finished explaining and the others just sat there, waiting for her to explain in further detail, which caused her to huff before doing so

“Y/n, you can do a duet with one of us that has a lot of partner work, and touching and it’ll be like- spicy- ya know??? And it’ll make Bada jealous!” the middle dancer finally finished explaining

“It’s not a terrible idea…” Redy chimed in apprehensive, not wanting to upset her friend, but also agreeing with how well it could work. The two 1 Million dancers waited to hear what the youngest had to say, leaving Y/n sighing 

“It’s not a bad idea, but the only way it’d work was if Bada actually still cared…” she mumbled sadly and pouted into the hand that she was leaning on

“Well, there’s only one way to find out!”

The three finished their lunch and headed over to 1 Million Dance Studio for Redy’s class. Afterward, they stuck around and began choreographing a duet for Y/n and Redy

“Oooh, you know what would make this even better??” Harimu excitedly inquired, leaving her friends a bit worried once they saw the mischievous look in her eyes

“Oh god… what?” Y/n whined, throwing her head back

“If you used a song she’s already choreographed too- perhaps a song that no one knows she’s choreographed to yet…” The younger 1 Million dancer raised her eyebrows up and down, yet the other two stood confused. Harimu sighs once again before pressing play on the music she picked. “Psycho” by Baekhyun started playing and Redy burst out laughing

“We can’t- that’d be so mean!” the youngest of the three expressed more of her concerns out loud

“No it wouldn’t- Bada doesn’t own this song. And plus, we could always say something nice about how she was the one who reminded us of this song… nobody else knows the reason we’re doing this besides us Y/n, so it’ll only seem mean to you… and maybe her but she deserves it!” Redy defended, assuring Y/n that there wouldn’t be any repercussions from the public

“Exactly- the mega crew missions won’t air for a while, so people probably won’t even connect the two anyway!” Harimu chimed in, throwing an arm around Y/n’s shoulder, causing her to let out a sigh

“Alright… let’s do it-” she gave in and the other two cheered and jumped with joy, excited to choreograph the piece and cause some chaos. They worked on the piece for hours before filming it. Redy decided she’d be the one to post it, just in case it did cause some drama then it wouldn’t totally be pinned on Y/n. The three girls finished their hang-out sesh and went their separate ways. 

When Y/n had settled into her apartment her phone lit up with a notification from Instagram, letting her know she was tagged in a post. She clicked on it to see the video of her and Redy’s choreography, where the older dancer had captioned it ‘been obsessed with this song lately- thanks @badalee_!’ with a bunch of black, white, and pink emojis. Y/n reposted the video to her story and made sure to leave a comment before turning off her phone and getting in the shower.

Meanwhile, team Bebe was out having dinner when Bada’s phone pinged with a notification. Unlocking it, she opened Instagram to see that Redy had tagged her in a video- a video that had her heart clenching the second she processed what it was, or rather who it was.

Tatter had also opened Instagram while they were waiting for their food to arrive and saw the same video as the first thing on her feed. She turned to Bada immediately and showed her the video but ended up bursting out laughing when she saw the same thing already pulled up on the older girl’s phone. 

“I really don’t see what’s funny about this…” the leader mumbled sourly, while her teammate continued to die of laughter. The others sat confused until Lusher reached over to take Tatter’s phone which she had dropped on the table. The sub-leader tried to stifle her own laughter once she saw the video and read the caption, before sliding the phone back over to the blonde.

“You guys seriously aren’t annoyed by this? They took our song!” Bada childishly whined, causing Tatter to laugh even harder while the younger members started asking what was going on. The eldest tossed her phone gently in the middle of the table for everyone to see the video, and while a couple were confused the other couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“Oh no Bada- they took your song. We didn’t mess with Y/n… this is targeting you…” Lusher smirked as she took a long sip from her drink, causing the leader to scoff

“Seriously? You really think this is specifically targeting me? And why would Redy do that… especially since me and her are good now-”

“So you think this was Y/n’s idea?” CheChe questioned with a raised brow

“Of course! She’s obviously still out to get me with her immature antics…” the leader dramatically pouted and crossed her arms. To her teammates, she looked like a spoiled child who just got told they did something wrong for the first time. This caused most of the members to either scoff or burst out laughing 

“Well you were the one who took it as an attack in the first place- maybe they genuinely just wanted to dance to the song…” Kyma chimed in, shrugging her shoulder, causing the leader to groan and throw her head back against the booth they were all in. She glanced back at her phone to see that Harimu commented on the video- something about how she was glad to be a part of the process. Then the leader clicked on the girl’s story to see she had reposted the video as well, complimenting her teammate but also making some flirty comments about Y/n. almost as if she could read Bada’s mind Lusher spoke up

“Y/n does look really good though… I’d get on that apology Bada or else you might lose your chance…” Lusher whispered the second half of her statement, teasing her team leader with a smirk, knowing how the dance was actually affecting her.

