#but i hope this can clear most doubts

[moviesstoriesandbooks]

Look I'm worried about all this affecting the rest of the cast. This is a big big break for them. Thailand is a small country , with not much presence in global platform in terms of entertainment business as far as i know.

For people like jeff for example, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Who would've thought , he'd get offers from south korea. This is a dream come true for him. Years of hardwork and finally , finally a chance to break it in the global market. The potential is unlimited. It's the time of korean stars getting cast in marvel movies for crying out loud.

I thought during the first time when he went on a hiatus, it was the worst possible timing , with the series airing and all. Guess i was wrong.

And barcode has so much ahead of him , so much potential.

[luveline]

hotch's little sister x spencer perhaps?

—Hotch’s sister graduates college, and Spencer is immediately smitten. fem, 1.6k

“She’s pregnant.” Emily shakes her bag of chips around. “But it’s not his baby.” 

Spencer frowns down at his sandwich. Rye bread is hard to cut, and the plastic knife isn’t putting up a good fight. “That’s awful,” he says. “He must be heartbroken.” 

“He’s distraught. Now he can’t decide if he wants to stay and raise the new baby with their first, or leave her and have split custody.” 

“What channel did you say it was on?” 

“It’s on NightDrama. I’ll find out the number.” 

Emily folds the empty packet of chips into a rectangle, then that rectangle into a triangle, folding the edges inside of a fold to create a parcel perfect for flicking at him. Spencer waits for it, tensing, but what he sees behind Emily steals his attention. 

She whips her head to follow him. 

You are, as Spencer watches you walk in, without a doubt one of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen. And it’s not like you’re a model, you don’t walk with any such confidence, but it strikes him immediately. You’re pretty. And he’s never seen you in the office before. 

They get visitors occasionally but the majority of people so deep into this office would've been checked at security and cleared to come up here. You hold a visitors badge in your hand, which you promptly clip onto your shirt when you see people looking at you. Your frown makes you prettier. Something about the way you stand seems familiar, but Spencer can’t put his finger on what it is. 

“Should we go help?” Emily asks. 

“Who do you think she’s for?” Spencer asks back. He’s thinking you’re here to speak to JJ. They have people like this occasionally who JJ knows from past cases, drifting in on a hope that there’s more detail to be found. 

Emily stands up from her chair. Spencer follows suit. When you see her facing toward you, some of your apprehension melts into relief. 

“Hi,” you say breathily, summoning a smile that, again, seems familiar. Not in looks, but practise, maybe. 

“Hi there, can we help? You look lost,” Emily says. 

She sounds more friendly than Spencer could’ve hoped to achieve. He doesn’t even wanna think about it, from how pretty you are he would’ve stumbled over even the most basic hello. 

“I’m here to see Aaron Hotchner. He told me his office is up the stairs, is that still one of these ones,” —you nod gently at the stairs that do, in fact, lead to his office— “or somewhere else?” 

“That’s the right one, the very first door.” 

“Okay,” you give a soft laugh. “Thank you. This place makes me nervous.” 

You leave to travel up the steps. Emily and Spencer watch without any casualness as you approach Hotch’s office door, and give a little knock. 

It’s more surprising to see it tugged open so quickly after. Hotch usually says, “Come in.” 

“Oh, you’re here,” Hotch says. It’s to Spencer’s shock and Emily’s clear joy when he leans in for a hug. The bearhug kind, no politeness or manners about their intimidating boss as his arms cross behind your shoulders and he pulls you in. “You’re late.” He squeezes you. 

You let it happen. “I hate your building.” 

“What the hell?” Emily whispers. 

“I’m so happy to see you. Come on, come in, I ordered lunch for us already.” 

Emily is shameless. She takes Spencer by the wrist and encourages him to the wall below Hotch’s office as he ushers you inside. The door remains ajar, perfect for snooping, and Spencer doesn’t know what it is but he lets Emily drag him forward anyhow. 

“If that’s his girlfriend, he should be ashamed,” Emily whispers. 

Spencer raises his brows. “Did you think that was romantic?” 

“I’ve never seen him show affection to anyone who wasn’t Haley, and when was the last time she was here?” 

Spencer tosses it around in his mind. Sure, it was quite affectionate by Hotch’s standards, but the hug was so… uncareful. He’d grabbed you and hugged you like he was gonna shake you around for fun, like a dad hugs his daughter. “How old is Hotch?” Spencer asks. 

“You don’t think that’s his secret kid.” 

“No,” Spencer says, though he sort of does. 

Emily gestures for him to hush as your laugh drifts down from the office. “You did?” you’re asking. “It’s so nice to be home.” 

“Of course I did. It’s like I promised, okay? You finished college like I asked you too, you’ve done so well, and now I’m gonna make sure you’re happy. Like I tried to do for Sean.” 

“Sean,” you sigh. “He didn’t even answer my grad card.” 

“I don’t know what to say about him, I really don’t.” 

A small pause. “Well, at least you answered.” 

“You know I would’ve come to watch you walk–”

“But you couldn’t. It’s fine, Aaron, I wasn’t really expecting you to make it.” 

“I’m sorry. Really. And I’m proud of you, after everything.”

“Thank you… The bag was better than you being there anyways. Coach?” You laugh breathily. “My friends keep asking me if you can be their big brother too.” 

Emily and Spencer turn to each other, mouths agape, Emily slapping his arm as they struggle to make no noise. Since when does Aaron have a sister? A young sister freshly graduated? 

Hotch laughs too. “Come and sit before your lunch gets cold.” 

Emily gets out her phone to text Morgan, she and Spencer pressed to the wall with their heads ducked. Hotch is a total enigma, because what the hell sort of secret is that?

When Morgan appears, it’s with all the answers. He rolls his eyes at their clear position of eavesdropping but leans against Emily’s desk to give them the information they’re craving anyways. “She’s adopted. Hotch was already in college at the time, but they’re close. They get along a lot better than Hotch does with Sean, that’s for sure.” 

“He sounds protective,” Emily says, side-eying the office. 

“Look, it’s not my business, but I just know it was bad when she was a teenager. Hotch is a drill sergeant for a reason.” Ah, Spencer thinks. The Hotchner father. 

Spencer picks at his hands. It explains the conversation he shouldn’t have been listening to, to a degree. He feels the guilt of knowing something he wasn’t meant to like a sodden weight, retreating swiftly to his desk and his forgotten sandwich.

It’s nice to hear Hotch laughing, but it’s your laugh that draws him in again while he tries so hard not to listen. It’s as attractive to Spencer as your frown had been when you walked in. He thinks about how you finished college, how you’re here, and he wonders if he’ll see more of you —how often will you come in for lunch? Spencer checks his hair in his sleeping monitor and feels like an idiot. 

“I’m sorry,” Hotch says a little while later, elbowing open the door with his back to the office, “we’ll have dinner soon, honey, I promise.” 

You reach up to give him another quick hug. “It’s fine. It’s just nice to be in the same city again.” 

Hotch guides you down to the bullpen with the same pride with which he introduced Jack. It’s unmissable, the love he has for you in just one touch against your shoulder. “Y/N,” he says, pausing at the bullpen, “Derek Morgan you’ve met. This is Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid.” 

“Spencer Reid?” you ask suddenly, looking up into Hotch’s face like he’s lying, your brows pulled together in indignation, before you turn back to Spencer reverently. “You’re Dr. Spencer Reid?” 

He gets caught on his own breath. “Uh, yes?” 

“The Dr. Spencer Reid who wrote Methods of Continued Fraction Expansions?” 

Spencer feels heat like a kiss to each cheek. “Yes.” 

You turn to Hotch with a suspicious pout. “When I told you about the paper I was reading by a Dr. Reid a few months ago, you didn’t stop to think it could be your Dr. Reid? Or you just don’t like me?” 

That’s a sister’s scorn if Spencer’s ever heard it. 

“I thought you said Rain.” 

“I don’t think you did.” You turn back to Spencer. “I can’t believe it, I emailed you about Jacobi elliptical functions, you were so helpful, I owe you my degree.” You put your hand out with a beaming, beautiful smile, Spencer’s stomach totally flips. “It’s amazing to meet you in person.” 

He’s a germaphobe, he is, and that doesn’t just go away when you meet someone lovely, but he shakes your hand. You surprise him too quickly to think beyond taking your hand letting it happen. You’re, like, glowing. 

Hotch gives him a funny look. Mostly impassive, but not quite. 

Spencer abruptly lets you go. “I don’t think you would’ve needed my help to get there in the end. You clearly knew what you were doing.”  

Hotch’s eyebrows silently rise. 

You turn back to Hotch again, your smile catching. “I like your friends.” 

He smiles. “Let me walk you down to the lobby, honey.” 

You let him guide you away, giving the present members of the BAU a wave with just your fingers before you go. 

Morgan and Emily look at him heavily. “Spencer,” Emily says. “What was that?” 

He doesn’t want to say what he thinks it was, so he doesn’t. “She was nice.” 

Morgan’s laughter is immediate. Spencer has to walk off to the kitchen for a cup of tea he doesn’t drink to escape him and the connotation of his laughing. Spencer hopes he’ll see you again soon, though if he’s half a good a profiler as he thinks he is, he might end up in trouble with your brother.

[sonicboomseason3]

a brief recap of what has been going on with the sonic movieverse in the past several months:

paramount has come out in public support of israel

keanu reeves, a man who has publicly rubbed elbows with none other than benjamin netanyahu, reportedly gets cast as shadow for the upcoming third movie

james marsden, the guy who plays tom, got exposed as having written a letter of support for a convicted pedophile

there's fucking??? zionist propaganda in the knuckles series???

kind of connected to the last point but adam pally, the guy who plays wade, is evidently pro-israel too

this is a complete and utter joke.

EDIT AS OF 4/30/24: if people see this version of the post, i'd really appreciate it if you reblog it instead of the other versions, as it's the most updated one with all the information that i want included. thank you :]

you know, it's been a few days since i've made this post, and some of you (not most) are staying determined in defending/justifying/giving the benefit of the doubt to keanu for that photo with netanyahu, whether it's because "it was a decade ago," "him being civil to someone he ran into at a party one time doesn't mean anything," "he's probably just silent because his pr managers won't allow him to speak up," etc. i've made my thoughts on the matter quite clear by directly responding to these people, but at this point, i'm tired of both seeing them in my notes and repeating myself, so take this as my final word on the issue.

i can't help it if you don't think the photo with netanyahu is damning, and i'm done engaging with everyone going out of their way to tell me that. i obviously disagree, especially after finding out that 1. the host of the party, arnon milchan, is a former israeli spy who has a history of developing israel's nuclear program and promoting apartheid in south africa (information that had broken out a few months prior to the party and thus would've been fresh news around the time keanu chose to attend) and 2. keanu has been caught hanging around at least two other weirdos, but if you don't find any of that to be cause for reasonable concern, then there really is nothing else i can say afaik.

with all that said, i'm beginning to realize how strange it is that these people's first instinct when seeing this post is to start debating about keanu's political stances without ever acknowledging any of the other bullet points. you guys realize that this isn't just about him, right? i know tumblr reading comprehension is known for being piss-poor, but like… you realize that i was trying to make a point of how there are MULTIPLE terrible things that have broken out about the people and company involved in the sonic movies, right? and yet, a lot of the people leaping to speak on keanu's behalf in my notes are completely ignoring the parts where i bring up paramount, pally, etc. all in favor of zeroing in on the singular point about keanu and making bad faith assumptions about me for holding him accountable. really makes one wonder where your priorities lie if, in a post that talks about so many other things, me accusing an a-list celebrity with, according to google, a net worth of almost $400 million is where you draw the line and apparently the only thing worth your acknowledgment.

ultimately, what i'm trying to say is that the intention of this post was just to gather up everything that i had been hearing for the past several months and put it all together in one place. there were a bunch of people who didn't know about at least one of the bullet points before seeing this post, and i'm glad that i could help inform them, that was what i was hoping to do! but as for the keanu thing, i've said pretty much all i can say for now, and i don't want to derail the original post even more than i may have already. unless something new comes up, i'm done talking about him.

[chelseeebe]

truth or dare

18+. mdni. smuuuut. yeah man it’s really just smut. eddie munson x female reader.

a/n: not sure if i really like this but i wanted to post something while i work on this other long ass thing that may never see the light of day el oh el a continuation to gimme a hand and bump n’ grind or can absolutely be read on it’s own!

steve and robin had made the right call, leaving a few hours ago before the storm really hit.

eddie’d stupidly offered another joint, not wanting to let you go so soon. optimistic that maybe something would happen after those two had cleared off.

you’d been darting around it all evening, watching the movie with your hand under the blanket, stroking his thigh. inadvertently, or perhaps purposefully, making his cock shift with every length of your hand.

you peer out of the window, clicking your tongue against the back of your teeth, “i don’t think i can drive,” turning back to face him, “it’s really comin’ down out there,” a hint of satisfaction in your voice.

“i’m sure wayne won’t mind if you crash here,” shrugging softly.

you used to stay around a lot when you were slightly younger, back when touch was innocent and there weren’t all these complicated layers to your relationship.

“can you handle that?”

his eyes roll back, “shut up,” sitting back in his spot on the couch. anticipating spending the night here rather than in his bed, desperate to prove that he could handle it.

“whatcha wanna do?” you sing, pursing your lips.

“i dunno,” he shrugs, “we could watch another movie?” knowing that ultimately, another movie would lead to you touching his thigh until he came or something.

“that’s boring,” scowling at his suggestion, “i mean.. we are stuck in here,” biting on your bottom lip, “let’s play a game,” you propose, cocking your head, “truth or dare.”

eddie groans, an unwilling participant in your silly little games.

“come on,” offering zero incentive for him to play, “it’ll be fun,” taking another swig of the surely luke-warm beer. “truth or dare?”

there is not a single bone in his body that wants to play with you. no doubt you’d have him confessing to something embarrassing or doing something dangerous or stupid.

“dare,” he says flatly, hoping you’ll dare him to jump out of the window or something.

“i dare you..” you ponder for only a second, “to take your shirt off.”

“wh-,” he starts, mouth falling open, “well i dare you to take your shirt off.”

“it’s not my turn, idiot,” pursing your lips, “off.. now.”

pouting your lips, watching carefully as he lifts his shirt off, tossing it to the other side of the room.

“alright,” honing in on this stupid game, “truth or dare?”

“dare.”

eddie’s eyes light up, “take your shirt off,” immediately getting his own back.

“you’re supposed to say i dare you before your dare,” tutting at his impatience, though you do as he says.

lifting your shirt over your head, revealing the lacy bra you had most definitely chosen on purpose. maybe this was your plan all along, waiting to get him alone to inflict your cruel wrath upon him.

he ogles just enough to not have you mention anything, diverting his attention back to whatever drivel was on the tv. desperate to just get over this dancing around each other and get to the inevitable.

“truth or dare?” you ask again, poking his leg with your foot.

“do we have to play?” eddie whines.

“yes.”

“okay truth,” he spits, leaning back against the cushions.

“why didn’t it work out with you and chrissy?”

he groans again, already sick of this, “we wanted different things,” different things being you, he means.

“like what? i thought you were testing the waters or whatever?” mocking him with his own words.

“you. you jerked me off and ruined my life forever, is that what you wanted me to say?”

you ponder in silence for a moment before that god awful smirk creeps onto your face, “actually yes, that’s exactly what i wanted you to say,” crossing your legs, all self-righteous and smug.

it’s not like you didn’t already know this, it was fairly obviously to anyone with eyes and two brain cells to rub together.

“your turn,” smiling pointedly at you, “truth or dare?”

you hum, contemplating your options, whatever you picked, he was surely going to make it worth his while.

“dare.”

“alright,” eddie sits up straight, poking his tongue into his cheek, “i dare you to run around outside in your underwear,” if you wanted to play stupid games, you could win stupid prizes too.

your smile grows, taking over your entire face, “fine,” standing from your spot on the floor, shimmying out of your jeans right in front of him.

he jumps up, rushing to the door as you bound outside, filling the silent trailer park with your squeals and squeaks.

eddie watches in quiet amazement, more focused on the way your tits move with every bound, your lacy panties framing your jiggling ass perfectly. he’s close to drooling, turning into a slobbering mess at the sight of you literally frolicking in your panties. he was a pathetic man, and he knew it.

you turn, running full speed back into the door, teeth chattering and your hands trembling from the cold. barrelling straight past him, back into the warmth, lashes coated in tiny, intricate snowflakes.

