#he’s so exhausted and it’s easier this way

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 13

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: angst, tension

The morning sun spilled through the sheer curtains, my head was still heavy from last night, and my body feeling sheer exhaustion of what had happened. I had barely slept, replaying the scene at the restaurant over and over in my mind. The embarrassment, the sting of Matt’s words, the way I had to walk away while holding back tears.

A soft knock at my door made me wake that bit more. "Hey, you awake?" I hear Nick’s voice from through the door. 

I remembered I locked it once Matt left last night so I pulled myself from my bed and unlocked the door letting Nick to come in. I turned and walked back to my bed, sitting up against the headboard, pulling the covers around me. Nick closed the door behind him before standing at the end of the bed. "Alright, spill. What the hell happened last night? You left, and then Matt stormed in looking like he just saw a ghost."

I exhaled, rubbing my temples before looking at him. "Your mom asked Nate if he was seeing anyone, and he said no, which was fine, right? But Matt decided to make it seem like that was some kind of rejection for me, like I was meant to be upset about it. Then, out of nowhere, he brings up to your mom and dad that Nate and I went on a ‘date’, which you know yourself wasn’t even a date, so then Nate tried to clarify that we were just friends, but Matt just kept pushing it. Then he said that I was a quick fuck and then friend zoned. Right in front of your parents." I swallowed, feeling the embarrassment all over again. 

Nick’s eyes widened slightly, but his expression darkened. "What the fuck?"

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Yeah and I’m so embarrassed if your parents heard that last part because first of all, I had just met them, and second of all, it’s just not even true. It made me look bad, it made Nate uncomfortable, and Matt acted like he had some right to embarrass me like that."

Nick sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No I get why you’re upset like he was way out of line. But listen, when Chris and I came back in, our parents said you were lovely and that they hoped you felt better soon. I’m telling you they didn’t hear that part."

I let out a slow breath of relief. "Really?"

"Really" Nick nodded. "They just thought you weren’t feeling well and needed to leave early."

I sank back into my pillows, finally feeling like I could breathe a little easier. "Good. Because I swear, I was ready to dig a hole and disappear forever."

Nick laughed. "Nah, no disappearing allowed. But are you gonna talk to Matt about it?"

I frowned, staring at the ceiling for a moment. "We did last night kinda, but I’m still so angry. And the worst part is, I don’t even know why he acted like that. It was like he wanted to embarrass me."

Nick shrugged. "Matt’s an idiot. He says dumb shit, but he also knows when he’s messed up. I guarantee you, he feels like shit about it right now."

"Good" I muttered, still unwilling to entertain the idea of forgiving him just yet.

Nick sighed again but didn’t push it further. "Alright, well, the four of us are going out with my parents for the day. You coming?"

I shook my head. "I think I’m just gonna stay back here today, I just want things to die down."

"Thats cool." He stood up, stretching. "Try not to overthink it too much, alright?"

I gave a half smile. "Easier said than done."

As Nick left the room, I rolled onto my side, staring out the window at the pool below. I knew I wouldn’t be able to just brush this off, but at least, for now, I could breathe a little easier knowing that Nick’s parents didn’t hear Matt’s words. Still, the anger remained, simmering just beneath the surface. Eventually, I decided I needed some air, some sun, some quiet, and a break from all the tension.

I slipped out of bed and grabbed my swimsuit, opting for a tiny bikini that I knew would be perfect for lounging by the pool. The straps sat snug against my skin, the warm morning air already filtering through the open balcony doors as I pulled my hair up out of my face. After tossing on a loose cover up, I slid into my sliders and grabbed a towel before heading downstairs.

As I reached the foyer, the others were gathered, chatting and getting ready to head out for the day. The energy in the room was light, filled with laughter and the occasional clatter of sunglasses being thrown into bags. As soon as they spotted me, they greeted me, well everyone except Matt, who didn’t even glance in my direction.

Chris was the first to speak. “You coming with us?” His tone was casual, but his eyes scanned my face like he was checking in.

I shook my head, adjusting my towel over my arm. “Nah, I think I’m going to take it easy today. Just chill by the pool and relax.”

Nate nodded approvingly. “Honestly? Probably the smarter move.”

Chris shot me a small smile. “Enjoy the sun. We’ll be back later.”

I returned the smile, forcing the tension from last night out of my mind. “You guys have fun.”

With that, they all filed out the front door, their voices fading as they disappeared down the steps. The villa was suddenly silent, the only sound being the faint rustling of palm trees outside.