‘great now I have to worry about my own teammate AND these two stealing my girl…’

______________

After the short break they had gotten from filming, all the remaining crew’s returned for the filming of the season teaser video. Y/n had been gradually getting back to her old self after the mega crew mission had ended, feeling much less stress after completing it and having survived the elimination. The poor girl is still absolutely destroyed and guilt-ridden by the entire situation that occurred between her and Bada but is slowly finding it easier to ignore her presence. At this point, it’s been almost another full week since the elimination- meaning it’s been about two weeks since the two had last spoken to each other.

All the teams gathered in the main filming area after going through the hair and makeup process like usual, but it felt different to Bada. As soon as she laid her eyes on Y/n it was honestly like the Bebe leader had an epiphany.

“Woah… I fucked up…” she mumbled to herself, noticing how Y/n’s eyes didn’t sparkle anymore and how she was rather calm. The young girl had always been a bit chaotic and energetic when it came to filming, so what was wrong? This wasn’t a mission, so there was no need to stress- so what could've possibly been weighing Y/n down? And that was when Bada realized, that she was weighing her down…

“Goddamn- it’s about time you noticed…” Tatter mumbled in return, sighing once she noticed her leader’s sad puppy eyes and lips slightly parted in shock. For the rest of the shoot Bada is putting on her best stage face because her feelings are not correlating at all with what she’s supposed to be portraying. 

When they aren’t filming or there’s a break, Bada can only focus on how pretty and sad y/n looks. She doesn’t look sad all the time, but the older girl noticed that whenever she was by herself her mind seemed to always drift somewhere sad. Her smile fades (even though it hadn’t reached her eyes in the first place) and the younger girl suddenly looks so much older with how sunken her eyes are- had she been sleeping? Was she not eating enough? A million questions were racing through Bada’s mind and she tried to keep them pushed down for now, seeing as how she knew the second she started thinking, she knew she wouldn’t stop

Bada knew she was part of the reason why the jam republic dancer was like this, but she couldn’t bring herself to talk to her. So she did what she thought was the next best thing- talk to her leader. She tried to start off with a small conversation between herself and Kirsten to get a feel for the Jam leader’s attitude toward her, which worked in her favor seeing as the other had seemed pretty chill about talking with her. The rest of Jam Republic on the other hand (minus Y/n) observed with questionable glances as Bada laughed and joked with Kirstne like usual.

“Now what the actual fuck is her problem…” Ling commented out of absolute rage and distaste for whatever was going on a few meters away from them

“She better not be trying to pull some stupid shit, cuz I don’t play when it comes to Y/n…” Emma mumbled glaring at the Bebe leader along with the rest of her team. Latrice huffed out a laugh and turned to look at her

“You would sacrifice Y/n to a cult if it meant you got a good laugh out of it…” the sub-leader of Jam Republic commented with a little joking smirk, causing the other members to ease up a little bit and crack some light smiles

“Well yes- I would, but that doesn’t mean anyone else is allowed to!” Emma retorted, sticking up her nose dramatically. Y/n was luckily off getting her hair fixed with Redy and Yoonji, seeing as they all had these little crystals glued in their hair, and a few had fallen out during the first few runs. The Jam Republic members were just glad she wasn’t present to see the interaction, knowing their youngest member would either burst into tears and spiral into a mental breakdown, or spontaneously combust into a ball of flames and go on a rampage. Either way- it would not have been an easy situation to deal with.

Yet the Jammies’ relief is short-lived as they took their second break. Y/n came bounding over after doing a short segment with all the youngest members of each team, a bright smile on her face as her members awaited her return. They had all monitored the performance with smiles of adoration, hyping up their baby the whole time. They praised her and pinched her cheeks, teasing Y/n affectionately until Bada walked by.

“You ready for the leaders’ shot?” she questioned with a hand on Kirsten’s shoulder. The Jam Republic leader turned her attention away from her youngest member briefly to give a polite nod and smile. Bada jerked her head in the direction of where they were heading to film, signaling for the younger leader to follow her in that direction. The two began walking off before Kirsten turned back around to wave to her members, leaving the Jam Republic members in shock

“What was that…” Y/n watched with sad confused puppy eyes and her jaw slightly dropped as the two leaders walked away to go film. The other members stood behind her, tense as they tried to read the young girl’s emotions. Y/n felt her heart rate pick up and her breath quickens, feeling the pressure that usually paired with tears start to build up. She swallowed thickly and pushed down the feeling before turning around to face her members with a forced smile. They all could tell right away and just gave her looks of sympathy, causing her smile to slowly drop as she sighed. 