“fuck!” you screech, “you asshole,” picking up his discarded shirt to slip on instead of your own. he wishes you hadn’t. seeing you half naked in his shirt was far worse than seeing you actually naked.

eddie snickers, closing the door all the while trying to keep his composure.

a smirk erupts onto your face, something ticking away in your brain before you stomp over, grabbing his cheeks with your ice cold hands, grinning with pure self satisfaction.

he hollers, grabbing your wrists in defence. it becomes a flailing sort of dance, with you trying to keep your cold hands on his face and him fighting to get you away. a mixture of expletives fill the trailer, screeching over one another as you move around the room.

you trip over one of the discarded bottles on the floor, sending you flying back onto the couch, still breathlessly cursing him out.

eddie takes the only logical step, pouncing on top of your flailing body, bounding your arms together at the wrist, heaving for breath.

he freezes, the realisation that for once he had all the power dawning upon him, unequipped for the sudden change in dynamic.

he can feel you, underneath him, pressed into the couch by his body, sending shivers down his spine.

“you gonna do something or what?” you snark, no longer trying to wriggle free, accepting and even pleased in your defeat.

“yeah,” he adds meekly, despite not making an attempt to actually do something.

your brows thread together, knee sliding up the side of his body, spreading your legs further as his cock perks up in response.

holy fucking shit.

this was it.

or it could be it if he can gather his raucous thoughts enough to make a move.

eddie’s had sex before, multiple times in fact. he doesn’t understand why his hands aren’t doing the thing they should be, why he’s frozen in place, waiting for something to happen.

“we don’t have to, you know?”

fuck. he was going to fuck this up through sheer stupidity.

so instead of letting his brain worm his way out of what would probably be the best moment of his life, he thinks with his dick.

pressing his lips to yours in a hasty, rushed kiss. letting your hands free from his restraint, allowing you to weave your fingers through his hair just like he’d thought so much about.

his hands crawling underneath his shirt, touching your skin for what felt like the first time ever, gliding over your waist, appreciating the soft feel of your skin, lingering for too long.

he doesn’t want to take it off, how many times could he say he’d have sex with you with his shirt on?

you’d already stripped him out of his clothes, leaving nothing to the imagination as his hips grind down against yours, breathing shakily into your mouth.

your lips latch onto his, tongue sliding into his open mouth while your fingers pull gently at his curls.

even when eddie thinks he’s fully in control, you still take charge. rutting your hips upwards, separated by the thin layer of lace and his boxers that most definitely had a hole in them.

there’s a fifty percent chance that he’ll cum right away, already incredibly hard, teetering on the edge.

it’s genuinely incomprehensible that after months and months of longing and edging, this was finally happening. too caught up with trying to keep to your pace to really think about the implications on your relationship too much.

he hopes that this won’t change anything, at least not negatively anyway.

your hand slides down the tiny space left in between your bodies, toying with the waistband of his boxers before slipping in. unable to contain his groan from slipping out and into your mouth.

tugging the fabric down just enough to let his cock out, giving him no time to recover before your fist wraps around the base of his cock, pumping your fingers around the sensitive skin.

“fuck,” he breathes, bottom lip still latched onto yours. no hand had ever come close to yours, filling his thoughts since you’d touched him for the first time.

wayne’s ratty old couch wasn’t exactly the romantic location he’d envisioned this happening in, but beggars can’t be choosers and eddie certainly wasn’t going to complain.

he’s so dumbfounded that any of this is even happening, clumsily fumbling with the lace hem of your underwear, tugging them down haphazardly, with no care or grace.

his previous displays of desperation made sure you didn’t care about his composure, or else you wouldn’t be here.

your lips collide, all teeth and tongues and spit. eddie too focused on the feel of your hand around his cock to care.

he can feel your body shift from underneath, manoeuvring his cock to your soaked entrance, letting out the most ungodly noise as the tip glistens with your slick.

pressing your sweaty forehead against his, begging for his full attention, “look at me,” you insist, running your fingers around his cock, withholding him from full satisfaction.

he does as you ask, finding your wild-eyed gaze, holding it just long enough to slide into your slick cunt, grunting into the hot air that hung around the room.

“fuck,” you bite, weaving your fingers through his hair, tightening your things around his waist.

it’s dizzying. feeling you envelope around him just as he’d imagined countless times before. you’re so warm and so wet, so so wet. eddie can’t help but wonder if this is how you’d felt when you were grinding against him.

nothing could’ve ever prepared him for the fuzzy haze that’d encapsulate his brain, thoughts only of you and your body and your pussy.

his balls slap against your ass, slow and steady, hoping not to bust five seconds in. keeping his eyes on yours, encapsulated by the way they flit between his eyes and his lips.

heaven wouldn’t be too far off this, he thinks.

his rhythm is neither here nor there but he was trying, filling you to the hilt and then pulling back out again.

every soft, melodic gasp and cry you made was echoing through his brain, spurring him on to make them louder.

purely intoxicated with your pussy, gasping for more as he slams against your hips.

this wasn’t going to last long but he sure as shit was going to make it worthwhile.

you writhe underneath his body, fingernails grazing against his scalp, gentle and yet demanding.

“sh-shit eds,” you pant, jaw slack with your tongue practically lolling out of your head.

just hearing you moan his name has detrimental effects on his brain chemistry. his eyelids struggle, fluttering open just enough to meet your glossy eyes, pupils blown out and crazy. this was going to wreck him for the rest of his life, cursed forever by the image of you and your parted lips. the way you wail his name becoming a tune he’d revisit constantly.

he’d love to capture it, one day, if you’d let him.

no one would ever come close to you, your cunt and your god forsaken sighs. eddie promises to himself that if there’s a next time, he’s not leaving until you cum. unsure if he’d be able to control himself but more than willing to take that risk.

his thrusts become sporadic, losing his grip on reality as he teeters closer and closer to the edge. you can see it too, tugging gently on his hair to bring him back to this reality.

pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth, too high off of your own pleasure to aim for accuracy.

eddie’s not sure if he prefers your goading or this softer touch, honestly neither were helping him not to bust his load right now.

“yeah?” you breathe, in response to his hoarse grunts, succumbing to the tightening pressure in his stomach, “you gonna cum?” sighing against his mouth.

he doesn’t want to, not really. hoping this’d last forever and ever because god knows if you’d ever let him touch you again.

hoping desperately to have not wasted his one and only time buried inside of you by cumming in five minutes flat.

but he is going to cum, in fact, he’s dangerously close to doing so immediately. the way you squeeze and tighten around him only accelerating the inevitable, his toes curling and mouth running dry.

he was seeing stars, dancing around the inside of his eyelids. woozy on adrenaline as he pathetically ruts his hips into yours for a final few lousy strokes.

“oh fuck,” eddie rushes, “no- fuck i’m cumming,” his cock slides out, thick ropes of his release covering not only your inner thighs but the couch too. collapsing atop of your perfect body, pinning you to the cushions as he attempts to gain some sort of semblance of control.

his face finds your chest, heaving for breath between your tits, his shirt pulled up just enough for your bra to peep underneath the hem.

“jesus christ,” words vibrating against your skin, almost purring at your fingers combing through his hair.

nothing he could ever dream would match up to that. the neurons in his brain had been frazzled, never to work or compute the way they should, ever again.

he places a measly kiss to your chest, looking up at you through his lashes, an insignificant gesture of appreciation that he felt he owed.

“you good?” you ask, lips twitching into a smile, unsure if you’re mocking him or genuinely concerned. either or would be fine.

“not really,” still floating up above the clouds.

“shut up,” definitely mocking, pulling tufts of his hair back to have him meet your eye fully, “you liked that?”

he nods enthusiastically, pining after your approval like the lovesick little loser he truly was. incredibly, you hadn’t run off into the storm, so maybe you had too.

“good,” abruptly letting go of his hair, his head falling back onto your chest, “get off me, i need a shower,” attempting to peel him off of your body.

eddie knows, or at least hopes, that your snippy, sarcastic comments were made out of love. you showed affection by being a bitch and he showed his by being a stumbling, pathetic loser.

if that was all he had to endure to get anywhere near your pussy again, he’d do it in a heartbeat. each and every time.

-

wayne’s knuckles wrap against his bedroom door, waking eddie from the already broken sleep he was suffering with, far too excitable to settle down properly. instead he’d spent his hours between drifting in and out of sleep and watching your dreamy face, trying to match his breaths to yours.

he slides out of bed, careful not to wake you, treading carefully to avoid the mountains of crap strewn across the floor.

“what the hell?” wayne whispers angrily, gesturing back to the living room he had neglected to clean. too caught up in you being in his shower and in his bed with his shirt on to care about empty beer bottles and discarded clothes.

“sorry,” eddie squirms, knowing he couldn’t exactly worm his way out of this one. “we had a few beers.. you know,” shrugging coyly. his uncle wasn’t stupid, he definitely did know.

wayne’s eyes narrow, flitting behind eddie to you, sleeping soundly in his bed. thankfully covered by the blanket as you slept in just his shirt.

“what happened there?” raising his brow at his inconspicuous nephew.

he shrugs, and then he grins. that great big toothy grin that wayne couldn’t mistake.

wayne shakes his head, tutting to himself as he backs away from the door, “clean that shit up before i wake up,” before disappearing into his own room.

eddie smiles to himself, sliding back into bed when you stir, humming softly, displeased to have been woken up so early.

“is he mad?” you mumble, muffled by the pillow.

“no.. no, not really,” eddie hushes, turning on his side to face you.

you’re still dozing, not bothering to open your eyes though he didn’t mind, you were peaceful this way, far calmer than your usual self.

“good,” settling into the pillow before slinging your leg over his thigh, pulling yourself closer, “he loves me too much to do anything anyway,” nestling your body into his side.

if the world ended tomorrow, eddie would die a happy man.

[maxverstappendefender]

ain't no love in oklahoma // op81 smau

description: twisters actress!reader x op81 but lando is convinced oscar is lying (from request)

a/n: sorry for being completely inactive. life happened and it didn't happen in a good way! i have a huge exam coming up soon so i will most likely still be inactive besides maybe a few short things here and there. anyways first oscar fic so enjoy! all pics found on pinterest, i don't own any

a/n pt2: might do something fun for each day in october but im not sure what so send me some ideas. also might do some more headcannons/blurbs soon here!

requests: closed but feel free to send me some messages since i love talking to you guys

masterlist

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youruser: go see twisters!! if you don’t, you suck and you better hope you don’t get stuck in a tornado because there’s useful information in our movie

tagged: glenpowell

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oscarpiastri: proud of you!!

↳ youruser: 🧡

glenpowell: caption is so real of you

user1: doesn’t yn have a boyfriend? why is she so close to glen?

↳ user2: yes but probably because there’s limited space. yn isn’t like that

↳ oscarpiastri: exactly what user2 said

landonorris: cute!

↳ user3: what are you doing here??

↳ user4: lando in the comments?

user5: such a good movie

user6: yn + glen = power duo

liked by youruser, landonorris, and 3,951,750 others

oscarpiastri: proud boyfriend award goes to me 🏆 thx for all the bts selfies

tagged: youruser, glenpowell

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landonorris: i just laughed out loud

landonorris: “boyfriend” lmaooo

↳ user7: i cant tell if he’s joking or serious

user8: cutest couple ever

glenpowell: aww so glad you remembered the time you took me to the aquarium, what a romantic!

↳ youruser: get your own boyfriend capybara

↳ user9: yn CLOCKED him

// lando’s phone//

//

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 4,027,835 others

landonorris: POLE BABYYYY!!! everyone ignore my teammates instagram posts, i have told him to stop. i think he took a hit to the head or something

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oscarpiastri: do you want to go to the farm or not?

↳ landonorris: you already said i could go so no take backs

↳ user10: lando is going to yn's farm??

↳ user11: LANDO'S MEETING YN?!

↳ user12: oh i know he's going to fangirl so hard

user13: get me someone who looks at me the way oscar looks at lando

↳ user14: are we sure that they aren't the ones dating?

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 3,017,426 others

youruser: back home finally! pic 1: yeehaw. pic 2: my cat cora had her babies!!! pic 3: dinner date :)

tagged: oscarpiastri

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user15: CORA HAD HER KITTIES

↳ youruser: i am officially a grandma. i feel the gray hairs coming in now

user16: oscar and yn are endgame

oscarpiastri: the best company

↳ landonorris: STOP, idk how you got her in on this joke either

↳ user16: i can't tell if lando knows they are actually dating and is joking or if he truly does not believe oscar

user17: boyfriend is back on the feed!

↳ user18: farmer yn is back on the feed!

glenpowell: miss you lady

↳ youruser: you miss my animals more

↳ glenpowell: and what about it.

liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, and 4,209,384 others

landonorris: OMG HE WASN'T LYING i got to feed so many animals, got to channel my inner cowboy, AND get drunk with the yn? i can die a happy man

tagged: youruser

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oscarpiastri: believe me now?

↳ landonorris: never doubted you

↳ user19: lando seriously didn't believe oscar lol

↳ user20: i fully thought he was joking the entire time

user21: how hard did you fangirl to meet yn, lando?

↳ landonorris: surprised i didn't pass out honestly. i facetimed GLEN POWELL

youruser: so glad you had a fun time!!

liked by youruser, landonorris, and 3,298,361 others

oscarpiastri: everyone clear that this is my girlfriend?

tagged: youruser

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user22: sassy oscar

↳ user23: channeling his inner lando

landonorris: yes sir 🫡

↳ oscarpiastri: stop being weird ?

youruser: MY MANNNNN

↳ user24: oh she's in deep

user25: there is one thing oscar doesn't play about in life: yn

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 4,208,763 others

youruser: didn't even know there was confusion that this was my boyfriend lol

tagged: oscarpiastri

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landonorris: how was i meant to know?!

↳ user26: literally how everyone else knew, instagram.

glenpowell: yn stop posting pics of me and my boyfriend and acting like he's yours

↳ youruser: i dont like this joke.

↳ oscarpiastri: bromance or whatever

↳ user27: they're in a throuple

↳ youruser: ew

↳ glenpowell: disgusting

↳ oscarpiastri: huhhh

user28: couple goals forever and ever

user29: if they don't get married... love isn't real

[bucksangel]

run little bunny

pairing: softdark!ceo!bucky x naive!assistant!reader

word count: 8.6k

summary: Being John Walker’s assistant is hard; he’s mean, disrespectful, misogynistic, the whole nine yards. On top of that, he hardly pays you fairly. So, when you’re fired for a mistake you’re sure wasn’t your fault, you’re at risk of being kicked out by your rude roommates. Luckily for you, James Barnes, a wildly successful CEO, has found his way into your life. And he’s going to take such good care of you.

warnings: where do i even start, 18+, minors DNI and i fucking mean it, mild coercion, some of it could be interpreted as stalking, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, sir kink, oral (f receiving), housewife kink, breeding kink, pet names (bunny, darling), dirty talk, dom!bucky and sub!reader, choking, squirting, basically just absolute filth, a little hurt-comfort, reader’s roommates are awful and mean, not john walker friendly but when am i ever

a/n: so this was supposed to just be some quick smut but as always i went overboard, so please enjoy! likes and comments are appreciated, reblogs are even better!

tip jar | main masterlist | ao3 | run little bunny masterlist

Your hands are shaking slightly, your heartbeat races with anxiety, and your leg bounces rapidly. Today is an important day after all, and your boss has made it clear that if you mess up in any way then he’d have to rethink your employment. That sent dread flooding through your body, so you’ve been preparing yourself for the last week to make sure everything for the meeting is perfect.

And, on the technical side, everything is immaculate - mostly due to you staying up until almost midnight each night to polish the presentation. You thought everything was done properly, but when you’d walked into the building that morning your boss was holed up in his office finishing up his portion of the work, so you’d decided to simply email him to let him know that you had arrived.

Everything was perfect. But when you get into the meeting room, your boss’ eyes go wide, anger clouding them while he scowls. You quickly make your way to his side, only for him to bark out a command for you to grab water for his incoming guests. Placing your notebook on the table, you turn to scurry off to the side to grab the glasses, but you’re stopped when your boss grabs your arm harshly.

“Do you have a change of clothes?”

“Um… Um, I-“ Your boss raises an eyebrow, and you feel like you might throw up from the sudden anxiety. “No, sir.”

He scoffs, muttering under his breath something about looking “trashy,” before releasing you and allowing you to go to the minibar.

Your arm stings, no doubt sporting a red mark because of how harsh the grip was. You’re also confused because you thought the floral dress you’d chosen was pretty. Sure, it may not be high class, but your boss has never had a problem with it before, but you’re assuming that he’s on edge due to who he’s meeting with.

James Barnes; the most powerful and successful CEO in the entire country. You haven’t met him personally, but from what you hear you know that he’s not someone you want to upset. According to the hushed whispers around the office, he stands at a towering 6’6, tattoos cover his arms and hands, and if he frowns then you better move out of the way.

Would Mr. Barnes be upset with your attire?

You desperately hope not, because you need this job. While you can barely make your rent and utilities, you don’t have any other job lined up, and you’re way too scared to ask for a raise from a man who so clearly disrespects you. For right now, though, you’re stuck.