I exhaled slowly before grabbing an ice tea from the fridge and making my way out to the pool, letting the warm sun wrap around me as I laid my towel down on one of the lounge chairs. Finally, peace and quiet.

I stretched out on the lounge chair, letting the sun soak into my skin as I sipped on the cold drink. I had left the villa door open, wanting to hear when everyone got back, but after a while, another sound caught my attention. 

A knock.

Frowning, I sat up, adjusting my bikini top before grabbing my cover up and slipping it over my hips. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and the guys wouldn’t have knocked, they had keys.

As I rushed barefoot across the cold tile floor, I hesitated for a second before pulling the door open. 

A mailman stood there, holding a large box. He barely glanced up before handing it over. “Delivery for Fresh Love.”

I furrowed my brows but took the package, feeling the weight of it in my arms. “Oh, thanks.”

With a nod, he turned and walked back down the driveway. I shut the door with my foot and carried the box to the kitchen counter, setting it down with a small thud.  I smirked, realizing this must be the personalized samples Chris had mentioned, the ones he ordered for all of us.  I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick picture of the box before opening up my messages with Chris.

Me: Personalised samples just got delivered.

A few seconds later, the typing bubbles appeared.

Chris: Sick! You check ‘em out yet?

I glanced at the box, debating if I should wait for him or just open it now.

Me: Not yet. Was gonna let you do the honours.

Chris: Okay cool. We can do a shoot with them at sunset later.

I bring the box up to Chris’ room and set it on the bed so he can see everything when we get back in. If we’re doing a shoot I want to look extra radiant and glowy, and that won’t happen from standing inside the villa. I grabbed one of the body oils in my room before making my way back out to the pool. I poured a little into my palm, rubbing it over my legs as I stretched back out on the lounge chair.

Matt’s POV

We were halfway through the guided tour when Chris suddenly checked his phone and said, “Oh, the personalized samples came in. Y/n just texted me.”

Hearing her name wasn’t helpful. Not when I hadn’t been able to get her off my mind since last night, and god how she looked in that bikini earlier didn't help. I kept my eyes straight ahead, pretending I didn’t care, but my mom didn’t let it slide. “Oh, Y/n is such a lovely girl” she said with a warm smile, then turned to me. “Is she feeling better now, sweetheart?”

Before I could even begin to answer, Nick cut in smoothly. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just needed a bit of sleep.” His tone was light, brushing off the question like it wasn’t worth pressing. He knew me well enough to know that I didn’t want to talk about it, especially not here, not in front of everyone.

I kept my mouth shut and just nodded in agreement, though the truth was, I felt far from fine. Guilt sat heavy in my chest, chipping away at me. Last night, I had let my emotions get the best of me. I let jealousy, because let’s be honest, that’s exactly what it was, take control, and I lashed out in the worst way possible. I had said something cruel, something I couldn’t take back. And knowing Y/n, she wasn’t the type to just let it roll off her shoulders. She put up walls, and I had given her every reason to keep me on the other side of them.

The more I thought about it, the worse it got. I had no right to be mad at her, no right to act like what she did or didn’t do with Nate, or anyone else for that matter, was any of my business. But that hadn’t stopped me from taking a low blow, from making her feel small in front of people who barely even knew her. If she had done that to me, I’d be furious. So what did that say about me?

I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair as I barely registered the tour guide’s voice. My mind was somewhere else entirely.

I had to make this right.

I knew I had a way to make it up to her, it was something I should've done ages ago. And now, I could only hope it wasn’t too late for her to forgive me.

Y/n’s POV

I was sitting outside on the patio, a plate of food in my lap as I watched the sun dip below the horizon. The sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange, the kind of sunset that made everything feel a little quieter, a little more peaceful. It was one of those moments I wished I could freeze in time, just me, the sunset, and the distant sound of waves hitting onto the shore.

But then, the front door swung open, breaking the stillness.

The familiar sounds of shuffling feet and tired voices filled the villa as the guys returned. I set my plate aside and stood up, making my way inside to greet them.

“Hey” I said, leaning against the kitchen counter as they walked in.

They all looked exhausted, Chris, Nate, Matt, and Nick, their faces slightly sunburnt, their hair tousled from the slight breeze and even though they didn’t say much at first, their body language said it all.

Chris let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair as he took his cap off. “Long day,” he muttered. “We were out in the sun for way too long, and I think it’s catching up to everyone.”

Nate groaned in agreement, tossing his sunglasses onto the counter. “I need, like, ten hours of sleep.”