After the leaders did their portion of the shoot, Bada and Kirsten walked back over to the pink team laughing over whatever conversation they were having. They stopped once they reached the other members, standing directly in front of Y/n. poor girl just stared up at Bada with those heartbroken puppy dog eyes, and god Bada knew it. She felt Y/n’s stare burning holes into the side of her head, using every ounce of control in her body not to glance over and clearly see her watery eyes and quivering lip. She knew that if she were to fully look at the younger girl right now, she’d be faced with not only a heartbroken puppy, but an angry pack of wolves behind her, and to be completely honest she hadn’t achieved that level of bravery yet. 

Bada Lee knew what she was doing. She knew that by acting normal with Kirsten, she’d be getting Y/n’s attention. She knew it’d hurt the younger girl, but that wasn’t her intention this time. The Bebe leader wanted to slowly weave her way back into Y/n’s life, and knew the easiest place to start was by making sure she was on good terms with her team leader, that way she had a mediator (even though Lusher had been playing mediator already, Bada didn’t trust that she wasn’t also trying to get with Y/n).

Y/n doesn’t even realize the conversation has ended and she’s just sitting there pathetically watching as Bada walks away. Ling sighs and pats her head, while the others sadly watch their baby wither away again.

“You okay bunny?” Kirsten asked softly, sitting down next to her and bumping their shoulders together. Y/n just pursed her lips and sighed before closing her eyes and nodding. On the other side where team Bebe has gathered, they also had watched the entire situation, or rather how distraught the youngest Jam Republic members looked during the whole thing.

“You are just so cruel…” Lusher expressed lowly when Bada got within earshot, shaking her head in disbelief as she clenched her jaw. The leader’s eyes went wide as she scoffed

“What?? How?? I’m trying to make things better-” The sub-leader sighed deeply and closed her eyes, genuinely exhausted by her friend’s poor relationship choices

“By forcing yourself into her life and then totally ignoring?? Yeah that seems to be working really well…” she ended up responding quickly, pinching the bridge of her nose as she lost her patience

“Ya know if I couldn’t practically see the tears streaming down her face from over here, I’d say you did a pretty good job!” Tatter snarkily commented with a cocky sarcastic smirk. Bada was really starting to resent her choices in teammates right now… but she knew they were right.

They went back to shooting, finishing the individual teams and small group chat before taking a longer break for dinner. As everyone was gathering back afterward to wrap up the shoot with all the full cast shots, the main monitor lit up. The music video for “Maria” by Hwasa began playing as the song blasted over the speakers. Hwasa enters the stage and everyone begins screaming. Ling and Y/n are gripping onto each other, absolutely shell-shocked at her appearance. The song continues to play as everyone does the choreography with her, the two Jam Republic members living their best lives while their members sit with confused yet excited smiles.

The song ends and Hwasa introduces herself along with the mission. Everyone of course goes wild for the opportunity to choreograph a routine for her, and of course just to be in her presence. The song they’ll be choreographing to is played, and once again the room is filled with screams and cheers expressing how much they all love it. Everyone was already coming up with ideas, but Jam Republic practically had their entire choreo prepared in an instant, as Y/n sat taking in the beat and engraining the feeling into her body and mind

When it ends everyone starts talking about how Lia Kim and Bada were at an advantage since they do this for a living, some mentioning Redlic as well. Y/n became another hot topic and top competitor for this mission seeing as she’s done many recreational choreographies to kpop songs that have gone viral and sometimes even become more popular than the original. When the bonus is announced that they have to come up with a challenge portion to receive extra points that lowkey pisses y/n off. She wasn’t a fan of the idea, thinking it made the part seem too forced and could easily end up making the choreography look cheap or cheesy.

After the idol finishes relaying the mission, she wishes everyone good luck as they wrap up filming and head right into preparing for the challenge. Jam Republic quickly jots down some ideas and gets a feel for the moves as Y/n tests out the choreo she had in mind when she first heard the song earlier. When the crew reconvened the next day for a full practice, their first order of business was figuring out who was going to represent Hwasa.

"I would love to be the center just as much as anyone else, but I feel like whoever can pull off the idol persona best should do it…" the leader smiles and looks in y/n's direction as she pauses her explanation

"so I think we should put it up to a vote!" so all six members made their pick, which ended up being pretty useless since it resulted in a three-way tie between Kirsten, Ling, and Y/n

"I personally think Y/n would be our best bet since she has a lot of experience performing kpop stages" Ling smiled and patted her younger teammate on the knee as she expressed her desire for the youngest member to take the part 

"I also would really like to see Y/n as the center… something just tells me she'd bring us good luck" Kirsten smiles motherly at the youngest who is currently hiding her face in her hands not to let anyone see the smile and blush on her face. So they all collectively agree to have y/n be the center and she's just so happy, cheesing away. She could already imagine the baby noises the editing team was putting over the clips of her trying to contain her excited reaction. After that decision was made, they immediately got to work on choreography. Things were going well enough to the point where the members felt comfortable taking a break around lunchtime. Y/n checked her phone while she drank her water, seeing a text from Harimu

1 Mil Mu: ‘Hey babes! Who’s your team’s Hwasa?’

Y/n: ‘What if I told you it was me…🫣’

1 Mil Mu: ‘I’d say thank god cuz I need someone to come buy heels with me for this😭’

Y/n: ‘Wait- are you hwasa too???’