The oak doors open, and one of the office assistants steps off to the side while holding the door open for several men to walk in. You hear him before you see him. You’ve never heard his voice, but the commanding tone he uses when he addresses your boss lets you know that it must be him.

“Hello, Mr. Walker,” Mr. Barnes greets him, and you can hear your boss stand and greet him as well.

You’re trying your hardest to keep calm while you walk toward the table with a platter holding several glasses of water. You do your best to place them in front of the men without showing how nervous you are.

But when you get to Mr. Barnes, you nearly spill the drink all over the table once you get a whiff of his clearly expensive cologne. Oh, how you’d love to be surrounded by that scent, the woodsy smell almost intimidates you but you’re unsure as to why you don’t mind.

You’ve never done anything even remotely sexual with a man, you’re far too awkward and anxious in a way that isn’t too appealing to many, but for a very brief moment, you wonder what he looks like underneath the black three-piece suit — the prominent veins on his hands insinuates that the rest of his body is probably just as toned. But you’re immediately snapped out of your thoughts by your boss’ harsh voice calling your name.

“Aren’t you going to greet our guests?”

You breathe in sharply, heat flooding your face as you stumble your way through an apology and a polite “Hello, Mr. Barnes.”

You’re about to leave his side when he reaches out to grasp your hand — surprisingly gentle for such a powerful man. With a slight jump, you glance over to your boss who’s staring at you as though you’re becoming a nuisance and should quickly get back to your chair beside his. But you can’t, both because of Mr. Barnes’ hold and the fact that when you look back at the man in front of you his ocean-blue eyes pull you in, and you’re unable to break your gaze.

“And who might you be, darling?” His eyes twinkle with mischief but you’re too blind to see it, you’re too flustered to really focus.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about her, she’s just –”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Mr. Barnes snaps, briefly glancing at your boss and not bothering to hide his smirk when he almost visibly cowers. “Now, darling,” he continues, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “What’s your name?”

You nearly squeak, having to force yourself to tell him your name before he gets upset with your lack of answer.

Mr. Barnes hums, then brings your hand up so he can place a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You flounder for a moment, unsure as to what to make of the compliment. You don’t have much time to overthink it because this meeting has a time limit and you’re sure your boss would prefer to get this over with.

“Th-Thank you, sir.” You’re not sure why, but your voice is breathy because something about that word — sir — just feels right for him, though you’re not sure what it means.

“So polite,” He mumbles to himself, and his eyes seem to grow darker. Finally, he lets you go, shooting you a wink and smirking to himself when you scurry off to sit next to your boss.

The presentation went relatively smoothly — thank God. You don’t know what you would have done if anything went wrong. In fact, Mr. Barnes seemed extremely invested in what you had to say, catching your gaze several times and causing you to stumble over your words a few times, only for your boss to clear his throat and glare at you. Eventually, Mr. Barnes throws him his own glare, silently telling him to shut up, to which your boss finally does.

Once the meeting was declared to be over, you were quick to close your notebook and tuck your pen behind your ear, then you went around the table and started collecting the now-empty glasses. As you’re running around the room trying to clean up, you can feel a powerful gaze boring holes into your body, but you try not to pay it any mind. It’s probably just your boss anyway.

But when you turn away from the desk to finally leave, you bump into Mr. Barnes, your body nearly slamming into his very sturdy chest. His hands shoot to your hips almost immediately, helping to steady yourself.

The warmth of his body pulls you in, but that might also be because Mr. Barnes is literally bringing you closer to his chest by the hold he has on your hips. And that’s when you realize that your hands are clutching his shoulders, but you can’t find it in you to let go.

“What’s the rush?” He asks playfully, his upper lip quirking up in a smirk. “You’re running around like a little bunny.”

“Oh, oh I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes.” You’re not sure why you’re apologizing, you recognize that he’s just teasing, but something in you doesn’t want to disappoint him. 

“Mr. Barnes.” He hums, his eyes briefly glancing down to your lips. “I like it when you call me that.”

Now you’re really flustered, your face heats up and you have to do everything in your power not to faint — the way his voice deepens is doing something to you and you don’t know how to handle it.

“I’d like it a lot more if you called me James, though. Can you do that for me, bunny?” 

“Ye-Yes, James.” You might have been embarrassed about how quick you were to answer him, but the way he closes his eyes and tightens the hold he has on your body you’re thinking it was the right decision.

Mr. Barnes — James — opens his mouth again, but is interrupted by the door being opened by one of the office assistants, whose eyes immediately go wide in shock. It seems to take a second for her to gather her bearings, but she recovers soon enough.

“Mr. Walker is requesting you,” She tells you, glancing over at James and giving him a nervous smile. “He says you have to file all of the paperwork for the meeting.”

You sigh, you’re tired of having to do everything for your boss only for him to take credit ninety percent of the time. But, it’s what you’re paid to do, so you suck it up. 

Looking back to James, you give him a shy smile, reluctantly removing your hands from his shoulders. 

“Um, I guess I should go, James.” You’re a little sad, and you don’t quite know why having to leave him and go back to your duties makes you so anxious. It could be because Mr. Walker is mean, or maybe because James makes you feel safe. In reality, it’s probably a mixture of both.

“I guess you should,” He murmurs, removing one of his large hands from your waist so he can cup the back of your neck and pull you closer, only for him to press a lingering kiss on your forehead.

And absolutely no one can blame you for the quiet whimper that leaves your lips, even though you are surprised by your reaction. It doesn’t matter though, because he finally moves back, letting go of you and reaching into the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket so he can pull out what looks like a business card.

“Here,” James says, handing it to you. “In case you ever want to talk, you’re always free to call me.”

“What would we talk about?” Your confusion causes James to chuckle, and he seems amused by your naivety.

“Whatever you want, Bunny. Whether you just want to talk about nonsense or vent about your boss. Doesn’t matter to me as long as I get to hear your beautiful voice.”

With that, he gives you a wink, then turns to the door and leaves, though he does glance back at you. With one final smile, he leaves, and you’re left with a million racing thoughts while standing in the middle of the meeting room.

It took three days for you to finally reach out to James. As soon as you got home that night you ran to your bedroom and added his number to your phone, going so far as to put his business card in your bedside table drawer so you wouldn’t lose it. It just took a little time to gain the courage to actually contact him. After all, what if he was just being friendly? You’ve never met anyone quite like him, so it’s hard to read into his actions.

But today had gone horribly. The café you frequent before work was so busy that you didn’t have time to grab your coffee without being extremely late, the bistro you were demanded to pick up lunch from was closed — and while it wasn’t your fault, Mr. Walker certainly seemed to think it was. Your workload was piled high and by the end of the day, you were on the verge of crying due to the stress and mean comments thrown at you by your boss.

You need a shoulder to lean on and, unfortunately for you, you don’t have anyone else to go to. You’re pretty sure your roommates hate you and only let you live with them because they haven’t found a new roommate yet, you don’t have siblings and your parents are states away, and you have maybe a few friends, but even then the communication is scarce.

You need a shoulder to lean on, and James offered his, so you finally decided to pull up his contact and start a new message. It takes several minutes to figure out what to say, but you eventually settle on something simple.

Hi, James. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Mr. Walker’s assistant. You gave me your number in case I ever wanted to talk.

You hit send and stare down at your phone anxiously as you wait for a reply. A minute goes by, then two, suddenly five, and then you’re starting to regret texting him, what if he doesn’t remember you? What if he’s busy? What if – 

Your phone starts ringing, James’ name popping up on the screen and taunting you — almost commanding you to answer.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, bunny,” James says softly, and if you press your ear close enough to your phone you could pretend that he’s right next to you.

“Hi, James. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Your voice is soft and timid, you’d hate to disrupt anything he’s doing.

“Don’t be silly, bunny,” He says, his smile evident in his tone. “I always have time for you.”

“Oh, um. Thank you, sir.” It’s almost indescribable, but you can just make out the soft curse James lets out, followed by some shuffling.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

You’re a little apprehensive, but with James’ gentle encouragement, you’re able to get everything off your chest, complaining about your day and everything that went wrong. Each word spoken feels like weights lifting off of your shoulders, allowing you to breathe easier every time James hums. He doesn’t interrupt you, which you greatly appreciate, and by the time you’re done, you fall backward onto your bed, relieved.

“I’m sorry you had such a bad day, bunny,” James coos with his smooth-as-honey voice, filling your body with warmth and comfort. “A pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.” That comment floods your face with heat and you shuffle up the bed to lean against the headboard.

“Oh, I - thank you, sir.” There it is again, sir. James exhales slowly as though he’s trying to control himself from doing something he shouldn’t, and part of you is momentarily worried that you’ve upset him somehow. You don’t want to disappoint him.

“What can I do to help?”

What can he do to help? You’re not quite sure, you’re not sad, and you’re not angry, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t need at least a hug right now. But, it would be too imposing to ask, right? There’s no way he would be willing to come over – that is, if your roommates would even allow him over. And he certainly wouldn’t invite a stranger into his house. So, you lie to him.

“Oh – Oh, no, James, I don’t – you don’t have to – it’s fine –”

“Bunny.”

Your mouth promptly closes, taking a deep breath through your nose and exhaling slowly.

“Sorry, James.”

“Don’t be sorry, bunny.” There’s some shuffling in the background as he talks and you can’t help but sigh at how sincere his voice is. “Now, what can I do to help?” And before you can even open your mouth he’s talking again, “Don’t say nothing, because I know there’s something you want.”

You’re silent for a moment, stewing over how to tell him. But, he’ll probably just be empathetic and say something along the lines of ‘I’d hug you if I were there right now’. So, you decide to just spit it out.

“I guess I just want… I just need a hug, I think,” You sigh, feeling a sudden sense of loneliness. It’s hard not having anyone to talk to, to be isolated even from the people you live with, to be put down time and time again, and not have anyone to support you.

“Where are you?” James asks, and you hear some more shuffling in the background, followed by the jingling of what sounds like keys.

“I’m at my apartment,” You say, confused. He couldn’t possibly be coming over, could he?

“Send me your address and I’ll come pick you up, we’ll go out for ice cream,” James says decisively, and you can tell he doesn’t want any protesting. “Bunny,” He says when you don’t say anything. “You need cheering up and I’m here to do just that. Please send me your address.” He speaks gently but once again, he doesn’t seem to want you to argue against it.

“O-Okay, I will.”

“Good, I’ll see you soon, bunny.” When you bid him goodbye, he hangs up, and you’re quick to send him your address, giving him instructions to text you when he arrives so you can meet him out front of the building.

During the next twenty or so minutes you’re practically running around your room trying to make yourself look presentable. You cried all of your makeup off so you opt to just wash the rest of it off, and then you pull your hair back and away from your face. It takes a bit to decide what to wear, after all this is just a friend taking another friend to get ice cream, but this is also James Barnes; he has more wealth than you could possibly imagine. You want to impress him and appear grateful for his friendliness, and looking at least half-decent would achieve that.

Finally, someone knocks on your door, yelling, “Someone’s here for you!”

With a rush of excitement, you grab your phone and wallet and slip on your shoes, then make your way out of your room to the front door where another roommate is standing in front of it, leaning against the frame and giggling at the person.

James.

He looks bored, almost like he’s trying to appear interested but can’t quite muster up the energy to do so. When you approach, he lifts his head, a wide smile crossing his face.

“There’s my little bunny,” He says confidently, completely ignoring your annoyed roommate. “Come on, let’s get you cheered up.”

With that you walk to him, timidly accepting his outstretched hand and letting him gently tug you into the hallway. When you turn around to tell your roommate that you’ll be back later you can’t even get a word out before you see her glaring at you and shutting the door — the click of the lock is audible through the empty hallway.

“Are they always like that?” James asks with a tone that conveys concern.

“Like what?” You know what he’s talking about, but you hate acknowledging it.

“Rude and disrespectful.” He is so blunt that it causes you to look down in embarrassment to avoid his intense gaze.

Yes, you want to say, they’re awful. You want to shout from the rooftops that your roommates are horrible to you, but you’re just too scared to do it.

“Oh – Oh, no, they’re just…” You trail off, peeking up at James to see the disbelief in his eyes. When you look down again, he brings up one of his hands to cup your cheek and guide your head up so you can look at him head-on.

“You don’t need to lie to me, bunny. I want you to trust me.” James sighs, leaning forward and placing a small kiss on your forehead. “Come on,” He squeezes your hand, smiling softly at you as he starts walking you out of the building and to his car.

It doesn’t take long to get to the ice cream shop, only a five-minute drive, and when you get there James keeps the car locked as he gets out so he can circle around to your side and open your door for you.

“Th-Thank you,” You say as you put your hand in James’ outstretched one, letting him guide you out of the car. He keeps his hold on your hand as you walk into the shop, going so far as to thread your fingers together while you wait in line.

The image of your hand encompassed by James’ large tattooed one has your tummy fluttering with butterflies. But, you must have been staring for a little too long because you’re broken out of your trance by James gently squeezing your hand.

“Is this okay, bunny?”

“Yes!” Heat floods your face as soon as you say it, feeling embarrassed by how quick you were to answer. “I, I mean. Um… Yes, it’s okay.”

James smirks at you, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. But, before you can stew in your shame, the man behind the counter says, “Next!”

You walk up to the counter, letting James order before giving yours. And when it’s time to pay, James doesn’t even drop your hand while he fishes his wallet out of his pocket and takes out his card. Your tummy flutters once again.

“Come, bunny.”

With your desserts now in hand, James leads you to a corner booth, only letting go of your hand so you can scoot in. He sits across from you, looking at you with what can only be described as thinly veiled hunger. It’s not off-putting, you just don’t know what it means.

“So, um…” You trail off looking down at your bowl of ice cream, fiddling with the spoon they gave you.

“You don’t need to be nervous, bunny,” James coos, reaching over and placing his hand palm up on the table, and you’re helpless but to take it, practically aching to feel his warmth again. “Now, other than everything that happened today, how have you been?”

It’s surprisingly easy to fall into a pleasant conversation with him, he asks questions and lets you finish talking before adding his own input, and he doesn’t break eye contact. It feels like he’s really listening to what you’re saying, and it’s almost freeing to have someone in your corner, someone you can trust and depend on.

What feels like far too soon, though has probably been several hours due to how dark it is outside, the man behind the counter comes to your table to tell you that they’re closing soon, and you can’t help but be sad. You’re enjoying James’ company far more than you probably should since you’ve only known him for a handful of days. It almost seems like you’ve known him your whole life.

“Well, bunny. I guess it’s time to go,” James says remorsefully, getting up out of the booth and reaching out his hand to help you out of the booth as well. He keeps holding your hand while you walk out of the door — making sure to throw away your trash on the way out.

James insists on opening the car door for you again — ever the gentleman. There’s a comfortable silence on the drive back to your apartment, your stomach swirling the entire time because James refuses to drop your hand. But when you get to your apartment building, a small amount of anxiety settles inside you, and you’re desperately hoping your roommates are asleep because you don’t feel like dealing with them after you’ve had such a good evening.

The silence is a little more tense while you ride the elevator up to your floor, but you’re grounded by James’ touch. It’s not until you get to your front door that you really look at him, staring into his twinkling eyes. And when he smiles, it settles your nerves.

“I guess this is the end of our night, bunny,” He says, squeezing your hand one last time before dropping it. Before you can mourn the loss of his touch he’s wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close to his chest, and you desperately hope he doesn’t hear the squeak you let out. You wrap your arms around his waist, letting James tuck your face into his neck while he holds you close.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” James murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

“Me too,” You say softly, breathing in and inhaling his comforting scent. “Thank you for cheering me up.”

“Of course, bunny. I’m always here for you.” Then, James pulls his head back so he can look into your eyes. “Always.”

You can’t help but smile. His gaze is hypnotizing, pulling you in and almost refusing to let you go.

“Thank you, James,” You breathe out, and one last time, James squeezes you and kisses your forehead, then steps back.

“I’ll talk to you soon, bunny?” James asks, smiling wide.

“Y–Yeah, I’ll text you. Or you can text me. Or call, that’s–that’s fine too.” Heat floods your face in embarrassment, but you don’t feel too bad about it because James only smiles wider, nodding once.

“I will.”

“Goodnight, James.” With that, you turn and unlock your door, turning around to look at James one last time as you shut the door.

“Goodnight bunny, I hope you have dreams as sweet as you are.” James winks, and you swear you can hear him chuckle when you squeak out an “o-okay,” and shut the door.

And maybe James is some kind of wizard because you have the best night of sleep you’ve had in a while.

For the next few weeks you and James text almost every day, and talk on the phone every couple of days. You’ve met up with him a few times as well, accepting his invitations to lunch or coffee. Each outing would last for several hours, too enraptured by his… everything to be the one to suggest the night should end. You’ve come to trust him, you know with a possibly concerning amount of certainty that James would do everything possible to keep you happy and safe.