Matt didn’t say much, just nodded, his jaw tight. He looked at me for half a second before glancing away, like he was trying to avoid something, most likely me. I ignored the sting in my chest and forced a small smile.

“Yeah, we’re all wiped” Nick added, stretching his arms above his head. “Think we’ll just stay in tonight, order some takeout, crash early.”

“That’s fine with me” I said, realizing I was more drained than I thought. Between being in the sun all day and everything that happened last night, I could use a quiet night too. “I left that box in your room” I say turning to Chris.

“Cool I’ll have a look now, we can take pictures tomorrow evening instead, when everyones a bit more awake”

And with that, Chris, Nate, and Matt didn’t waste any time disappearing into their rooms, clearly eager to knock out for a bit.

Nick lingered behind, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna shower first, but after that, I’ll come to your room? We can just chill for a bit, a movie maybe?.”

I nodded. “Sounds good.”

I walk up to my room, kicking the door shut behind me as I switch on the TV. The smart TV mounted on the wall was a lifesaver, especially on nights like this when there wasn’t much going on. I sink onto the bed, remote in hand, sifting through Netflix, too see if theres anything both Nick and I would like. The knock on the door wasn’t enough to pull my attention from the screen since I assume it’s Nick, I don’t even think twice before calling out, “Come in.”

But it’s not Nick.

It’s Matt.

He stands there in the doorway, looking uncertain, a silver metallic gift bag dangling from his fingers. Looking like the same one I spotted in his room next to my ‘Thank You’ card. For a moment, neither of us speak. We just stare at each other, the weight of unspoken words thick in the space between us.

My tone is blunt when I finally ask, “Are you alright?”

Matt doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts the bag slightly, as if offering it to me. His expression is unreadable, something between nervousness and determination.

“What is it?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Just look in it” he says quietly.

I hesitate for a second before reaching out, taking the metallic bag from his grasp. Peeling back the layers of tissue paper inside, my breath catches in my throat.

It’s my locket.

The delicate chain pools in my palm, the pendant glinting from the sunset shining in my balcony window. My fingers tighten around it as I snap my gaze back up to Matt, my heart pounding.

“Where did you get this?” I demand, my voice barely above a whisper.

a/n : most of this is a bit of a filler soz

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[daryltwdixon]

Joel Miller x Reader Just Coffee II

part two to this fic

Summary: Joel picks you up after a long day, taking you somewhere small and familiar, where conversation flows as easily as the wine. As the night winds down and Joel insists on driving you home, neither of you are ready to say goodbye quite yet.

warnings: some plot mostly smut 18+ MDNI

notes: this fic takes place in fantasy land where pinv doesn't end up in pregnancy ok thank you have a nice day. wrap it up in real life ok? im obsessed with this pre-outbreak Joel. I feel like I read & edited this til my eyes were bleeding, please lmk if you find mistakes

The evening rush had just died down when Joel walked through the door of the coffee shop again that day, his presence filling the small space. It felt easier, more relaxed now that he’d gotten used to coming around more. 

You glanced up from wiping down the counters, already feeling the exhaustion from a long shift settling into your bones.

“I thought we were meeting later?” you asked, arching a brow as you tossed the rag over your shoulder.

Joel leaned his hip against the counter, arms crossed, his hazel eyes flicking over you—messy apron, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly frizzed from the long day.

“Figured I’d pick you up,” he said, ever casual. “Walk you out.”

You let out a small groan, rubbing your hands over your face. “But I smell like coffee and milk and—” you sniffed your sleeve dramatically, “—probably cleaning supplies. Real cute first date material.”

Joel smirked, one hand rubbing along his jaw. “Well, I smell like sweat and sawdust, so maybe it’ll cancel out.”

You snorted. “If you say so,”

He shrugged. “Guess we’ll just have to suffer through it together.”

That made you smile, warmth creeping up your neck despite yourself.

“Don’t worry,” he added, his voice dipping a little softer. “Second date, I’ll take you somewhere fancy. But tonight, I got somewhere I think you’ll like,”

You swallowed, your heart giving a little unexpected flutter. A second date. Meaning he had plans on seeing you way more than just for one night. And damn did you like the sound of that.

“Fine,” you sighed, pretending to be more put out than you actually were as you untied your apron. “But if I smell like an espresso machine all night, that’s on you,.”

Joel just chuckled, stepping back to let you close up.