1 Mil Mu: ‘Yes ma’am😚’

Y/n: ‘AHHHH SHUT UP- we’re gonna eat so hard, I’m so excited’

The news that she’d be going up against Harimu as Hwasa gave Y/n a bit of an adrenaline rush, knowing how perfectly the 1 Million dancer fit the role. She felt as if she’d have to work even harder now, but it made her excited instead of nervous. Y/n has actually gotten back to her normal self for the most part, genuinely excited about this challenge and seeing how everyone else would portray Hwasa’s image.

The next day before practice Y/n and Harimu have a little girls’ morning, going out for breakfast and then doing some shopping. They made sure to try on plenty of options for heels, not too worried about the look of them right now, but rather just needed something to practice in. The two ended up getting two pairs each, a simple yet secure heel that stopped right about the ankle, and then another pair of thigh-high heeled boots to really give the Hwasa feel.

The next day was when everyone would be showcasing what they had so far for choreography, y/n wanted to look as clean and presentable as possible, choosing to wear her thigh-high boots with some booty shorts and an oversized jersey. She hadn’t worn the shoes to the practice, carrying them in her back while she opted for some plain sneakers in the meantime. All teams walk in and Y/n is hyped to the max- until she realizes that Jam Republic is seated right next to Bebe… 

Luckily for everyone involved, the youngest Jam Republic member is too excited about the challenge to worry about Bada right now. She was totally focused on showing her best performance and enjoying everyone else’s. She started off excitedly watching Mannequeen then becoming easily disappointed by how sloppy it got. She was very curious to see what wolf’Lo would come up with though, seeing as their style is classic hip hop- a style y/n hadn’t particularly been a fan of. Yet, watching Mini got her hype. She couldn’t contain her impressed reaction at the pink-haired girl’s vibe, loving the slight change wolf’lo had made in their typical genre of dance.

Bebe was the fourth group to go and Y/n was conflicted, to say the least. To be completely honest- that’s how most of Jam Republic felt, seeing as they were excited to see what the team produced, but they were nervous for their poor youngest member’s heart.

Bada begins a short speech, explaining the concept they were going for as the other members practiced behind her. Lusher and Tatter turned around behind Bada and looked to Y/n giving her a cheesy smile and thumbs up, before immediately going back to practicing. Y/n couldn’t help but smile and giggle at how dedicated her friends were, but she also couldn’t help as the smile stayed when her attention shifted back to the leader nervously smiling and fidgeting with the microphone in her hands as she wrapped up her speech. 

The music starts and Y/n’s small smile immediately shifts into an impressed expression at one of the first moves. Bada gives a cool look as she holds up a hand sign signaling the title of street woman fighter, causing everyone to cheer lightly at the reference

“That was cool…” Y/n mumbled, playfully pouting and scrunching her nose as she tried to hide her impressed smile, causing her members to look at her with wide eyes at first before giggling and ruffling her hair. The chorus arrives and Y/n’s jaw just drops- the girl is so beyond impressed. She’s trying to process whether it’s actually good or if it’s just Bada, but then she watches everyone else and realizes it’s really just that good.

Then Bada struts off to the side for her own little part, doing a hip roll as she covers her eyes, sending the audience into a frenzy- especially Y/n who lets out a small scream and suddenly doesn’t know where to look or what to do with her hands. Ultimately she realized what that reaction must have looked like and just hung her head in her hands as Audrey patted her on the back and tried her hardest not to burst out laughing.

Y/n sat there astonished, watching through her fingers as she continued to hide behind her hands. Bebe finishes their choreography and y/n is trying so hard to contain her excitement, she just hides her face in her hands again and screams out loud. This is gonna be such a rough mission for her…

Lady Bounce went after Bebe and while they looked like they were having a lot of fun, there wasn’t anything super impressive about their routine. Next up was 1 Million and Y/n stood up screaming as loud as she could, so beyond hyped to see her besties perform. Harimu eats up her Hwasa role, as expected and everyone loves the routine, including Hwasa. Finally, after everyone else had gone, it was Jam Republic’s turn.