Roughly a month and a half after meeting James, you’re sitting on your bed in the same position you were in when you first called him crying. Unlike last time, though, you don’t hesitate to call him. He’s told you time and time again that it doesn’t even matter if he’s in a meeting, he’ll always make time for you. You just hope that’s true.

He picks up almost immediately.

“Hello, bunny,” James says with the same soft tone he always uses when talking to you.

“H-hi, James,” You manage to say, before breaking out into sobs. You’re nearly hyperventilating, trying and failing to catch your breath between hiccups, and it takes a few minutes to calm down enough to hear rustling in the background on James’ end.

“Are you at home?” He asks with the utmost concern.

“Ye-Yes.”

“Stay there,” He says, using what you’ve deemed his CEO voice. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Ja–”

“Bunny.”

You sigh, knowing you can’t change his mind – not that you really want him to. You could really benefit from a hug right about now and James always provides the best ones.

“Can you at least stay on the phone with me?” Your voice is small, still sniffling every few words. You don’t think you could handle being alone with your own thoughts right now.

“Of course. You know I’ll do anything for you.”

It takes James twenty minutes to get to you, and he talks to you the whole time, just menial things to get your mind off of your sadness. When he lets you know that he’s at your apartment, you don’t even wait for him to tell you he’s coming up, you simply grab your jacket and slip on your shoes, then run to the front door without so much as a word to your roommates in the living room.

“James!” Upon seeing the man himself standing next to his car, you fling yourself into his arms, taking deep breaths to prevent yourself from crying in public. “Thank you for coming.”

“Bunny, how many times do I have to tell you that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep a smile on your pretty face?” James’ tone is teasing, but you know he’s serious if his stern and concerned gaze is anything to go by.

You nod, blinking back tears. It’s so nice to have a friend like James Barnes; kind, chivalrous, attentive. With the way he acts sometimes, you’d almost think he’s interested in more than friendship, but you always shake that thought off. He’s too handsome and wealthy to date some random personal assistant who’s barely able to make her rent.

“Come on, bunny,” James moves back but keeps an arm wrapped around your waist, leading you to his car and helping you in. Like always, he waits for you to sit so he can strap you in your seatbelt, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before shutting the door then running around to the driver's seat.

This time, instead of taking a left at the light at the end of your block, he keeps going forward, taking turns until you’re not exactly sure where you are.

“Um, where are we going?”

“My house,” James says casually, briefly glancing at you so he can give you that ever-soft smile.

“But, isn’t your house only twenty minutes away?” You’re confused, and a little curious as to what he’s talking about.

“I only stay there when I have meetings in the city. I have a house a little further out where I live most of the time. It’s a little more lived-in, so I want to bring you there where you’ll feel a little more…” James pauses for a moment, glancing at you again. “At home.” His explanation makes sense in your brain, quickly squashing any nerves that you had. He’s rich, so of course he’d have multiple houses.

It’s almost an hour long drive to get to his house. Well, house feels like an inappropriate term for what it actually is. It’s more like a mansion, standing tall at three stories, a long driveway with trees lining either side of the road, and a luscious garden surrounding the property.

James helps you out of the car and guides you up the steps to the front door, where he unlocks it and lets you step inside. The moment you pass through the threshold your jaw nearly drops to the floor; a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling right when you step in and beautiful artwork adorns the walls. The open floor plan gives you a good view of the living room and kitchen from your vantage point, and you can’t wait to sink into the luxurious and almost comically large couch in front of the TV.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” James urges you further in, bringing you to the living room.

“Um, just water is fine.” You look up at him, smiling shyly and nearly tripping when he smiles back.

“I’ll be right back,” James says, watching as you sit and sink into the plush couch. “Make yourself at home.” The look in his eyes when he says it sparks something inside you, something warm and fuzzy. Thinking of James’ house as your home makes your tummy flutter, but you don’t understand why.

God, you need to get it together.

You’re left alone for a moment, and everything is quiet except for the fridge opening and the glasses clinking. James’ absence allows you a moment to breathe properly, being with him always leaves you flustered, though you can’t deny that some part of you likes it. You like his commanding nature, how deep his voice gets when he talks passionately about something, how warm his embrace is when he holds you for what might be a little too long, squeezing you like he doesn’t want to let you go.

“Here you go, bunny.” Suddenly, a glass of water appears in front of you, and you take it with a gracious smile and a small “thank you.”

“So,” He says, sitting next to you — really close — and throwing his arm over your shoulders, practically pulling you into his lap. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Tears immediately spring to your eyes, suddenly remembering how horrible today was. You force yourself to take a couple of sips of your glass but your hand starts shaking enough to where James takes your glass and sets it on the coffee table in front of you.

“Bunny—“

His soft voice causes you to start crying, throwing yourself into his chest and burying your face in his neck as you sob out your troubles. James’ hand is warm on your back, rubbing it soothingly and squeezing you close to him. This time, he actually pulls you in his lap, you’re grasping the front of his sweater while he maneuvers your body so you’re straddling his thighs, and you can’t help but scoot closer so you’re sitting on him properly with your body flush against his.

A few minutes of crying later and your tears have finally slowed, your sobs deforming into hiccups until you calm down enough to hear James cooing into your ear, whispering sweet nothings. When you finally catch your breath, you pull back, staring up at James with wide eyes and a pout.

“I-I… I was fired! Fired! And I don’t know what I’m going to do! Mr. Walker just tossed me to the side because a document went missing and he blamed me, and now I’m jobless and my roommates are definitely going to kick me out because I can barely make my rent as it is. What am I going to do?”

James sighs, rubbing one hand up and down your back and keeping his other on your waist, though they manage to sneak up your shirt a little without your notice.

“I’m sorry, bunny,” He starts, giving you a comforting smile. “It’s awful that happened to you, and it’s not your fault, so don’t go blaming yourself like I know you want to.”

Your face goes warm with embarrassment. How is he able to read you so easily?

“And as far as your living situation, you’ll move in with me.”

“James!” Your eyebrows furrow, your head automatically shaking. “No, no I can’t do that to you. I don’t have a job anymore and I definitely can’t afford to pay you rent, I-I can’t burden you like that.” Even though it hurts to say it, you want to be honest with him. Because how on Earth are you supposed to pay him back for this?

“You’re not a burden.” You’re surprised by his angry tone, and his eyes darken as though he’s challenging you to say otherwise. “You’ll never be a burden on me, bunny. I’m offering you this, I don’t want you to pay me.”

As though he can sense your hesitation, he gives you a playful smirk.

“But if you really want to help, how about you do the cooking and cleaning? I don’t always get a good home-cooked meal, and it’d be nice to come back from work to see you in a cute little apron.”

This makes you giggle, a weight lifting off your shoulders when you nod timidly. “I-I can do that. I’ll do anything.”

And while you had pure intentions with that statement, James takes it differently, his eyes darkening even further as he nibbles at his bottom lip.

“Anything?” He smirks wider when you nod eagerly because that’s what you are. Always eager to please — especially please James.

“Yes, anything!”

James hums, seemingly thinking something over, before sliding one of his hands up the back of your shirt.

“How about you give me a kiss? I haven’t had a good one in a while,” While he sounds like he’s teasing, his face shows he’s anything but.

He really wants you to kiss him. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to deny him, you’re too grateful for his generosity. Plus, you’d be insane to pass up such an opportunity, he’s handsome, kind, and makes you feel safe. So, with only a little hesitation, you lean down and press your lips against his in a simple peck, but before you can pull away James groans, placing one hand on the back of your head to keep you steady.

His lips practically attack yours, his tongue invading your mouth and taking what it wants – you. You don’t even know it but you’re whimpering almost immediately, opening your mouth and letting James consume you whole. He’s smiling against your lips, biting your bottom lip as he retreats for a moment so he can stare up into your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, bunny,” James whispers reverently like he’s hypnotized. And he’s not the only one. Your brain is quickly going silent, your sole focus is on James and how good he’s making you feel.

“Really?”

“So beautiful, I’ve always thought so.” His confession makes you whine, he thinks you’re beautiful, this gorgeous man with the deepest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Suddenly, James curses softly, grabbing your waist under your shirt, and that’s when you realize you’ve started subconsciously moving your hips against his.

“S-Sorry,” You mumble, though you’re not too sorry considering you can’t stop rolling down onto his lap, it feels too good.

“Don’t be.” James hums thoughtfully, leaning forward slightly and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Why don’t we go to my room? It’ll be more comfortable.”

You don’t even wait for him to finish before you start eagerly nodding your head, adjusting your legs as he stands so you can wrap them around his waist. He carries you to his room, smirking to himself the entire time because you can’t stop kissing and biting his neck in the hopes of leaving a mark, staking your claim. When you finally get there, James quickly shuts the door behind him and then drops you down onto the bed.

“Sir,” You whine when he doesn’t do anything, he’s only standing at the end of the bed, staring at you with eyes so dark with lust that you can’t see the blue of them.

“Don’t worry, bunny, I’ll take good care of you.” With that, he swiftly strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side, then undoes the button on his pants, slowly dragging down the zipper with a wide smirk at the haze in your eyes. “Do you want to help me?”

It takes a few moments for you to understand what he’s asking of you, but once you do you push yourself up, shuffling over to him until you’re sitting with your legs underneath your butt. For a moment you’re not sure what to do, you reach out for his pants but freeze mid-air because you just now realize that you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. You’ve never been in this situation before, your sexual exploits consist of goodnight kisses on the few dates you’ve been on, and your vibrator in your nightstand that has been working overtime ever since you met James.

“I-I’m sorry,” You murmur, embarrassment flooding your features.

“Why are you sorry, bunny?” James’ voice is soft, soothing your worries.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never… been with a man before.” Your hands fall to your lap at the same time you hang your head. What if you disappoint him? You don’t know what you’re doing and you’d hate to mess anything up.

“I know, bunny. It’s okay.” James lifts your chin with his fore and middle fingers, guiding you to look at him again. “I’ll teach you everything.” His voice dips lower, his bottom lip getting trapped between his teeth when you smile, relieved.

“Now, I’m going to take off my pants, but I want you to take off my boxers. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” You say quickly, eyes dropping to his crotch as he begins pulling the denim down, down, down until it pools on the floor. He steps out of them, then steps in front of you with his arms hanging by his side. When he raises his eyebrow, nodding to his underwear, you reach out for him again, this time with only a small amount of hesitation. Your nerves are nearly off the charts, but knowing that James is going to guide you makes you feel better.

Your hands are shaking slightly when you pull them down, and absolutely no one can fault you for the loud gasp you let out when he’s finally bare because holy shit. Despite being relatively anxious and naive surrounding sex, you’ve watched your fair share of porn, and while the men in them did usually have big dicks, they seem small compared to James’.

You’re almost frightened, how the hell is that going to fit inside you? James chuckles, and you realize you probably said that aloud.

“Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll make it fit,” James groans, reaching down to grab the bottom of your shirt. “I’m going to take this off now, okay?” He tugs it up and over your head once you give your consent, tossing it to the side and cursing when he sees the light pink bra barely covering your breasts. James is biting his lip so hard you’re worried he might draw blood, but you don’t pay it any mind because he’s soon urging you to lay on your back with your legs dangling over the edge.

“Gonna take these off too.”

Giving him a shy smile and a nod, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sweatpants, glancing up at you one final time to make sure you’re okay before he surprises you by pulling them off of your legs in one swift movement. You’re tugged down the bed a little, a shocked gasp leaving your lips.

“Fucking angelic,” James murmurs, dropping to his knees and placing his large, rough hands on your knees. He smirks when he sees your matching light pink panties, already soaking wet at the crotch. You have to bite your lip to keep from whimpering when he pushes your legs wide apart, but you can’t stop yourself from squirming when he doesn’t do anything else.

“James,” You whine, high-pitched and needy.

“Sir,” He reminds you with a raised eyebrow as though he’s daring you to say his real name again. And just for good measure, he surprises you by lifting up one of his hands and swinging it down onto your clothed pussy in a harsh swat, causing you to let out a loud moan.

“Sir! I-I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s okay, little bunny,” James coos as he runs his hands up the back of your thighs so he can push them up and out, letting him get a good look at where you need him most. “Are you going to let me eat your pretty pussy?”

Even though it’s phrased as a question, you know James isn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. It’s not like you even want to tell him ‘no’, you’re too desperate for something, anything.

“Y-Yes, sir. Please.” Your begging makes him groan, and he quickly dips forward so he’s not even an inch away from your core, inhaling deeply and cursing again.

With a quick kiss to your covered clit, he twists his fingers into the band of your panties and rips them into pieces, and you know you’ll have marks from it. But you want them, you want evidence of this night, and you’ll gladly take anything he gives you. And no sooner than your panties off do James dive in, inhaling once more before his tongue sneaks out and licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit.

It’s at that point that you know you’re well and truly fucked, because there’s no way you’re not going to become addicted to the feeling of his tongue dipping into your quivering hole, the way he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks it into his mouth, the way he groans into your pussy like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

And it doesn’t take long for your legs to start shaking, desperately trying to close around James’ head but not being able to due to his hands gripping your thighs and holding them still. The filthy groans he lets out are enough to make you cum alone, but then he attaches his lips to your clit again and gently bites down, forcing an obscene moan out of your mouth.

He lets you get used to the pleasure, switching between fucking his tongue deep inside you and flicking at your clit, and only when he decides you’re ready does he manage to slide his forefinger in your pussy all the way to the third knuckle.

“Sir!” You can’t help but yell. Yes, it stings, but it’s far outweighed by the pleasure of his tongue assaulting your pulsating nub.

He wastes no time in slowly sliding it in and out, wiggling it around until you whine loudly, letting him know he’s found that special spot. You’re too out of it to realize it but James is smiling, clearly smug at how he’s making you react. You wouldn’t care anyway, in fact, he deserves it. He’s making you feel too good, especially when he slips in his middle finger and spreads them.

“Oh god! Yes, fuck. Sir, yes,” You’re incoherent, blabbering nonsense because your brain is too foggy to form a coherent thought. James picks up the pace, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking it as he thrusts his fingers directly at your g-spot.

“Sir! Sir, I-I’m…” As soon as he started, he stopped, pulling out his fingers and leaning back slightly with a wide grin. His chin is coated in your juices, and the gleam in his eyes shows you that you’re not going to be able to cum so easily.

“Not yet, bunny,” James says when you whine pathetically, trying to buck your hips up into his mouth but unable to do so because of his commanding grip now holding your waist. “I’m not letting you cum until I’m inside you.”

James then climbs onto the bed, guiding you upwards to lay your head against the plush pillows so he can lean over your body. With little preamble, he snakes his arms around your back to quickly unclasp your bra and allow your breasts to spill free.

“I can’t wait to watch these bounce,” James groans, palming one of them, twisting and pinching at your nipple. James just laughs when you hiss, because your soaked pussy is enough to tell him that you’re loving what he’s doing. 

“Bunny.” He says gruffly, and your eyes shoot up to meet his, though you can hardly see him because your vision is hazy, nothing matters except James. “Are you ready?”

You’re barely able to mumble ‘yes’, but you manage to do so, and James takes that as his cue to grasp the base of his cock and position it at your entrance. He places his other hand on your neck, lightly squeezing the sides to keep your eyes locked on his.

The pressure against your hole is immense, James telling you to breathe as he slowly pushes deeper. He stops about halfway through, giving you a moment for the pain to fade. He’s clearly having a hard time staying still but is cognizant enough to know you’re overwhelmed. It takes a few minutes of deep breathing before you finally nod, silently letting him know that he can move. And he does, pushing in all the way until his hips are flush with yours. Once again, he stills, leaning down to brush his lips over your cheeks and catch the tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.

“H-Hurts, sir,” You whimper out, forcing yourself to keep eye contact with him. And while your core is burning, James looks so damn proud that you’re taking him that it pushes away any discomfort.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Even though you’re in mild pain you’re pretty sure you’ll cry if he pulls out, you need everything he can give you. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Don’t worry, bunny,” James coos, then tightens his grip around your neck ever so slightly. “I’ll give you what you need.” And as though a switch was flipped, James pulls back, pausing for half a second before thrusting forward.

“Ahhh!” Your mouth drops open as you scream, your arms coming up to claw at James’ shoulders and back as he gives you all he has.

And he has a lot to give. He puts his back into fucking you, keeping one hand around your neck and using his other arm to pull your left leg over his shoulder. Sweat beads at your hairline, your eyes stinging with tears, your whole body lit on fire. At this moment, nothing matters except the delicious burn between your legs, the way your body is shoved further up the bed with each of James’ powerful thrusts until it gets to the point where he has to place the hand around your leg on the headboard to steady you.