You expected him to take you to some hole-in-the-wall diner or maybe just grab a quick bite somewhere. But instead, he walked with you down the quieter streets of the small downtown, until he stopped next to a small, tucked-away Italian restaurant with a hand-painted sign and a cozy glow spilling from the windows.

It wasn’t flashy, wasn’t trying too hard—it was the kind of place people probably came to for years, passing it down like a family secret.

“You ever been here?” he asked as he held the door open.

You shook your head. “Didn’t even know it existed.”

The second you stepped inside, warmth wrapped around you—the scent of garlic and tomatoes simmering low, fresh bread baking, the low hum of conversation filling the intimate space. String lights hung loosely across the ceiling, casting a soft golden glow over the rustic wooden tables. A candle flickered at every one, pooling small halos of light between plates of pasta and glasses of deep red wine.

“You eat here a lot?” you asked him as he stepped in behind you.

Joel shook his head. “Did some work on the building a few years back. Owners fed me a few times.” He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Keep comin’ back when I can.”

As if on cue, an older man in a white apron emerged from the kitchen, his eyes lighting up as soon as he saw Joel. He walked straight up to him, clapping him on the shoulder with a familiarity that made your brows lift.

“Miller!” the man greeted, grinning wide. He rattled something off in rapid, affectionate Italian, gesturing around the restaurant. Joel huffed out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Good to see you too, Sal,” Joel said.

Sal patted his shoulder again, his thick fingers pressing into the fabric of Joel’s shirt like he was testing its strength. "Still workin’ with that stronzo fratellino, eh?"

Joel chuckled. “You bet.”

Sal scoffed, shaking his head. “Tsk. He was never as good with his hands as you.” He turned to you with a wink. “My best man here, best muratore in town! Fixed this place up when the siding was fallin’ off my dannata walls! Quick, clean—like an artista, eh?”

Sal laughed when Joel only shook his head, a red flush creeping up his face as he looked at you apologetically.

"Sit, sit! Please, eat whatever you like! I get you wine—" Sal finally let go of Joel, waving over the hostess with an urgency like he was hosting royalty.

“You’re quite the celebrity, Joel,” you teased, glancing up at him as the two of you followed behind to your table.

Joel sighed, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I promise I didn’t bring you here for that—the food’s just real good,”

“Uh-huh,” you smirked, amused, as the hostess stopped at a cozy table by the window.

Sal came back over with a bottle of wine, winking at you before heading back toward the kitchen. “Enjoy dinner, eh?”

You watched him go, then turned back to Joel, arching a brow. “So, you’re with your hands, huh?” remembering what the man said a few minutes ago.

Joel picked up the menu and hid his face. “Don’t start.”

You bit your lip, amused, and looked down at your own menu.

The dinner itself was nice.

The kind of nice that snuck up on you, unfolding in a way that felt natural, easy, like you’d done this a dozen times before.

Joel was quiet, soft spoken, but asked a lot of questions. Not just the polite kind, but ones with weight, ones that made you pause before answering. He wanted to know how you got into coffee—if it was something you always loved, or if it just happened. What made you decide to open your own shop instead of working somewhere else. If you liked being your own boss, if it was worth the stress.

And he listened, really listened, nodding as you spoke, his hazel eyes steady on you. Every now and then, he’d ask something that made you stop and think, something no one had ever really asked before.

“You ever picture yourself doin’ anything else?” he asked at one point, twirling the stem of his wine glass between two fingers.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I guess I never thought about it. The shop is mine. My whole world’s kind of wrapped up in it.”

Joel hummed, watching you carefully. “But it makes you happy.” It wasn’t quite a question, but more an observation. 

“Yeah, yeah it does.” you answered with a smile, then tilted your head. “What about you? Do you like what you do?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, thinking. “Don’t know if anyone likes workin’,” he admitted, then nodded a thanks to the waiter as he set down your meals. “But can’t think of anythin’ else I’d be doin’. Ain’t the type to be sittin’ in a stuffy cubicle and all.”

You smirked, picking up your fork. “Oh, I don’t know… I think you’d look real nice in a suit and tie.”

Joel let out a quiet huff, shaking his head as he cut into his food. “Yeah? And what, you see me sittin’ at some fancy desk, makin’ phone calls all day?”

“I dunno,” you teased, shrugging. “Something about you in a tie just works for me.”

Joel shot you a look, amused, before taking a sip of his drink. “Maybe I’ll show up to your shop one day in one, just to surprise ya,”

“Oh, that’ll be the day,” you giggle. 

The rest of dinner went by too quickly for your liking.