“Our youngest treasure, miss y/n will be playing Hwasa” Kirsten smiled as she announced their group’s center, causing everyone to absolutely lose their shit. Many dancers had already suspected it once they saw her walk out with the thigh-high boots and everyone else in regular sneakers, but it was still exciting to have the confirmation.

Everyone’s excitement rose as the music began, loving how Y/n completely transformed into a different person whenever she was performing. It started off smooth, but as Kirsten threw her head back for a specific move, her hat fell off. Luckily since Jam Republic is such a well-prepared group, Y/n caught it with ease and tossed it off to the side like it was all part of the routine, causing everyone to react in shock at her quick reflexes. 

The crew continued dancing as if it were nothing, having a blast and feeding off of the other teams’ reactions. Bebe especially was hyping Y/n up, even Bada couldn’t contain her excitement. Yet, the leader did keep looking back and forth between 1 Million’s youngest two dancers as well as her own sub-leader, trying to gauge their reaction to Y/n as well.

After a brief moment of observing the others’ reactions, Bada once again became entranced by Jam Republic’s center. Her expressions and movement quality truly made for a captivating performance, even though it was just an interim check. The crew finished their routine and Lusher stood up immediately clapping and screaming as loud as she could, cheering for the team as a whole but also making specific calls out to Y/n

“Y/N YOU’RE SO SEXY” she cupped her hands over her mouth as she screamed out to her friend, causing the leader to slow her claps and glare at her. Bada was really starting to question Lusher’s intentions- even though the girl hadn’t been acting any different than usual. It was all simply Bada’s insecurities.

_________

The next few days passed in a flash as the crews continued to improve their routines and develop their concepts. When it came time to watch each performance everyone gathered in their respective monitoring rooms. Mannequeen was the first to go, and as the screen lit up with their performance all the dancers got excited that the mission was officially starting. 

“Okay… she’s kinda eating right now” y/n playfully pouted as Redlic devoured the routine. Jam Republic fangirled over them and how sick their outfits were, but by the end they weren’t entirely sold on the routine as a whole.

“It was really good, but I wish they had a bit more energy- or at least were more consistent with it” Latrice commented and the rest of them agreed. Wolf’Lo’s performance was next and once again, the pink team anticipated the final product. Jam Republic was impressed with how they were able to keep their classic hip-hop style while incorporating elements of K-pop

“Everyone is so good I’m gonna scream” was the first thing y/n said after the performance. Yet after recognizing Wolf’Lo’s efforts, they discussed how there was a lack of harmony between the “artist” and the dancers

After Wolf’Lo it was Bebe’s turn to present their routine, and Y/n was losing her mind. This girl was freaking out- hyperventilating and pacing, but out of excitement and anticipation. Audrey, Ling laughed at her, the elder even bringing out her phone to record the girl hopping around like an excited cat, while Emma smirked teasingly and side-eyed her.

“I’m so nervous-”

“Love, this isn’t even our routine…” Kirsten laughed softly at her dramatic youngest member, glad that she was able to enjoy the blue team’s performances again without crying. The second the music started, Y/n was seated, her eyes trained on the monitor before them. She screamed and cheered throughout the routine, and as the song began to approach the slower part she got more excited

 “oh I’m so excited to see what they did for this part-” and the second Bada was down on the floor, Y/n honestly thought she was having a heart attack. It only got worse for her as the music picked back up and the Bebe leader looked over her shoulder, grinning charismatically at the camera while she grabbed her ass and shrugged like it was nothing. 

Y/n’s jaw stayed dropped after she let out a surprised screech. Ling and Audrey also let out similar noises, while the latter reached over at the same time as Emma to cover Y/n’s eyes, knowing how she’d be having a mental breakdown if she kept watching. The performance ended and Y/n sat there in silence with her jaw still dropped to the floor

“I think I’m having a crisis…”

The next team to perform after Bebe was Lady Bounce, which was good but not too memorable. 1 Million followed with an insane performance. The second Harimu’s silhouette was shown, Y/n gasps. The routine starts and she’s clapping and cheering, as well as the rest of her team, all of them excited for what was about to happen. Throughout the entire performance, she’s squealing and screaming because her bestie is eating everyone up (side note: Y/n has so many besties, and the audience loves that for her). The routine ends and every single team is blown away. Jam Republic unanimously agrees that 1 Million has shown the best performance so far, with Y/n enthusiastically agreeing

“Not bebe?” Emma teases and to be completely honest, Y/n didn’t think it was funny

“No. 1 million was by far the best I’ve seen so far- it was flawless” And the members felt kinda bad for teasing her because they could see her become a bit more reserved and serious after that, sinking into her seat on the couch with her arms crossed over her chest. 