“Fuck, bunny, you feel so good. You’re so good for me.” James can’t stop mumbling praises, and even though you can’t really hear them, you feel them. Your eyes don’t move from his, even as he glances down to where your bodies are joined. “Fuck, little bunny. Your pussy looks so good stuffed full of my cock, knew you’d take me so well.”

“S-Sir,” You whimper, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts and digging your nails into his skin. But James doesn’t seem to mind if the way his whole body shudders and his hips slightly lose their rhythm is anything to go by.

“Are you gonna be a good little bunny and cum for me?” James moves his gaze back up to your face, chuckling when he sees how fucked-out you already are. Despite his hand still around your neck you manage to nod, little cries and whines escaping into the air every time James’ cock gets shoved against your cervix.

“Yeah, you are,” James continues, leaning over your body even more and shifting so the tip of his dick hits your spot with every thrust. “You’re going to squirt all over my cock so I can cum deep in your cunt. Gonna cum in you every day, keep you full of me, maybe even plug you up to make sure it sticks.”

You’re right there, your pleasure climbing higher and higher until you’re ready to fall off the edge. James’s next sentence sends you there.

“Fuck, bunny. You’re going to be the perfect little mommy to all the children I’m gonna give you.”

When you wake up, James will tell you about how you came so hard that you blacked out, squirting and gushing around his cock while he continued telling you how even more beautiful you’ll be when you’re pregnant, taking care of him and his home, how he knew you were the one for him from the moment he first saw you. Your things will already be moved into his house. New clothes chosen specifically for you will be hung up in his closet and the bathroom will be adjusted to fit your products. The kitchen is going to be filled with all the food you like. And your cat will be curled up in a miniature hammock in her very own room.

When you wake up, you’ll see how much thought James put into redecorating his home just for you.

And you’ll be too grateful for his kindness to question where he put your birth control.

main taglist: @lilyalone / @crazyunsexycool / @goldylions / @yeehawbrothers / @buckyssweetheart / @buckysprettybaby / @sushiseoks / @heytheredelulu / @somnorvos / @ozwriterchick / @pxgeturner / @gentlelimerence

bucky taglist: @justsebstan / @myfavbuckyfics

[helaintoloki]

Family Dinner

pairing: Five x reader ft the Hargreeves siblings

warnings: the usual Hargreeves siblings chaos

notes: fulfilling a request asking for a shy!reader meeting Five’s siblings for the first time. it was actually very hard squeezing in so many characters into one piece

summary: despite trying his best to avoid it, Five is forced to introduce you to the family

The last thing Five wanted was for you to meet his family. If he could, he’d do everything in his power to keep you away from the chaos and stupidity that was his siblings forever. He didn’t need them overwhelming you with their quarreling or reminding you of how utterly tumultuous his home life was, and he felt an unwavering need to keep you separate from the Umbrella Academy. You were the one thing he didn’t have to share with his siblings, the one thing he had earned on his own without his powers, and the one thing that was normal in his life. He would do anything to keep his life from tainting your innocence by all means.

The discovery of your existence by his family had been completely accidental. When visiting his new apartment for the first time, Allison and Klaus had stumbled upon a framed photograph that Five had forgotten to stow away before their arrival. In the frame was a beautiful girl with kind features and a gentle smile, her arms lovingly draped around Five’s neck as he held her to his side and forced a lopsided grin for the camera. They knew Five had always hated photos, but it seemed here that he was willing to set aside his disdain for being photographed to please this mystery girl.

“What are you two looking at?” Five demanded after stumbling upon them staring down at the frame. Eyes widening when he realizes just exactly what the two are looking at, he quickly snatches the photo from Klaus’s grasp and holds it protectively against his chest. “I can’t believe this, I was gone for two minutes and neither of you could manage to stay out of my things.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a girlfriend?” Klaus asks, voice laced with mock offense as he clutches at his chest to mimic being wounded.

“The details of my personal life are none of your concern,” Five grits through clenched teeth, his tone dripping in annoyance at their snooping and frustration at being caught red handed. How could he have been so sloppy? Five had always been meticulous about every minute detail and keen at covering his tracks when needed, and yet he had failed to protect the most important secret he held.

“She’s gorgeous,” Allison tells him in hopes of assuaging her agitated brother, “and she looks really sweet. Why would you hide something like this?”

“This may come as a shock to you, Allison, but you guys aren’t exactly great at first impressions,” he explains condescendingly with a tight lipped smile, doing his best to hold back the urge to use more colorful language and insults. “The last thing I need is for you guys to start hashing out old childhood issues in front of her and scare her off.”

“Ouch, okay, noted,” she replies with a displeased frown. “But that’s still no excuse to keep your relationship a secret. I know we’re not always the most reliable bunch, but obviously this girl is important to you, Five, and if that’s the case then she’s important to us, too. Just give us a chance to prove ourselves- bring her to my place Friday for dinner so we can all get introduced.”

Five is silent as he mulls over Allison’s offer, doubt clear on his features as he considers all the possible ways a family dinner with you could go. While there are a million ways for it to go wrong, he’s able to acknowledge the plausibility of it being a success. As much as he hated to admit it, his sister did have a point. They weren’t always completely unreliable, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think spending time with his siblings could actually be pleasant at times. And it’s not like you haven’t been questioning him already about his family and the details of his childhood. Perhaps it was time to finally bite the bullet.

“You get one chance,” Five finally relents in a firm tone, pointing his finger at them both in warning. “Do not screw this up.”

“How exciting!” Klaus gasps with an enthusiastic clap of his hands. “Oh, I have the perfect dish for this occasion.”

As Allison and Klaus immediately begin to discuss the details of Friday’s dinner, Five can only force himself to quell his panic as best as possible and hope that you’re able to stand his family.

~~~

You fidget nervously with the pendant of your necklace as Five swiftly parks the car in front of Allison’s home. It’s beautiful, and by the looks of the warm lights that glow through the window it seems the festivities have begun. Despite your boyfriend having already turned off the car, you make no attempt to move, prompting Five to reach over and gently take hold of your hand in his.

“Don’t worry,” he assures you in the softest voice he can manage. “These idiots are more worried about impressing you than you are about impressing them.”

“They’re not idiots, they’re your siblings,” you reprimand him gently before finally mustering up the courage to step foot out of the car. “And despite how much you act like they annoy you I know you really care about them. I just want it to go well is all.”

Five can’t really argue with that- sometimes he hates how easily you’re able to read him. It’s a feat not many can accomplish, and yet you managed to do so in record time. It’s also just another thing he adores about you; you see him like no one has before, and your gentle nature and levelheadedness perfectly balance out his tense and combative personality. You’re good for him, and he hopes his siblings see the good in you too.

The door swings open before you can press the doorbell and immediately you find yourself being pulled into the tightest hug of your life. A gasp of surprise leaves you at the sudden intrusion, and it takes everything in Five to resist the urge to immediately pry his sister off of you. He stares daggers at her innocent smile behind your back, but she merely waves him off before pulling away to look at you.

“It is so good to finally meet you!” She exclaims cheerfully, excitement clear in her tone. “I’m Allison. Come in, come in.”

You aren’t able to get in a word edge-wise as the woman practically drags you into her home and begins to show you around. A pleasant smelling aroma fills the house from the food that cooks in the kitchen, and animated chatter drifts throughout the hallways as the siblings gather and catch up on each other’s lives.

“Please make yourself at home and let me know if you need anything at all.”

“Thank you, a-and thank you for having me,” you offer with a meek smile, your hands nervously wringing together in front of you. “I’ve heard so much about you all and it’s finally nice to put faces to the names. I’m y/n.”

“Well then, welcome to the family y/n,” Allison notes with a wink before disappearing into the kitchen. You almost jump in surprise when you feel Five’s hand rest against your lower back as he leads you into the living room to meet the rest of his siblings.

“Ready to enter the lion’s den?” He whispers under his breath, and for a moment you genuinely can’t decipher whether or not he’s joking.

Three men and a woman sit on the couch animatedly discussing the contents of the television show playing on the screen before turning silent at your arrival. The sudden attention makes you nervous, your throat drying up as you harshly swallow down your anxiety.

“Luther, Diego, Lila, I’d like to introduce you to my… girlfriend,” Five utters after clearing his throat, obviously not familiar with the process of introducing a partner to family. He was still fairly new at this relationship stuff and still struggled at times with opening up. If he didn’t care about you so much he probably wouldn’t even bother, so you appreciate his efforts. “Y/n, these are my brothers and my sister-in-law.”

“Girlfriend, huh? This is certainly an upgrade from the last one,” Diego teases with a wry chuckle.

“Wasn’t the last one a mannequin?” Lila prompts with a raised brow much to Five’s dismay.

“Shut it,” he warns through clenched teeth, heat crawling up his neck at the mention of Delores. Leave it to those two to bring up his past at the worst time.

“A mannequin?” You repeat unsurely, your features contorted in confusion. Five’s eyes widen in panic, but Luther is quick to change the subject on Five’s behalf.

“It’s nice to see Five with someone for a change,” he notes with a nervous chuckle in hopes his comment redirects your attention off of the previous topic. “How did you two meet?”

“I work at a coffee shop in town,” you explain with a sheepish smile, and Five visibly relaxes beside you as you start to recount the beginnings of your relationship. A crisis has been avoided thanks to Luther, and for once Five is grateful for his brother’s conversational skills. “I was the only one who could make his coffee exactly the way he liked it, so he became a regular and would stop by every time I was working. We got to talking, one thing led to another, and, well, here I am.”

“Well, I for one think you are much too good for him,” Lila points out to the boy’s annoyance, “but seeing him less uptight and ornery is a pleasant change.”

“Thank you for that lovely observation, Lila,” Five retorts sarcastically with a roll of his eyes before escorting you out of the living room before the woman can embarrass him any further.

“Did you really date a mannequin?” You whisper curiously only for Five to immediately redden at your question.

“Let’s not hash out my dating history just right this second,” he instructs you before entering the dining room where a man has just finished setting down a heavy centerpiece on the table while another watches.

“Hmm, a little more to the left,” the one with curly hair and heavy eyeliner instructs while scrutinizing its placement. His eyes glance over the table before landing on you and Five in the doorway, and he immediately gasps before rushing over to greet you. “You must be y/n! Oh, it is so lovely to meet you. I’m Klaus, Five’s favorite brother, of course.”

“I don’t ever recall saying that,” Five points out with a raised brow and amused smile. Klaus simply rolls his eyes and waves his brother off with a tsk.

“You don’t have to, I can see it in your face,” he dismisses before returning his attention to you. “And that handsome man over there is our sweet brother Viktor.”

“Hey,” Viktor offers with a timid smile and small wave. “Nice to see you, welcome to family dinner.”

“Thank you,” you reply gratefully, “it’s nice to finally meet you all.”

“Well, not all of us. A certain someone thinks he’s too good for family dinner,” Klaus huffs in annoyance before turning his attention back to the centerpiece. “Does that look centered to you?”

“It looks perfect. I love the arrangement you’ve made,” you compliment much to Klaus’s delight.

“Finally someone with taste!” He gasps before draping an arm around you much to Five’s dismay and guiding you back to the kitchen. “Come, come little one, you can help me pick which napkins to use.”

Watching your figures disappear into the hallway, Viktor glances at Five before stating, “I don’t think you’ll be getting her back for a while.”

“Trust me, I’m aware,” the boy sighs in displeasure before heading towards Allison’s liquor cabinet for a drink.

~~~

Much to Five’s surprise, dinner goes off without a hitch. The food is lovely, the conversation is pleasant, and despite your usually shy demeanor you were able to open up rather quickly to his siblings. It was obvious the family took a great liking to you, and his original worries about them scaring you off had been proven irrational and untrue.

From his seat on the couch Five watches as you animatedly converse with Luther and Klaus about a new bakery that just opened up in town, your smile never once leaving your face and their interest in your words never once dwindling. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you talk this much, and the sight brings a comfortable warmth to his chest at seeing you happy.

“See? This wasn’t so bad, was it?” Allison goads with a pleased smile. “Everyone had a nice time and y/n fits right in.”

“As much as I hate to say it, I’m sorry for doubting you,” Five relents with a soft smile. “This was nice.”

“And we like y/n, so don’t mess this up,” Lila warns him with a facetious shove to his shoulder. Annoyed by her words, Five rolls his eyes and shrugs away from her touch before refocusing his gaze on you. Your eyes meet for a brief second as you glance out into the living room, and you flash him a quick smile before looking back to Klaus who enthusiastically grabs hold of your hands and begins to demand a trip to the bakery with you while Luther attempts to insert himself into the plan. Despite how annoying his family can be at times, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bring a smile to see his face to see them all get along with the girl he loves.

“Trust me,” he utters carefully, his voice so uncharacteristically tender it takes the two women by surprise, “I’ll do anything to keep her around for as long as I live.”

[seraphicsentences]

HEY! i knwo your on a break but just incase your bored could you write reader sending spicy texts2 streamer!ellie while shes on like a boss level, and then after ‘raging’ at reader for making her lose, she comes back as if the chat isnt questioning the sounds coming from the other room (silly girl forgot to mute)

hi. tumblr j deleted all my edits to this. i’m rage quitting and j posting this version i banged out in the span of 15 minutes 😀 anyways.

FUCK i’m sorry i know this took fucking forever and now i’m delivering mediocrity. loved this req either way this was smf to write. hope you enjoy sweet girl ;)

me when i disappear for a month and come back only to deliver pure dog shit. 🤪🤪

“-KID JUST GOT FUCKING DESTROYED, FUCKING BITCH.”

it was a late friday night, which meant ellie was streaming in her room, and you were supposed to be studying.

this week ellie was hosting a special in celebration of hitting 10k subscribers, and was grinding away to finally defeat Resident Evil’s final boss.

you could hear the chat dinging away with message after message, no doubt blasting ellie with compliments on her play, and the occasional comment thirsting over her hands or whatnot. it was nothing new— you’d seen the countless edits of her on your own social media page, and even had a folder of your own favorites saved away on a burner account.

“let me suck your fing- WHAT?! that is a crazy thing to say,” you could hear ellie’s shocked voice. “either way, chat, i’m married…”

“where’s my ring? UP YOUR ASS. c’mon, leave me be, guys,” ellie jokingly whined, bantering with her obsessive fanbase.

you held back a smile of your own, hand pressed to your mouth as she continued to scold the chat for their outrageously filthy messages. what a dork.

“alright alright, im muting the chat. love you guys but i gotta focus now! this is serious shit and i’m low on ammo now, hah-ha,” ellie spoke to the screen, words slightly muffled through the thin wall.

in the living room papers lay strewn across the floor, couch littered with eraser shavings and crumpled post-it notes, yourself splayed atop it all.

studying was a long-forgotten task you abandoned to instead sweep lazily through your camera roll, attempting to clear up some much needed storage.

you stopped abruptly at the thumbnail of an old video, in which depicted a downright sinful image of ellie’s bared neck for you as she arched back in pleasure.

you quite literally salivated at the veins that adorned her sweat-glistened skin, naked chest that was just covered by the play button in the center, goading you to click it.

quiet sounds of ellie’s desperate moans picked up, her head coming up look just above the camera and deliver the most pathetically fucked-out look.

“ple-ease can i cum, mommy?” she whined, voice breaking with every thrust of your fingers, wet squelching in the background a sign of her neediness.

“let me hear you, baby,” you heard yourself coo through the screen, the video becoming shaky as you picked up your pace— before suddenly ending on accident right as ellie let out a strangled whimper.

you met it with one of your own, frustrated with being left on an unfinished high, the throbbing at your core impossible to ignore.

your thighs shifted against one another, wetness pooling in your underwear as you replayed ellie’s final sound in your head over and over again.

your trance was broken by the sound of a frustrated groan coming from behind ellie’s door.

“fuck, i got it this time, i got it, swear,” she cursed as the game’s recognizable ‘revive’ audio cue played.

she could just do this again next week, right?

without a second longer of thinking, you quickly screen-shotted a clear frame from the video, shooting it ellie’s way and sending a quick text to follow.

~~

ellie choked on her own spit as she clicked the blur away. cough- “fuck-“ wheeze- “shit-“ hack- “sorry, guys, j choked on my own saliva.”

what the fuck? what games were you trying to play?

you groaned, hearing the firing of guns continue on alongside ellie’s commentary.

sliding your panties aside, you spread your legs to display the mess between them, snapping a quick picture.

you shot back another text.

“just one more hit, one more one more one m- i- fuck,” you hear ellie stutter. “oh fuck, yep… and i’m dead, ‘kay, sorry guys just give me like 5 i’ll be back. gotta take care of something.”

you heard the slam of her headphones hitting the table and a screech of her chair sliding back against the hardwood floors.

the door swung open, the look in ellie’s eyes making your heart race with anticipation.

“hey els, good game?” you asked innocently from your position on the couch, legs crossed with your arm resting over the back.