Joel told you about the different jobs he’d done over the years—how he liked working with his hands, how there was something satisfying about building something solid, something that would last. There was a quiet kind of pride in his voice, nothing boastful, just a man who knew the value of hard work, of making something real.

In return, you traded stories about your most memorable customers—the regulars, the weird orders like the ones who asked for 50 different flavors in one iced coffee. Joel countered with tales of difficult clients, stubborn contractors, and one particularly bad job where a homeowner swore they knew more about construction than he did.

And when Joel chuckled at a particularly funny story, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, you began to realize—God, you liked seeing him like this. Relaxed. Comfortable. Like maybe, just maybe, he liked being here with you, too.

And before you knew it, the waiter was coming by with the check, and the night was ending far sooner than you wanted.

The evening air was warm as you stepped out of the restaurant, your cheeks still flushed from the wine and the lingering glow of good company. Sal had insisted on treating you both with large helpings of his homemade tiramisu—claiming you couldn’t leave until you were properly fed.

Joel had muttered something about not needing dessert, but you’d watched him polish off his plate without complaint.

Outside, the street was quiet, the warm light of the restaurant spilling out onto the sidewalk as the door swung shut behind you.

“That man is dangerous,” you groaned, placing a hand over your stomach. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much in my life.”

Joel huffed out a small laugh, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Could’ve said no.”

You scoffed. “And risk offending him? No way. I’d be blacklisted for life.”

Joel smirked, shaking his head before glancing around. “Where’s your car?”

You blinked up at him. “Oh, I walked.”

Joel’s brows pulled together. “You walk to work?”

“I live close by,” you shrugged.

Joel exhaled sharply, already looking like he was making up his mind, “Let me drive you—”

“Oh, no, it’s really okay—”

“I insist,” he said, and before you could argue, his hand found the small of your back.

Heat shot through you, electric despite how warm and gentle his palm was. You exhaled, smiling, and knew there was no point in arguing. Not when he was looking at you like that—stern, certain in a caring sort of way. So you didn’t fight it.

He walked beside you, his stride slow, deliberate. The night air was perfect with summer warmth and a cooling breeze, the quiet hum of the city stretching out around you, but you couldn't help the way that everything else had narrowed down to him—the sound of his boots against the pavement, the occasional brush of his hand near yours, close enough to feel the warmth but not quite touching.

He made a little conversation, but he was quieter now, more thoughtful. He asked about your family, where they were, if they ever came to visit. If you had much of a life outside of the shop or if it kept you too busy.

You answered easily, finding that with him, it was just...easy.

Joel didn’t fill the silence just to talk—he let it linger, let you breathe, let it settle into something comfortable, something that felt like it had always been there. 

By the time you reached his truck, you realized just how much you liked that about him. And how much you liked him.

Joel reached for the handle, about to open the door for you, ever the gentleman.

But then he hesitated. His fingers curled around the handle, but he didn’t pull. Instead, he exhaled, slow and measured, his jaw ticking as he turned to look at you.

His gaze flickered���your eyes, your mouth, then back again—just in time for you to feel it, that slow-building heat simmering between you.

“Screw it,” he muttered.

And then his hands were on you.

One at your waist, the other coming up to cradle your jaw, his rough thumb sweeping over your cheek as he pulled you into him, his lips crashing into yours with the kind of weight that sent your heart slamming into your ribs.

The breath hitched in your throat, and for a second—just a second—you forgot how to do anything but feel.

It was slow but heavy and intentional, like he’d spent all night trying to fight the urge and finally gave in. He kissed like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. It was steady, claiming, not the kind of frantic desperation you’d expect from someone who couldn’t hold back.

No, Joel took his damn time.

His lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss, pulling you further into him. His hand slipped from your jaw, fingers threading into your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted as he kissed you again, his tongue venturing past your lips, sliding along yours in a way that made you turn molten.

You gasped softly, pressing closer, your hands gripping the front of his shirt, needing something to hold onto because God—he was overwhelming in the best way.

Joel groaned low in his throat, like he’d finally let himself indulge, like this was something he’d been starving for. His grip on your waist tightened, guiding you until your back hit the truck, his body bracketing yours against the cool metal, broad and solid and so damn warm.

“You gonna open the door or what?” you teased breathlessly, between kisses, your lips brushing against his.

Joel huffed, his nose dragging along your cheek. “You in some kinda hurry?” Joel’s lips ghosted along your jaw, trailing down the column of your throat, pressing slow, lingering kisses against your skin, each one making you melt further into him.