After that, it’s finally Jam Republic’s turn, as the final team to present their piece. The music begins and Y/n struts out from behind her members with the cuntiest game face out of all the contestants so far, and everyone goes feral. Her hair, her expression, her confidence, and especially her outfit had them all in shambles. All of 1 Million, but specifically Redy and Harimu were gassing her up before she even started dancing, the crew thinking of ways to convince her to join them after the show. 

“Can we just combine teams already?” “Or at least take Y/n onto our team??” Mannequeen was asking each other questions like this, also plotting how they could continue working with Jam Republic

“That’s my girlfriend!” Lusher cheers and Bada just about breaks her neck- she looks like she’s going to cry at first until she realizes the younger dancer was just joking. She really almost just gave the leader a heart attack, and now Bada felt her face heat up at how embarrassing that reaction was…

They reach the part of the choreography where the other members bend over, and Y/n squats down in between them as she opens and closes her legs, and once again no one is safe. Not a single monitoring room was quiet as the youngest Jam Republic dancer dropped low into the position and flawlessly executed the choreography along with the presentation of facial expressions.

Team Bebe was not discreet at all as they all freaked out and simultaneously turned to face their leader, who was already hiding her dropped jaw behind her hands. Bada bit her fist as Y/n got down on the floor with the rest of the Jam Republic members and began to arch her back up and down in a sort of crawling motion. The move was so simple, but effective as it showcased the sexy vibe of the song.

Jam Republic finishes off strong with the final chorus into the ending pose, and it was safe to say they left everyone astonished. The camera captured the final group pose before zooming in on each member of the crew, leaving Y/n for last. When she appeared on the monitor everyone lost it at how her siren eyes and seductive expression turned into a somewhat playful puppy-like reaction as her eyes widened and she stuck her tongue out, continuing to fan herself but in a cuter manner than before.

“OHHHH ENDING FAIRY LET’S GOOOOO” Harimu cheers with her full chest as her friend appears on the screen

“HOW IS Y/N THE YOUNGEST????” Buckey commented out of absolute shock and astonishment after seeing the girl’s performance

“SHE’S BARELY AN ADULT HOW DOES SHE KNOWN HOW TO DO THAT” Mini screamed, throwing her hands up in the air

“I’ve been an adult for a while and i still don’t know how to do that…” Halo mumbled after her teammate’s inquiry, causing the rest of the crew to laugh and agree

“Ya- they need to put the baby to bed. Don’t let her do that!” Biggy teased, pouting and whining playfully as her members agreed with faux pouts

“She really wanted people to stop babying her I guess…” Tatter calmly stated as she leaned back into the couch with her arms crossed, smirking as she kept her eyes trained on the monitor. The team snickered as Bada slowly turned her head toward the blonde with a deadpan expression, unimpressed with her jab.

Once every team had gone and finished presenting their routines, it was time to get changed and wrap up for the day. Each crew left their monitoring room to head back to their designated hideout spaces and decompress after the events of the day, and await the results of the winning team. Jam Republic was full of giggles and confidence after their successful performance as they bounced down the hallway. 

"ya, y/n…" the small girl whipped around with wide, somewhat fearful eyes and it lowkey made Bada's heart hurt to see her react that way

"yes?" she tried to speak steadily and confidently, but bit her lip and shrunk into herself a little, trying not to outwardly cringe, when she realized how meek and anxious she sounded. The tall girl across from her sighed and softened her gaze, seeing how unnerved y/n was.

"you did a good job." Bada confidently said as her team was about to walk past Jam Republic, shocking everyone on both teams (including herself). Y/n's lips parted and everyone watched as it quivered slightly and her eyes began to get red.

"ah no, no don't start crying…" the older leader tried to remain serious and civil, keeping the distance between them. The younger dancer bit her lip again and took shaky breaths as she frantically nodded her head while wiping away tears. Bada sighed again before taking a few quick strides over to her, not caring about the audience of both their teams. She placed a gentle hand on top of the shorter girl's head, gently ruffling her hair.

"ayyye don't cry" This time Bada tried to be more gentle and took the approach of some friendly teasing in hopes of at least getting a smile out of her, but it only made things worse as y/n looked up at her with a huge frown and teary eyes. She really was trying her hardest to stop crying, but nothing was working. Poor Y/n was just so happy to have Bada back at this moment. The look just about finished off what was left of Bada's heart. Any part of her that hadn't been touched by guilt yet was now overthrown by it. She felt her own eyes begin to sting a little as the pressure built up but didn't allow for any tears to form.

"Y/n-ah don't cryyyyy" Bada whispered softly as she gently reached to hold her face in both hands, wiping away the endless tears. This caused the younger girl to fully burst into tears and attempt to hang her head as much as she could in Bada's hold, but as soon as the tears increased the older girl was pulling y/n into her chest, hugging her as if she had no plans on ever letting go. Bada closed her eyes trying to keep her own tears at bay. 