“good game? yeah, great game actually,” she replies sarcastically, sauntering her way over to you. “you didn’t happen to need something, did you?” she asks, hopping onto the couch and quirking an eyebrow up.

“me? no…” you trail off as she leans in to brush a kiss across your lips.

“no?” she tucks your hair aside, before leaning in to whisper, “you mind spreading those pretty legs for me then, baby? i just want a look.”

“els,” you whine, attempting to catch her mouth in a kiss.

she avoids it, dipping down instead to rasp words against your racing pulse, “show me.”

you uncross your legs slowly, a damp patch darkening the very center of your shorts.

ellie grabs the leg closest to her, swiveling your body in one swift move to face her direction, placing that leg over the back of the couch as she runs her other hand up your opposing leg.

“fuck, els, i need you,” you say breathlessly, hips bucking into the air.

“let’s get these off,” she replies with a squeeze, tugging at your waistband. “wanna tell me what’s got you texting me like a slut in the middle of my stream? was it the video? my video?”

she dips her thumb into your leaking hole, swiping your arousal up in a messy circle over your aching clit.

“ah- shit! yes, fuck, y’sounded s-so pretty in it, els,” you moaned, nerves overly sensitive from the wait. “please,” you cried out, unsure of what exactly you were begging for, but you needed more.

“so fuckin’ needy,” ellie laughs under her breath, relishing in the loud groan that escapes your lips when she replaces her hand with her mouth, tongue flicking rhythmically against your swollen clit to draw out more of those pretty sounds.

“oh-oh, god, right there, so good- mmph,” you rock your hips up, hand scrambling to tug ellie’s mouth even closer to you, if possible.

mmhm she moans into your pussy, the vibrations making you jerk up as your legs clamp tightly around her head. ellie’s hands dash up immediately to shove them apart, pressing them wide open with an iron grip as she practically growls, “you asked for this. so fucking take it.”

two of her fingers slide easily into you with the next pull on your clit, and you’re arching up in a manner almost identical to ellie’s in the video, whining nonsensically.

“you’re dripping, baby,” ellie tuts, “just couldn’t wait for me, huh?”

she continues to pump her fingers deep into you, curling them on every outstroke to slide against the spot that makes you see stars.

“c’mon, cum all over my fingers,” she teases, whispering sweet praises between kitten licks to your sensitive clit.

with your head thrown back, you couldn’t help but moan her name like a fucking prayer as your walls started to tighten, legs trembling under her grasp as she worked you through your high.

“that’s it, soak my fucking fingers.”

~

iluvgirls_moms: THAT WAS 1000% A MOAN

elliesleftarm33: guys what the fuck is happening 😀 ellie babes, i think you forgot to mute.

ewilliamsismy_wife: did anyone else j hear ellie’s name. are the voices getting to me?

elliewsjizzfr6996: how to be ellie’s gf no glue no borax? 🥲🥲

1toesuckersslurper: NAH ITS BEEN WELL OVER 10 MIN IM OUTTA HERE

yeahhh… looks like ellie owes her subscribers a real big 10k special next week. and an apology.

[ja3yun]

Guilty as Sin | P.SH

ceo!sunghoon x assistant!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, desk sex, doggy, dom!hoon, choking, petnames (slut, good girl), slight dub con (hoon doesn't know what she's doing on the phone), age gap (reader is 22 and hoon is 27), not proof read, its not great tbh, anything else lmk! w.c: 3.8k synopsis: with your roommate gone for the evening, it is the perfect opportunity to let loose and think about a certain ceo while you fulfil your deepest desires. a/n: hi! this is ofc based on guilty as sin by taylor swift. just a heads up, the italics are her fantasy and straight text is what is happening in the real world. i tried to make it as clear as possible but sorry if its confusing near the end! this is just a little someting I wrote quickly (who would have guessed I could write a wc under 10k lmao). i hope you like it and as always feedback, comments, reblogs and likes are all appreciated.

part 2

Placing her trusted Charlotte Tilbury lipstick in her bag, your best friend and roommate of three years, Jimin, is finally ready to go out for the night. She looks glamorous from head to toe, effortlessly exuding the confidence and allure of a world-class supermodel.

Her hair cascades in loose waves, artfully swept over one shoulder, highlighting her elegant neck and perfectly styled tresses. Her tanned skin glows under the soft lighting, accentuating the contrast with her white spaghetti strap crop top, which subtly showcases her toned midriff. Her black suede shorts hug her figure, adding a touch of sophistication and edge to her ensemble. Strappy heels elongate her legs, making her look even more statuesque.

As Jimin adjusts her earrings, you can't help but admire her impeccable sense of style and grace. Her makeup is flawlessly applied, with a hint of shimmer on her eyelids and a bold, dark red lip that makes her look like she’s stepped straight out of a DAZED magazine.

In stark contrast, you are nestled comfortably on the couch in your cherry pink pyjamas, lost in the pages of "King of Pride." The soft fabric of your pyjamas provides a comforting embrace, and your hair is casually pulled back in a loose ponytail. Your face is free of makeup, showcasing your natural beauty and the relaxed ease of someone enjoying a quiet evening, just you, a glass of wine, and the much-needed company of Kai Young.

“Okay, how do I look?” Jimin turns to you, plastering on a big smile, extending her arms so you can get a full glimpse of her carefully orchestrated outfit.

Holding your place in your book with your thumb, you pretend to inspect her harshly, knowing anything less would be deemed as not caring - at least in the eyes of your best friend. “I think…you look like the prettiest girl in the room, no, the world” you compliment her earnestly.

Tutting, she rolls her eyes. “You and Jaeyun say the same thing every time,” she giggles, enjoying the compliment despite it being a secret mantra you and her boyfriend have conjured up to keep her happy. Jimin has a certain way she likes to be spoken to and if it isn’t the most dramatic, complimentary words you can muster, you might as well call her an ugly hag who cracks mirrors.

Jaeyun and you have always rated her an unequivocal one hundred out of ten.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to come?” Jimin asks for the fifth time in three hours. “Heeseung will be there, you know he has a bit of a crush on you.” She wiggles her eyebrows playfully, clearly enjoying how your face flushes at mentioning his name. Heeseung is handsome, no doubt about it, but he isn’t the man you would rush out the door for.

“I promise, I am quite happy here with my rich soon-to-be CEO and a glass of Pino,” you wave her off and open your book again, digging back into the chapter she pulled you from.To be honest, it’s not entirely a fib; you do want to stay in and enjoy a glass of wine, though your plans are slightly more elaborate than they seem—details she doesn’t need to know about.

“Well, don’t wait up. I’m planning to stay at Jaeyun’s afterwards,” she announces with a gleeful smile. Her infectious joy and the glimmer in her eyes catch the warm light from the lamp beside you, casting a gentle glow over the room.

As she gives a final twirl and heads out the door, leaving the apartment with a high-pitched goodbye, you wait to hear the faint turn of her key in the lock. Once you detect that reassuring click, signalling her definitive departure, you wedge your bookmark in the novel and place it on the side table, promising yourself that you will return to it later; you have another CEO to attend to.

Grasping your glass of crisp wine and your phone, you make your way to your bedroom. The room is softly lit, with fairy lights casting a warm, ambient glow. You place your wine on the nightstand, sitting softly on your bed as you unlock your phone.

A sigh leaves your wine-tainted lips as you open up Instagram, going straight to a certain someone’s page. The same person that has left you so needy all day that you have been counting down the minutes and seconds until you get some alone time.

Park Sunghoon. 

Your boss, Park Sunghoon, who gave you a job as his assistant straight out of Grad school after attending one of his special lectures, the one who has shown you the ropes of the Marketing world and introduced you to important contacts to help you in the future, and the one who makes it insanely difficult to concentrate in any board or business meeting because of how insanely attractive he is.

Sunghoon is a gift from the gods: tall, wealthy, extraordinarily handsome, and incredibly hard to resist. He is admirable and focused, commanding a room in a way you wish he would with you, hoping that the passion and energy he has for the business could somehow translate into a more intimate setting, with you on the receiving end. He has worked tirelessly to build his company from rags to riches, becoming the youngest, highest-grossing CEO in the country, making every Forbes 30 Under 30 list there is. You are immensely grateful for the opportunity to work as his assistant.

That is why what you are about to do feels like a betrayal. Your heart tells you this is wrong, embarking on sinful acts such as this, but it also convinces you that thoughts inside your mind aren’t anything to feel ashamed about, as long as you look and never touch.

And so far, you haven’t ever laid a finger on him, much to your disdain. There have been times when all you can think about is pouncing on him while he sits at his desk, imagining bouncing on his cock until you’re high off his cum and kisses. You envision his white shirts and black ties discarded, your lips all over his toned chest and stomach, hearing him moan your name as you make your way to suck his cock better than any of his socialite flings ever could.

If the assistant and CEO dynamic wasn’t enough to deter you from making your fantasies a reality, the class barrier would be your first hurdle. Sunghoon comes from a world of privilege and status, a realm of luxury and power. Despite your impressive academic achievements and the progress you’ve made in your career, there’s always an underlying awareness of the different worlds you inhabit. You’re 22 and an assistant just starting to work your way up and Sunghoon is a 27-year-old CEO of a multi-million dollar franchise.

You are nowhere near his level.

Yet, the allure of his presence is irresistible. His charisma and the subtle way he looks at you during meetings ignite a forbidden desire within you. The professionalism you maintain in the office is a fragile veneer, concealing the simmering tension and your hidden longing. Each day, you master the art of restraint, keeping your fantasies locked away, only to revisit them in the privacy of your room, where the boundaries of reality and imagination blur.

Scrolling through his Instagram, you hone in on one particular picture, your favourite among them all: his GQ CEO of the Year cover. Maybe it was because you were there when it was taken, seeing him switch poses, flicking his eyebrows up and smirking into the camera, his fingers gripping the edges of his desk as the photographer shouted praises intertwined with instructions. God, how you would do anything to be bent over that table and fucked to oblivion by the man.

You reach into your bedside drawer and retrieve the pretty pink dildo you ordered from Adam & Eve, the size mimicking what you imagine Sunghoon’s looks like: slim but not skinny, long and arched, with a large bell at the end. It’s so wrong to imagine what your boss’ dick looks like, never mind buying a toy specifically to fantasise about him, but you can’t bring yourself to feel guilty about it—not when you’re cumming around it and screaming his name.

Position yourself comfortably, the soft sheets bunch up around you and close your eyes. The fantasy takes over, vivid and tantalising. You picture Sunghoon, his intense gaze locked on you, his hands rough yet tender as they roam your body. The thought of his voice, low and commanding, fills your mind, heightening your arousal.

And you get lost in the fantasy as you look at the picture illuminating your screen.

Pushing down your pyjama shorts, you discard them quickly, your cunt already greedy to be filled. You rub the dildo up and down your slick folds, gathering your natural lubricant as you look at Sunghoon’s stern face on your phone screen, remembering all the times he has reprimanded you for doing something wrong. You never fully took in the severity of the situation, your mind too lost in the lower octave of his tone and how badly you wished to be punished by him.

“Bend over. Now,” he says with venom lacing his tone, the words cutting through his quiet office.

You do as he says, leaning over the desk and hiking up your skirt, eagerly anticipating your retribution. The air is thick with tension as Sunghoon’s body looms close to you, teasing you even with just his presence. Your mind races as his hands situate themselves on your hips, pulling your ass back into him, the action causing your cunt to meet his bulge. The outline of his length protrudes through his Prada slacks, making your pussy ache all over him.

Leaning his body over yours so his chest is pressed firmly against your back, he ghosts his lips over your earlobe. “How many times do I need to tell you to do your job right?” His question is rhetorical, knowing that if you speak, you’ll get an even worse punishment.

His warm breath on your ear sends shivers down your spine, and you feel your core tighten in anticipation. His grip on your hips tightens as he slowly grinds against you, the friction of his bulge against your soaked panties making you whimper. The feeling of his hard cock pressing into you, even through the fabric is intoxicating, and you can’t help but arch your back, pushing yourself closer to him.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and taunting. “So desperate for it. Such a needy little slut.”

Before you can respond, he straightens up, his hands leaving your hips, his warm grip now replaced with the cold lingering of want. Without warning, he brings his hand down on your ass with a sharp smack. The sensation is electric, a mix of pain and pleasure that makes you gasp, the sting of the spank sends a jolt of arousal straight to your core, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

“Did you like that?” he asks, his tone mocking. He doesn’t wait for an answer as his hand comes down again, harder this time, the sound of the impact echoing in the large office. The force makes you tremble, your skin tingling with the aftershock, your cunt leaking down your leg in sheer joy and agony.

“Yes, sir,” you manage to gasp, the words escaping your lips before you can stop them.

“Good girl,” he purrs, and you feel his hand rub soothing circles over the spot he just spanked, the contrast of his gentle touch against the sting making your body crave more. He is giving you the perfect mixture of punishment and rest, somehow making you crave a spanking more than ever before despite your ass whispering pleas of ‘no more’

Another sharp smack lands on your other cheek, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your throat. The pain mingles with pleasure, your pussy throbbing with need. Each hit is harder than the last, and you can feel the heat rising in your skin, the stinging sensation turning into a delicious ache.

“Do you want more?” he asks, his voice dripping with seduction. “Do you want me to punish you properly?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply breathlessly, your body trembling with anticipation. These two words seem to be the only thing that can fall from your lips other than strangled moans and mewls of desire.

He spanks you again, the force making you lurch forward, your hands gripping the edge of the desk for support, the hit vibrating all the way to your throbbing bud. The sharp sting reverberates through your body, intensifying the ache between your legs. You feel yourself getting wetter, your juices dripping down your thighs, hitting the Versace shoes that Sunghoon bought you for a work event.

“Look at you,” he taunts, his voice low and commanding. “So needy, so desperate. You can’t even control yourself, can you?”

“No, sir,” you admit, your voice a whimper. “I need you.”

His hand comes down on your ass again, harder than before, and you cry out, the mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming your senses. You can feel the slickness between your thighs increasing, naturally preparing yourself for what is to come.

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs, his hand rubbing soothingly over your reddened skin. “Taking your punishment so well.”

He leans over you again, his lips brushing against your ear. “But we’re not done yet,” he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I’m going to make sure you never forget this.”

With that, he draws back and gives another harsh slap, the impact of which causes you to squeal. The cadence of his spanking quickens, each slap sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your skin tingles with each hit, leading to a climax.

“Please, sir,” you beg, your voice trembling. “Please, I need to cum.”

He pauses, his hand resting on your ass. “You need to cum?” he repeats, his tone amused. “Just by my hand?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, your body trembling with need. “Please, I’ve been a good girl, let me cum.”

He chuckles softly, his hand sliding between your thighs to feel your wetness. “You’re soaked,” he remarks, his fingers teasing your folds. “Such a needy little slut.”

His words send a jolt of arousal through you, and you whimper as he teases your entrance with his fingers. “Don’t you want my cock?” he asks, his voice low and seductive. “Don’t you want me to fuck you?” His words are condescending, knowing that with a few more slaps you’ll be clenching around nothing, yet, he can’t stand to see you cum and it not be around his delicious cock.

“Yes, sir,” you moan, your body aching for his touch, for his dick to be stuffed deep inside you. To be honest, you want anything he will give you. “Please, fuck me.”

Unbuckling his belt and letting his black trousers and boxers fall to his ankles, he positions himself behind you, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, and you push back against him, desperate to feel him inside you.

“Patience,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips. “I want to take my time with you.”

Finally wet enough to snuggly enter you, the dildo sinks into your cunt as you imagine him sinking in slowly, the wave of pleasure as you stretch around the faux shaft enough to send your head back into a frenzy.

He pushes in slowly, the stretch of his cock filling you inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming, the tip of his cock sliding past all of your sensitive spots, stimulating your nerves just the way you need him to. You feel every inch of him, the fullness making your body shiver with desire.

“God, you’re tight,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips harder. “You feel so fucking good.”

He begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. The friction of his cock against your inner walls is intoxicating, and you can’t help but moan his name, the sound mingling with the rhythm of his movements.

“Sunghoon,” you gasp, your back contorting to fit him deeper, head thrown back as he bucks his hips at a steady, agonising pace. “Please, fuck me harder.”

Scoffing, he slows down, giving you the opposite of what you are needily begging for. “You think you deserve to make demands?” Sunghoon asks, his hands roaming along your back, fingers untucking your shirt and crawling up to your bare back. You’re lucky he let the slip of his name out of your mouth rather than his preferred nickname.

In truth, you don’t, constantly fucking up in your job to the point that it has come to this, but by god will you never get a single thing right if it means receiving this pleasure. Yet, right now, you need to yield, appeasing his every word.

“I don’t deserve it, Sir,” you admit, trying to fuck onto his cock faster. “But please, I’ll be so good if you do.”

Laughing, his large hand snakes around your neck and pulls you back roughly, bringing your head to rest on his shoulder as he fucks into you agonisingly slow yet sharp. His warm breath washes over your cheek as he smirks menacingly. “You’re already being a good girl, so what else will you do?”

“I’ll do my job properly, I’ll make sure I never disappoint you.” It’s not even the slightest bit embarrassing as you try your hardest to fuck yourself onto his cock, squeezing for extra friction as you bargain with him. All you need right now is to be pounded mercilessly by the man you crave the most.

Satisfied with your response, he finally obliges, his thrusts becoming faster and more intense, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. The pleasure builds with each movement, your body responding eagerly to his touch. You feel the tension coiling in your core, the edge of climax drawing closer with every thrust.

“Do you want to cum on your boss’ cock?” he asks mockingly, knowing your immediate answer. 

You struggle to give him an answer as his grip on your throat tightens, his digits pressing into your soft neck and cutting off your voicebox, yet somehow, you manage to squeak out a tiny ‘yes’, followed by a throat-ripping moan as he finds your sweet spot.

Suddenly, your phone rings as you move your dildo rapidly in and out of your squelching cunt, the toy now covered in your juices as both you and it work hard to reach that sweet release. Heaving heavily, you see the caller ID ring and your eyes widen, the name ‘Park Sunghoon’ flashing across your screen.

Idiotically, you answer, scared of the reprimand if you don’t, your boss never liking when you answer after more than three rings. Before you get the chance to speak, he is already blaring down the phone at you.

“Y/N, I need you to come in early tomorrow. There is a big meeting with Park Jongseong that we must prepare for,” he begins, tone borderline scolding but not so angry. “Someone forgot to put it in my diary.”

The subtle dig at you only heightens your feelings, the actual scolding you’re receiving meshing in beautifully with your fantasies. Your hand never stops the dildo from thrusting harshly into you, his actual voice much colder and deeper than the one you have in your mind, your body aching for each Sunghoon in its own way.

You stifle a moan but it still leaks through into the speaker, your climax imminent as your wrist quickens and legs spread, the muscles of your thighs and arms tightening with your actions.

“Cum for me, baby” he commands, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you cum around my cock.”

“Are you sick? Don’t come in tomorrow if you are, I have to fly to Japan on Thursday.” 

Each CEO blends into one another as you come undone, dropping the phone on your stomach and arching your back off the bed.

The words push you over the edge, and you cry out as the orgasm crashes over you, “Yes, Sir!” your body trembling with the force of it. You can feel your pussy clenching around his cock, the sensation driving him deeper into you. His thrusts become erratic, and with a final, deep thrust, he spills into you, filling you with his release. The hot spurts of his cum coat your battered walls so deliciously, soothing the rawness from the relentless beating.

The room is filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the aftermath of your climax leaving you both spent and satisfied. Sunghoon pulls out slowly, his hands gentle as they caress your skin. He helps you stand, his touch tender as he pulls you into his arms.

“You did so well,” he murmurs, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Such a good girl.”

You pant heavily, forgetting for a moment exactly where you are and what you have done, the blurred line of delusion and reality becoming a haze as your eyes fight their way open, your high overcoming your body like a tidal wave

Clearing his throat with a deliberate rasp, Sunghoon's piercing gaze cuts through the haze clouding your senses, snapping you back to the stark reality of your surroundings. The weight of your actions descends upon you like a sudden storm, leaving you breathless and disoriented.

"Tomorrow at 6am, my office," he declares with a steely edge, each word measured and exact as he speaks with a smirk. The earlier rush of pleasure now dissipates into a cold knot of apprehension in your stomach. His voice carries a promise of consequences, leaving no doubt in your mind that he knows exactly what you’ve been doing.

"Do not keep me waiting," he continues, his tone low and ominous, "or you'll be punished.”

He hangs up abruptly, the chilling bleep of the disconnected call makes you swallow, realising that you have completely fucked up and have painted yourself guilty as sin.

perm taglist: @immortalvee @snoopypupp @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21 @diorsyun @heexzbae @pockettwinzz @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @emi-en @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @iikeustar @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @jiminie-08 @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @ivesti @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan

[cottagecore-moss-king]

Not so Artificial Intelligence Part 2

When Bruce finally managed to get the time to look at the file Danny had added to the bat computer, it was almost patrol, and the rest of the family was filling in to get ready to head out. Even Jason had shown up, but that was probably just because he was bribed by Alfred with leftovers from dinner. Bruce couldn’t really blame him, Alfred’s food was the best in the world, but he does wish that he would show up more often just to hang out with him and his siblings.

Bruce sat in the bat-chair, graciously labeled with a sticker from a recent prank by Stephanie. She had gone around and labeled everything in the bat cave, but added the bat suffix in front. It had taken forever to find most of them, but he allowed some of them to remain. 

Finding the new folder was easy, it was labeled FROM DANNY, and left in the middle of the screen. Clicking it open and sipping his fresh coffee he glanced at the first document. The folder was full of notes, pictures and videos, but all of the previews were white, green, or black. 

Bruce started to read through the document, and chocked on his coffee at the contents.

Hello Batman and family, I hope this reached you before they do. I didn’t bring this up just incase you knew and were supportive, but how you act and how contaminated you are I will assume you do not. There is a Government Law that declares any being that has come into contact with enough or creates ectoplasm as non-sentient and non-sapient, but at the same time malicious {Abbreviated the AEA}. We are to be turned over to the GIW to be experiment upon and exterminated. This is literal torture, and I have gathered as much evidence as me and my friends could without being caught. I beg you, please be careful if you decide to take these people down. From what is on here, I think that Lazarus Water is a form of corrupted ectoplasm. Also, anyone who has died and come back to life no matter what are counted, and anyone with godly blood within them. Please Please, save us. My parents are the leading “scientists” which is bullshit, and they’ve already tied me down once. I can’t go through that again. Please, Amity and the Infinite Realms need help. If you don’t help us, I’m scared we may be forced to go to war, and I don’t think you can win against the godly dead. 

Please, I’m begging you - Danny Fenton {King Phantom}

“You good B?” Nightwing asked strolling over casually. He didn’t know how to answer, how was he supposed to say ‘Oh yeah, just found out that the government calls us non-sentient\sapient, and we are to be experimented and slaughtered. Also if we don’t stop them our worlds probably going to fall and we’re all going to die a painful death.’ That’s a fun conversation to have.

Clearing his throat he finally spoke up. 

“Red Robin, Oracle, I need you to help me sort through these, Nightwing, get the Justice league ready for an emergency meeting, call the Dark too. Look at this.”

“Are we sure it’s real though? It could be a prank,” muttered Oracle, though even she doubted her words.

“Even so, the threat is there and we should certainly look through this, and that means the League needs to know.”

Batman carefully mourned the loss of a peaceful evening, and his coffee, he was going to need to leave that at the cave, he had an image to keep. 

Nightwing wasn’t smiling anymore, Robin looked concerned, and Red Hood was openly gawking at the screen.

“I’ve called the emergency meeting, you three sort these files out, I’m calling up the JLD now. Guess we should warn Constantine to bring a couple extra bottles huh.” His joke fell flat, but Bruce wonders if he should bring some alcohol and coffee with him, image be dammed. 

“Wait a second, godly blood included? They fuckn’ shittin’ on Diana!”

“That’s what your concerned about Todd? Not that the we both fall under these parameters, along with Father and the rest of the collection? I will go fetch Thomas from his chambers, he will need to suit up to follow us to the watchtower.”

“Good idea Damian, tell him to hurry up. Everyone else, in the Zeta Tube, Alfred, you can stay here if you want.” Bruce gathered his laptop and moved the file over, copying and sending it to Tims laptop as well. 

“Thank you master Bruce, I will wait for the younger masters then I will be up shortly. Run along now.” Alfred excused with a bow, but even his face was shadowed in worry and thinly veiled anger. 

“See you in a bit Alf.” Dick replied, inputting directions to the watchtower in and doing a quick headcount. 

With a flash, the dark gloomy cave was replaced by fluorescent lights and the steel infrastructure of the watchtower. Hopping off the platform another flash of light appeared, and Aquaman stepped out. The group filled out as Aquaman politely greeted them. Making their way to the nearest meeting room, Batman and Red Robin began to set things up as the gathered heroes began to sit. 

“Hey Nightwing, what’s with the meeting, you never call for an emergency meeting, Blüd rarely has big threats.” Flash mentioned as he zoomed into the meeting room, last as always, and began to dig into his waffle plate. Where he got waffles from, Bruce didn’t want to know, they weren’t serving waffles in the cafeteria today, or yesterday from leftovers. 

“This isn’t just Blüdhaven, it’s all of the united States.” He worried, checking over one final time to make sure everyone was here. A collection of the main heroes from the Justice League, they’d need to figure out who counted as ecto-contaminated before throwing people around, and Constantine, Zatanna, and Deadman were gathered to represent Justice League Dark. At least he assumed Deadman was there, as a chair was pulled out and labeled for him. At least they wouldn’t have to race to find him, they could tell him just to stay up in the watchtower if things got bad. Finally, Robin and Signal rushed in, signal tiredly rubbing his eyes and his helmet in Agent A’s hands. 

“As some of you know, a person got stuck in the batcomputer a couple months ago. And was only recently released.” Murmurs and imputed questions rose around, and Nightwing promptly ignored them. 

“They left behind a file for us, and we were looking through it and discovered many hidden crimes from the US government. They have taken and labeled a whole species and group of people as non-sentient and non-sapient, and have been experimenting and committing genocide on them.” Again, a chorus of questions and yelling went up, and Nightwing had to take a moment to pause. A glance at Martian Manhunter reviled a stone cold face, quietly waiting for more information. 

“Oh god… what is this?” 

[moonbakeries]

HOW I MANIFESTED MY DREAM LIFE IN A WEEK

BACKSTORY

So I decided to fully immerse myself in "persisting" and fulfilling when I listened to Lonely one by LOVA because I spent around an hour just sobbing because I related to the song.

the week that I started was around Easter break and I was under the most amount of stress I have ever been through and I could see it the effects on my body

I was breaking out with huge pimples even though I was on accutane, I was averaging 2 hours of sleep a day every week for 2 weeks, my period had going on for 2 weeks, I was losing weight rapidly (was under 35kg:( ) my anxiety was at an all time high because I got harassed again(sexual assault victim). I used to have severe depression and have had multiple failed attempts of suicide. AND YES I WAS DESPERATE AS FUCK TO MANIFEST THIS DREAM LIFE OF MINE WHICH IS NO LONGER A DREAM

in the mornings I would be super anxious but I learned how to deal with it and get myself into the state super easily

HOW I DID IT

I GOT OFF TUMBLR: you know how many times I doubted myself only to realise I was doing everything right

I also read and listened to Edward Art MULTIPLE TIMES

Within a week of fulfilling and persisting, I had manifested my dream life. just like that. I woke up one morning and everything I had ever desired was right there. and it was super easy.

all I did was affirm(to remind not to get), visualise and feel. I would only do these methods if I wanted to, if I didn't I wouldn't.

Within a few days, the anxiety lessened so much and it started to feel natural. 

this was a question on Bambi's " how I manifested with hard circumstances " post which has now been sadly deleted but I remember copying this because it gave me hope at the time I copied it (don't hope, just know)

"But isn’t ranting “not letting the old story die out?” you and i could rant until our minds are cleared, just as long as you flip my thoughts, you are on the right track.  I rant for 2% of my 24 hour days. The other 98% i was persisting in the fact that creation was done. as “time” went on, it began to feel more natural and I felt more at ease. I held onto that feeling because I knew this was when I would get my desires and I did."

and that was when I knew I shouldn't give up and I just kept going even when I wanted myself to just get on tumblr and overconsume 

I actually nearly decided to see what I was "doing wrong". I clicked on one of Aphrodite's posts but I didn't read it. I just asked myself if I would look through it if I had my desires and I wouldn't and since I already have all of my desires I didn't.

Whenever the anxiety was too strong and I could feel the frustration and desperation building up, I would just rant and it helped me calm down and get back into the state super easily.

why?

because STATES MANIFEST THOUGHTS DON'T

which is why you can rant.

you know how many FUCKING DOUBTS I had, but I didn't even give them attention coz they didn't deserve any and how many times I wanted to just give up, but I was like NO, STFU, I DON'T WANNA LIVE MISERABLY ANYMORE and now I'm not :)

The affirmations I used:

It is done

I am living my dream life

I am in my desired reality

The 3d will conform as long as i keep persisting

Imagination is the real reality

I also daydreamed, but since imagination is the real reality they were real

WHAT I MANIFESTED

- desired appearance

- name change

- family change

- skills (drivers licence etc)

- apartment and furniture

- wealth

- a bunch of random materialistic things

- desired friend group (I absolutely love them!)

- desired uni and always getting good grades

- outfits from pinterest

and a bunch of other things

- I also ended up manifesting an sp without even knowing and he's pretty much I everything I scripted him to be(scripted a year ago because I didn't really care for a relationship) but this happened before I manifested my dream life

after a year and half of being on loablr I finally manifested my dream life. and you can too

(there was probably over 100 things I wanted but I realised what I want is not much, nothing ever is when you know about loa and yes, i was super desperate)

you don't need anymore information other than @angelsinluv states post and fulfillment challenge

you shouldn't ever be stressed or worried while manifesting whatever you want, because you wouldn't stress if you had it

TAKE YOUR TIME

YOU GOT THIS

[luveline]

I absolutely adore your Spencer x Hotch!sister fics! <3 Can we possibly see the dynamics if it were switched? A Hotch x Spencer's Older Sister fic, pretty please? But no worries if not! Thank you, hope you have a good day!

Was Spencer’s sister always this shy? Hotch can’t remember (and he can’t stop himself from flirting, just a little). fem, 1.4k

“Reid?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer grins at his phone. 

“Reid.” Hotch clears his throat. “Spencer.” 

Spencer puts his phone down on the desk, but he doesn’t seem to have heard Hotch either way. When he realises Hotch is standing by his desk, he perks up. “Hotch, can I ask a favour?” 

Hotch had been about to ask Spencer a favour, but it’s fine. “Sure.” 

“Uh, my sister is supposed to meet me for lunch in half an hour, but she doesn’t really like restaurants and I’m– me. Do you think she could come to the office?” he asks. 

“Sure, Reid. That’s fine, she just needs a visitor card.” 

Hotch can’t remember the last time he saw you. Probably when Reid first started tailing Gideon a few years ago, when you’d made the trip from Vegas to Quantico to see how he was settling. It was a brief introduction, and, while you may possess a few more practical graces than your brother, you were far shyer at the time. You didn’t mind shaking Hotch’s hand, but you struggled to maintain eye contact after. 

You don’t look much like your brother for reasons he’s never cared to ask, as Hotch has never placed much value on how family comes about. He doubts Spencer does either. But you stay in Vegas with your mother, and Spencer sees you three times a year. Birthdays and Christmas. And today, apparently. 

“What’s the occasion?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer smiles again. “I think she’s gonna move here, with me.” 

“Yeah?” Hotch isn’t the prying boss, but he’s a nosy friend. “Everything okay?” 

“Things are great, I mean.” Spencer has the expression of someone deciding what they can and can’t say. Eventually his eyes clear, and Hotch feels satisfied at the realisation that trust has settled tightly between them. “When I decided my mom needed help, Y/N, she hated that, and maybe she resented me, but– I used to worry she hated me, but she doesn’t.” 

“I don’t think she could,” Hotch says easily. 

Spencer nods. Whether he agrees is up for debate, though. “If t’s finally hit her that mom’s sick forever, so she’s feeling out her options.” 

“That must be a hard thing to realise.” 

“Yeah. But things really are great, she’s here now, her stuff is coming tomorrow, and– and maybe she’ll stay for a while.” 

Hotch likes excitement on Reid (when it doesn’t impede their most important work, that is). Truthfully, there’s so much to worry about that Hotch can’t admit to worrying about Reid as much in recent years, and yet he’s relieved to hear that there will be more Reid’s in a hundred mile radius. 

“I’m glad,” Hotch says honestly. “She’s more than welcome here. If she can cope with the photographs in the conference room, the round table is all yours.” 

Hotch retreats to his office and forgets about it for a while, submerged in his own lunch and a certain seven year old’s birthday planning. Jack wants a clown, and a cake with Cars, and he really wants a bounce house. Which is great, but Jack decided he wanted the bounce house last night, and his party is at the end of the week. Hotch makes a bunch of phone calls and finally gets to take a victory lap forty five minutes later. 

He steps out of his office, enticed by the sound of laughter. Spencer laughs like he’s surprised ninety percent of the time, and yours is no different. It’s clear to the listening ear who taught Spencer how to laugh. 

“I love it, I don’t ever want to hear a bad word about it,” you say through peels of it, a breathy, smiley warmth to you as a chair creaks from within the conference room, “and I mean that. Please don’t tell me any facts.” 