The other members of both teams just stood clumped together off to the side, absolutely baffled by what was happening. A majority, if not all of them had dropped jaws or dumbfounded expressions. Lusher had to cover her mouth after letting out a squeak of excitement when Bada put her hand on Y/n’s head. It was a small moment, but a huge step for both girls.

“You did amazing, so don’t cry anymore, okay?” Bada whispered after pulling back from the hug, leaning down slightly so their faces were the same level. Y/n nodded and sniffled, wiping away her tears and finally pulling herself together.

“Thank you- you too…” she gave a watery smile as she hiccuped and the two giggled slightly over the situation. The older dancer smiled sadly and nodded before heading back over to her team. As they began to walk off Tatter turned around 

“Congratulations Jam Republic- you all were fantastic- WE LOVE YOU!!!” the blonde screamed enthusiastically making a giant heart over her head with her arms, causing the rest of her team to follow and also share their love and praise for the team. The pink crew just smiled brightly and laughed, before shyly mirroring their reaction. After both crews went their separate ways and made it back to their hideouts, Y/n stood in the middle of the room as her teammates settled in.

“What’s up, Bunny?” Audrey asked, with a worried expression as she saw Y/n’s confused but teary eyes. The girl looked up and burst into tears again on the spot. All the members were shocked at the sudden outburst and ran to comfort her. 

“She said I did good…” the girl bawled as her members hugged her. They all tensed for a short moment before bursting into a fit of giggles at how cute and sentimental their baby was. She eventually calms down, reducing her sobs to sniffles and soft hiccups. About 45 minutes to an hour passes before the staff is letting everyone know that a winner has been decided. 1 Million receive the 100 points benefit that came with being the group chosen by Hwasa, meaning their choreography will be performed and used for the music video.

The following day, everyone begins preparing for the music video. All the other crews learn 1 Million’s choreography and practice it in preparation for the shoot which would be happening the day after. When everyone gathered to get into hair and makeup for the video it felt fun. Not stressful, or competitive, just fun- and all the dancers were truly grateful for that. 

Each crew had been given a portion of the song where they were able to perform a bit of their own choreography, highlighting their efforts as a whole production. They were able to tie up the shoot within just one day of filming, giving all the crews an extra day of rest before having to officially start working on their final mission before the finale.

y/n had been walking toward the set’s dancer lounge to grab a few snacks when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. The girl quickly turned around and became face to face, or rather face to chest, with the dancer she still wasn’t on the best terms with.

“Hey…” Bada whispered once she made eye contact with the smaller girl, removing her hand quickly as she realized it was still resting on her shoulder. Y/n stood speechless, trying to force herself to at least utter a ‘hey’ back, but she couldn’t find the strength. 

“Can we talk?” the leader continued softly, voice wavering ever-so-slightly, but not enough for anyone to notice. To Y/n, Bada seemed confident and relaxed as her soft eyes peered down at her. It should’ve been comforting not seeing any signs of her being tense or upset, but the question alone made the younger dancer tear up, already feeling heavily emotional.

“Uh… yeah… yeah, of course” Y/n spoke meekly, not being able to hold eye contact for more than a couple of seconds at a time as she stood in front of the other girl. Bada glanced over at Kirsten and nodded, giving her a nervous tight-lipped smile as the younger leader gave her a gentle look of encouragement paired with two thumbs up.

The two walked in silence for a bit as they separated themselves from the majority of people, finding a less occupied area to chat. Once they arrived at a moderately secluded area and Bada stopped walking she turned to the younger dancer who stood stiffly with her arms crossed and shoulders tensed.

“So… how have you been?” Y/n starts shyly, trying not to seem too uncomfortable but internally cringing once she realizes how formal she sounds. Bada tried to suppress her frown, hating how awkward things had become, but then again, it all made sense.

“Well… uhm… I’m not doing terrible haha…” she tried to joke around while still being honest, but quickly realized none of her small-talk humor was going to get a laugh out of the other girl

“I actually haven’t been doing great since we last… talked…” she continued, becoming a bit more serious with her tone

“I’ve been thinking a lot- actually all I’ve done is think… about the things I said, about why I acted the way I did, about how to approach you, about how I should’ve done this sooner, and especially about you…” Bada rambled off all of what’s been occupying her brain recently 

“All I do is think about you…” she breathed out, causing the other girl’s own breath to catch in her throat as her eyes widened slightly. Y/n bit her lip looking at the floor and blinked rapidly trying to avoid the stinging feeling in her eyes that was already beginning. 

“I’m so sorry Y/n.” Bada whispered, starting to feel her throat tighten. The younger clenched her teeth and closed her eyes tightly as a singular tear slid down her cheek, before sniffling and looking back up to meet the tall girl’s gaze.