“I know so many you’d like to hear!” 

“I don’t doubt it, but please, as a favour? You can tell me about everything else.” 

“Processed cheeses–”

Hotch turns the corner as you put down a sandwich. “Okay, fine. I’m done, are you happy?” you ask, your smile fading into a more polite one as you meet Hotch’s eyes. 

“I didn’t get to say anything.” 

“Some things are better left unsaid,” Hotch says. He doesn’t interrupt, only says it into the quiet, and he doesn’t bother with fanfare. It’s just to alert Spencer of his presence. “Y/N,” Hotch adds, “hello. It’s good to see you.” 

He’s alarmed by your reaction —your eyes widen in your seat, hands hidden beneath your thighs, and your lips part ever so slightly. “Agent Hotchner,” you say softly, almost weakly. 

He’s not that intimidating, is he?

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. 

“You’re not interrupting, I was just telling her about the dangers of processed cheese. They’re so irregularly salty that the sodium has to be marked as a cause of heart disease on FDA approved packaging for the service industry,” Spencer says. 

“I’m sure some every now and then won’t hurt,” Hotch says, attempting to offer you a friendly smile. “Spencer tells me you’re staying here for a while, that’s great. How are you liking the weather? It must be a change from Nevada?” 

You look peculiarly hot. “It’s different,” you agree.

Voices ring from the bullpen. 

Spencer stands up. You stand with him, but Spencer says, “Sorry, is that Morgan? He said I have to go and get him when you’re here.” 

“Spencer–”

Spencer’s already leaving. “He threatened me, actually,” he’s saying, more to himself than either of you as he departs. 

You wring your hands. 

Hotch worries his brows are giving him away. You’re acting strangely, but maybe he’s too much. He is a special agent, sometimes the other parents at Jack’s school get antsy around him like they’re worried he can tell they haven’t paid their last parking fine. Maybe you’ve a secret crime you’ve committed. 

He watches you more closely, to your flustering. 

No crime, Hotch thinks, but a secret. Even from Spencer. 

“So how’s your day, Agent Hotchner?” you ask softly. 

It’s actually quite sweet, the way you say it. Your nerves are cute. 

“Busy.” The expected answer. “I’ve been trying to plan a birthday party between paperwork.” 

“For Jack?” 

He smiles with more gentleness. “Yes, for Jack.” 

“He was, um, a newborn, when we last met. Just a couple of weeks old, I think. How old is he turning now?” 

“Seven.” 

You breathe out. “Wow. Seven years.” 

Seven years, and your crush on him remains. That’s what he’d forgotten —when you visited Spencer at the time, even Gideon had mentioned your frazzled, almost dizzy disposition whenever Hotch was around. And Gideon tended to focus narrowly on work at work, so Hotch had known he wasn’t making it up. 

At the time it had been cute, but awkward too, and infeasible. He’d been dedicatedly married and in love with his Haley. And if he weren’t, your age gap might’ve been a little non-functioning, Hotch well into his thirties, and you a fresh twenty-five. 

Today you’re older, and more beautiful. Something about you has shifted, a blossoming into your features, and Hotch actually has the ability to notice it now. 

Your Spencer’s sister, he remembers suddenly. Probably not a woman he should flirt with, some subtle compliment lost on his tongue. 

“You look the same,” you say. 

He laughs. “That’s kind and untrue. I’m getting old.” 

The look you give him then is a shock and a pit, long the long forgotten twist of butterflies. “No,” you say, looking down at your hands, “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“What would you say?” he asks. 

You’re saved —poor girl, he doesn’t know what he was thinking, you can barely hold your head up— as Morgan bounds up the stairs and into the conference room. He gathers you for a hug as though he knows you better than he does, and Hotch loses sight of your face. 

Unknown to him and unseen, Morgan’s greeting is white noise. Why does he talk like that? you think to yourself desperately. He’s asking you all those questions with this weight to them, and he’s so calm! I’m going back to Vegas. 

“How long are you staying?” Morgan asks. 

You laugh weakly and accidentally catch Hotch’s eye, who smiles at you nicely. 

“Oh, I don’t know. A couple of weeks, maybe.” 

Longer, if you have reason. 

[guardianspirits13]

Ok. I’m still trying to gather my thoughts and settle my hyperfixation after episode 3 of the Percy Jackson show, but one of my conclusions is that this is one of very few adaptations that actually understands the term ‘adaptation’ and furthermore what makes one successful.

On a fundamental level, understanding and respecting the source material is a must. You need to not just know the bullet points of the story, but you need to know the ‘why’s’- why does this story need to be heard, why do people like it, why does it stand out from the others in it’s genre, etc.

Second, you need to deconstruct the source material and piece it back together in a way that makes sense for the new format. Copy-pasting almost never works, since there will inevitably be discrepancies between the readers’ imagination and the adaptation that can distract from immersion.

Third, you need to provide something new. Why does this story deserve to be told in a different format? What can this add to the original themes of a story? What can we change to make the message come across more on screen? Will this dialogue really be as funny when it’s said out loud?

We’ve seen a lot of terrible “adaptations” of animation and books and musicals into movies/tv shows, and I think even among the better ones there is a dissonance between the desire to stay faithful to the source and the desire to make a good adaptation, with whatever changes that may necessitate.

I think while we’ve watched the casting of this series, the hints here and there, and final the premiere with bated breath, they’ve been playing the long game. They cast Walker as Percy before he was in the Adam Project. Many people expressed…unsavory…feelings when Leah was cast as Annabeth, but those of us that trusted the team behind this project- including the author himself- did our best to welcome her and were repaid tenfold with her performance in this episode particularly.

Most of the scenes in this episode were not at all how I imagined them in the book, but I adored it. They took what they were given and expanded on it. They created a mini-arc for the trio learning to trust each other. They gave Medusa a labyrinthine lair. Annabeth is a 12 year old walking into a convenience store for the first time in 6+ years with $200 in her pocket, of course she’s gonna buy as much as she can carry.

The love and care and artistry that went into this single episode brings me so much joy and gives me so much hope. Like I was already excited for a faithful adaptation, but seeing these characters come to life on screen, once you see their chemistry with each other and how they speak and push and pull at each other’s emotions, it has never been more clear to me the amount of care and foresight that went into this show.

Rick said that these kids are the characters he created and for like 2 years I’ve trusted that that was true, but today it was proven beyond the shadow of a doubt.

I am just…in awe.

[jlheon]

𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐆𝐎 ୨୧ 𝐋𝐇𝐒

(𝓹airing) ── lhs x fmr ꣑୧ 𝓮xes to lovers ? ; idol au, angst, & fluff (𝔀ordcount) one thousand 𝓹eng's note. abrupt ending & not proofread oops 𝓫ookshelf

𝓼ynopsis. the idol life was what tore you and heeseung a part, but now you reside under the same label

lee heeseung is everywhere you go.

both of you are idols under companies under hybe. it’s not a rare occurrence to see your ex-boyfriend walking down the same halls, music shows award shows, flights, and every place imaginable.

it’s not unbeatable of course.

you are used to it, while it seems lee heeseung has erased you out of his memory.

acting normal, cordial, when you bump each each other in the elevator.

it’s like you never existed, like you never were a chapter in his life, but it’s not like you can do anything about it now.

THAT’S JUST THE WAY THINGS GO.

you dated heeseung for most of your teenage years.

as corny as it was, you thought he was the one and spend your whole lives together.

that you would end up marrying your first boyfriend.

you both shared the same dream, to become an idol. thus leading to the two of you auditioning for the same companies and picking one since you both got in.

heeseung and you practiced together in secret.

though he got ahead first, from nearly making it into txt and being picked for iland, heeseung was ready to debut.

on the other hand, you still had to wait a couple of years before hybe would consider debuting a girl group.

so you both agreed to break up in the midst of heeseung leaving to film the survival show.

it hurt, it did, but you spent all the remaining weeks together. a sort of final goodbye dragged out as the both of you didn’t want to let go of your relationship just yet.

it was a weird limbo stage.

the handful of friends who knew of your relationship were informed you two had parted ways while you two stayed glued to the hip in secret.

the morning of your last day with heeseung, you cried in his bathroom while he was still asleep.

you tried not to wake him and let him see you in such a state but he heard you. sliding down on his floor to take you into his arms as you cried.

neither of you talked during your last day together. some whispers of one-word replies every couple of hours but most of the time was solely about being close to the other. basking in each other's touch and presence for one final time.

you knew everything would be different after this survival show.

lee heeseung had everything, he was perfect, he was debut-ready. there was not a single doubt that he wouldn’t win the show and become a beloved idol.

even if there was a sliver of a chance he’d lose, his public debut even as a trainee would garner a fanbase waiting for his debut at another time.

when heeseung inevitably placed fifth overall you were watching in your room. a bittersweet feeling washing over you when you remember this means that it was the official end of you and heeseung. your chapter in his life coming to a close.

the last time heeseung contacts you was two days after the finale of iland aired.

a simple, text wishing you debut soon, that he is going to cut contact due to his dating ban, and needing to focus on his career.

you want to hate heeseung.

to yell at him over the phone and scream in his face about how he can’t just leave you behind like that. say that he can’t just forget about you after everything you’ve been through together.

but the other part of you wants to hope. to beg for him back. whether it meant in the future when you hopefully make your debut and he’s in the clear to date or secretly dating now. 

alas, you congratulate him and say only time will tell.

THERE’S SO MUCH LEFT TO SAY, I GUESS I’M JUST THE BIGGER GUY.

now three years past you’ve debuted and are thriving as one of hybe’s newest girl groups.

gaining in popularity with the latest release of your group's first full-length studio album.

which comes with the hectic schedules of filming music shows, variety shows, collaborations tiktoks, and more.

unfortunately or fortunately, enhypen just so happened to have a comeback at the same time. even promoting at the same music show on the same day. 

when your manager told you that you were set to make a video with an enhypen member you felt sick. there was a one in seven chance it would be heeseung.

though you had no say whether or not you did it.

nobody knew of you and heeseung’s past and it was planned to stay that way.

as you walked up to the shooting spot the air in your lungs slowly disappeared. nearly choking when you saw heeseung standing there watching your group's dance as he went over it in his head.

“hey,” heeseung whispered shyly when you quietly stood next to him.

you offer him a bow, as he was now your senior, not the boy you spent years loving.

it’s too quiet when you finish filming the tiktok challenge. rewatching it with heeseung after taking one final shot and bowing goodbye.

though after you notice the camera for both of your groups' behinds stop rolling and your manager doesn’t whisk you away just yet.

the amount of staff slowly disappears and you are about to follow after when you feel a grip on your wrist.

tugging you back towards himself, heeseung wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close.

“heeseung?” you question, words coming out airy.

“____,” he whispers, nuzzling his head into your hair, “i missed you.”

“you’re going to get us in trouble,” you mutter, though truthfully you just want to melt into his embrace.

“it’s okay,” heeseung’s grip loosens, only to spin you around in his hold. he looks down at your confused face, “i asked for some privacy with you.”

“why?” you whisper, his mere touch after years of yearning making goosebumps arise on your skin.

“i miss you a lot,” his arm rests around your waist. the other cradles your head and pushes it to rest on his chest, “please, i’m finally able to try us again.”

“i’m still on dating ban,” you frown, finally surrendering and hugging your ex-boyfriend back.

“i talked to your manager,” heeseung holds you tightly, “i took care of everything. please give me a chance again.”

it might be three years later, but for you, lee heeseung can wait thousands of years.

AND I DON’T MIND THAT THAT’S THE WAY THINGS GO.

[evilminji]

Okay, as I have mentioned, I'm Ace AF. And you know that plot line in kids cartoons where the alien or foreign Warrior Royalty just sort of *violently kicks down door in full armor* "We Will Marry."? I?? Always said:

"Sure!" (#OhThankFUCK!)

Like what do you mean "No"? The powerful, attractive, monarch that is very into you has travel a great distance JUST to marry you! Now you don't have to date! They seem nice! You can skip the whole "trying to find a life partner" awkwardness.

So, Sudden New Fiancee(tm) how we doing this? Blended customs? Two weddings? One in your peoples traditions, one in mine? Should we invite your family? Tell me more about yourself.

God, this solves just... SO MUCH for me? No having to make small talk. No "do they like me?" Or "am I reading the signs here right?" No failed dates! It's positively ideal! AND they announced why they were qualified, in a VERY impressive show of power and prestige, when they arrived! Good lineage AND accomplished!! Very nice.

Don't get why everyone's so upset.

Sure the "we leave at once" thing that usually follows would have to be discussed, but that's what you DO as spouses. Really guys, it's like you think I'm incapable of common sense here.

And you know who probably agrees with me? Damian Wayne.

Hell is other people, INDEED. You expect him to just... randomly go up to people and try Courting them? What do you MEAN it's "creepy" to compile portfolios on eligible individuals of worthy bloodlines? How ELSE is he supposed to know if they are worth attempting to talk too?!

There are BILLIONS of humans on this gods forsaken rock, Richard! Is he supposed to just GUESS? Gamble and hope for LUCK? This is a MARRIAGE not a "best friends club"!

Then? Danny showes up.

Gotham heard her baby talking. Heard her KING being harassed by clearly plotting Observants and power hungry ghosts MANY times his age. Connected some dots. Formed themselves a new OTP.

Danny says "Fuck It". Worst he can say is No. According to Gotham, he is neither Shy not the meek obedient sort. Is in fact, VERY stabby. So if he's not interested he'll no doubt be BRUTALLY clear about that.

So? Danny gets Fright Knight. Go get him a horse. Someone fetch Cujo some armor. He's been told the guy like weapons and animals.

TIME TO BE IMPRESSIVE.

He goes FULL Regalia. Armor of solid night sky. Cape of frost and stardust. Crown like crack in reality itself, through which the cosmos gleam and shift. He gets a horse from the far frozen. They're wooly and carnivorous. Gets THE most impressive sword he can find to wear.

It's gonna be a gift, since he doesn't need it.

He does the whole "rend the skies open" thing. Fan fair and knights. Every title he's ever been given, no matter how embarrassing he find them in reality. And announces his intentions. Declares that ONLY Damian Wayne, aka. Robin, is WORTHY to Marry Him. And (in the traditional Ghost proposal of "either accept or tell me to fuck off" /w violence) Demands Damian accept his offer of Marriage.

Right there.

IN THE WATCHTOWER.

In front of EVERYBODY. And yes, ESPECIALLY the Bats. Who are making glitching, vaguely threatening DEMONIC NOISES. Because? You... you THREATEN the BABY? Death. Ten thousand years DEATH.

People are :O ing and backing away from the visible heatwave of unadulterated FURY being put off by Batman. Danny is nano-second from every bone his ANCESTORS had being reduced to a fine paste.

Then? Damian consider him... considers the sword being thrust in his direction, still held aloft in a steady and armored hand... contemplates those titles for a second...

And goes: "Acceptable. Very well, but I have demands."

N..... Nani the FUCK? Says local Bat-Dad. No??? You are NOT GETTING MARRIED.

Try to stop him. He very obviously IS, according to Damian, the man brought him a kick ass sword and has a giant green dog. Is the king of an ENTIRE REALITY. Yes, he realizes he probably COULD do better... but frankly? This one's cute. But if it upset you so... extended engagement. There. Happy?

NO! Because the JLA Dark are LOSING THEIR SHIT. Damian is still UNDERAGE. We don't even know how OLD this being is! NO MARRIAGE.

Damian is unimpressed. A whole six months? That he's likely already LIVED thanks to various timeloops, temporal shenanigans, and reality warping bits of fuckery? You're reaching.

Just? Marriage Meet Cute.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe

[lucyandthepen]

salted caramel | lmh ( m )

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

read the first part here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today is no exception.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fucking impossible!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh…” you say smartly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that mean?”

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

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

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

“Meaning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s happening to me next time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I’ll teach you next time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gotta study all the same.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bingo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“If… who’s right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d take it if you were with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Just promise me.”

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

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

On the third time, Mark pretty much gives up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would if I could.”

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

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

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

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

“So come to class and write it yourself!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you get probation for, then?”

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

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

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

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

“You doing that too?”

“Shut — please, would you hurry?”

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

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

“Nothing. You’re lucky.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why are you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this even about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No kidding.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s on your mind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does that have to do with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop doing that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A mouth made for you to kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you not want to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At least give me a full minute.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s… still a no for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to hear it anyway.”

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

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

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

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

“Mark, what—”

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

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

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

“What’s your passcode?”

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

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

“What’s funny?”

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

“To what?” He sounds bemused.

“The view of me you have now.”

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

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

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

“With my life.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Hyuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m doing it right now.”

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

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

“Mark, I…. I’ve been— s-since—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His cock fucking me in my stomach.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I already am.”