“That’s all I needed to hear…” she whispered with a sad smile, causing Bada to smile softly for a moment before furrowing her brows slightly

“But you deserve so much more than a simple apology-” the leader spoke seriously, still being conscience of her tone so as to not get too worked up

“It’s okay- I really don’t think I do… I said some terrible things too-” the younger sighed as she spoke

“Well of course, but that doesn’t mean what I said was okay… that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be trying my hardest to make up for the thing I said and how poorly I treated you…” 

“We’re both equally at fault here-” Y/n was nearly cut off by the persistent dancer

“Well, I wouldn’t say equally… I definitely don’t think you were as cruel as I was… not like it’s a contest or anything but I think the impact this argument had on both of us was mostly my fault… especially since the things I said were aimed to hurt you…” Bada tried not to seem pushy, not wanting to cause another argument, but she was set on getting her point across

“I mean… I kinda deserved it-” Y/n chuckled humorlessly as she looked at her shoes, kicking the ground. Bada’s jaw dropped in absolute shock at how the girl honestly thought she was meant to hear such awful things directed toward her

“No, you didn’t, stop saying that! No one deserves to be talked to like that and I feel absolutely disgusted with myself for saying the things I said… I am SO so sorry y/n” The leader spoke up, voice raising slightly with urgency, desperate to get her sincerity across. The younger dancer struggled to find words momentarily, wanting to say ‘it’s okay’, but realizing that it in fact wasn’t okay at all

“...I accept your apology, Bada, I promise…” Y/n clearly stated after a few moments of thought

“Thank you…” Bada sighed, shoulders relaxing slightly 

“I’m sorry too… I was acting immature and childish, and it was really all just because I was hurt by your decision- a decision that I understood had to be made…” and it was true- the girl really did understand why her team was chosen, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less

“Y/n’s you don’t need to apologize-” At Bada’s words it was now Y/n’s turn to be shocked. Even if the girl wasn’t as harsh, she surely was responsible for her own thoughts and actions.

“Of course I do… I need to apologize just as much as you do- for christ’s sake I was the one who caused the whole argument…” She started seriously with furrowed brows, but then her face softened as she continued

“I’m sorry for not trusting you… and for acting like a child-”

“You weren’t acting like a child, you were acting like someone who was under a lot of stress and that’s completely understandable-” Bada cut her off, already feeling the guilt arise again at the memory of how she’d called the younger girl childish and immature

“But I could have handled it so much better-”

“As could I, but we both saw how that actually turned out…” Bada finished with a light teasing smirk, causing Y/n to crack a bit of a smile herself before sighing again and biting her lip as tears filled her eyes

“I also shouldn’t have pushed you to talk about something you weren’t ready to talk about… so for that, I’m also sorry” the Bebe Leader added to her apology, gazing at Y/n with a soft heartfelt look. The younger was staring at the floor again as she sniffled before speaking 

“I’m so sorry Bada-” Y/n whimpered as another onslaught of tears began falling. The older girl gently pulled her into a hug, wrapping her arms around the shorter girl’s shoulders and leaning her chin on top of Y/n’s head.

“Shhh… We’ve both apologized and talked it out- let’s grow from it and move past it now, okay?” the tall girl whispered against the younger’s head, running her hand over the other’s hair, smoothing it down softly

“We should probably work on not talking over each other too…” Y/n mumbled against her chest, feeling the light rumble of laughter as Bada chuckled. Noether had realized the leader had started crying as well until she sniffled and reached up to wipe away her tears without even realizing it.

“There are a lot of things we can work on together- good and bad…” Bada leaned back slightly to look down at the girl, who lifted her head to meet the taller girl’s gaze.

“Yeah… together…” Y/n whispered breathlessly with a relieved smile. The tall dancer couldn’t stop the grin from spreading on her face as she was finally able to stare into Y/n’s sparkling eyes again.

taglist (closed): @tinybada @angel-hyuckie @violetinferno @jesuschrist2006 @1luvkarina @uwulyn @justandloyal2961 @deadgirlwalking3 @squidvoldyvoid @vivzyo @ouhaika @jksjx @ocyeanicc @marianamartinsthings @jxrdxnh @luvjanexx @lorenztired @khjssss @heavenlycloud @loisje123 @starchasermyloves @zhivaxo @grinnwolph @notyourd0lly @stinkbvgs @nermandiiiii-blog @arujee @idontknownemore @thatgayinsomniac @fruitr0llup @cgriffin9797-blog @woooooya @kaaylvst @ssc7514 @astoreea @linda-botello @kpopgirl-97 @erikook @misszoldyc @sammisregrets @jysai @moonsvrse @froufrousnowman @amararosesblog @tikitsune @aestrelle19 @laaaasanielzz @randomhoex @tswisal1 @unpretty-reader @charlesswife @stella222

[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."