You let out a soft, breathy sigh, and Joel chuckled low against your neck, his breath hot. “Didn’t answer my question.”

You barely remembered what he asked. Your brain was fogged, drowning in the way he felt against you, the way his body crowded yours against the truck, solid and warm.

“No,” you managed, voice breathless. “No hurry.”

“Good to hear,” Joel muttered.

And then, in one fluid motion, he scooted you over, swung the door open, and hooked an arm around your waist—lifting you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. A startled gasp left your lips as he set you down onto the worn leather seat of his truck before you could even process the shift.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before Joel climbed in after you, the door shutting with a heavy thunk, sealing you both inside. The space between you was nonexistent—all heat, all him, his presence pressing into you, crowding you in the best way.

You thanked whatever lucky stars you had that it was dark, that Joel’s truck had tinted windows, because none of it would’ve stopped you anyway. Not when you were already leaning back into him, your fingers trailing up, brushing over the scruff along his jaw.

Joel’s hand slid up your thigh, fingers curling, anchoring himself as he kissed you deeper, tilting his head to taste you fully. His other hand found your jaw, rough fingertips dragging over your skin, tilting your face toward him like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.

You sighed against his mouth, pressing closer, nails scratching lightly against the denim of his jeans. He groaned, low and deep, swallowing the sound. Then, suddenly, his grip shifted, strong hands wrapping around your waist as he pulled you forward until you were straddling his lap. 

A breath hitched in your throat, hands bracing against his broad chest as your knees pressed into the seat on either side of him. The new position had you flush against him, heat radiating between you, the space inside the truck growing impossibly small.

Joel’s eyes flickered up to yours, searching, giving you a chance to stop this before it went any further.

But you didn’t want to stop. So you kissed him again. Deeper. Hungrier.

Joel groaned, his hands sliding up your thighs, rough palms trailing over denim now, gripping just enough to make your breath catch. His mouth was hot, insistent, kissing you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your lips, the taste of you, the way you sighed his name when he tilted his head to deepen it.

“I don’t usually—” you began, panting as you broke from the kiss for just a moment, lips still brushing his. “I don’t usually do this on a first date, just so you know.”

“Me neither,” Joel muttered quickly, voice rough, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers laced through your hair, tangling at the base of your neck as he pulled you closer, like the space between you was too much to bear.

His other hand trailed down, squeezing at your waist before gripping the waistband of your jeans. His fingers dipped just under the fabric, teasing, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Think you can get these off for me, sweetheart?” he rasped, his voice thick with want.

Your breath caught, “H-here?”

Joel huffed, smirking just a little, his thumb brushing back and forth over the waistband, slow and teasing. “Ain’t nobody around. Just us.” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, steady, certain. “Unless you really wanna stop.”

He was giving you another chance to pull away, to tell him no, and you knew if you said the word, he’d back off immediately.

But hell no. You shook your head, breathless. “No. No stopping.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, approval flashing in his darkened gaze. “That’s my girl.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the button of your jeans, fumbling slightly. Joel exhaled a soft chuckle, amused but patient, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss to your throat as his hands ran up and down your thighs, steadying you.

You finally got the zipper down, lifting your hips slightly as you started pushing them down, but Joel’s hands took over, firm and unhurried, hooking his fingers under the waistband and dragging them down your legs in one slow, smooth motion.

The second the denim was gone, his hands ran back up your bare thighs, gripping at the flesh of your ass, his gaze locked on you like he needed to commit this to memory.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel muttered, his voice wrecked, pupils blown wide as he devoured you with his eyes. “Knew you had a great ass—couldn’t stop starin’ at it this mornin’.”

A flush spread through your body at his words, pooling low in your belly, but you could barely focus, too wrapped up in him, in the way he felt beneath you. Despite his claim earlier that he smelled like sweat and sawdust, you thought he smelled addicting—pure masculine heat, sweat and musk, with the faintest hint of whatever cologne or deodorant still clung to his skin. It was him, and it made you dizzy.

Heat curled low in your belly, especially when he tugged you down against him, pressing you right where you needed him, letting you feel all of him—hard, thick, pressing into the thin barrier of your panties.

A quiet moan slipped from your lips, and that sound did something to him.

“Oh, you make the sweetest little noises, baby,” he groaned, his grip tightening as he rocked you against him, his hands guiding your hips so you could feel just how much he wanted you.

His lips found your neck again, kissing, nipping, working their way lower, and you whimpered when they reached your shoulder, his fingers toying with the hem of your top.

“Think I wanna see more of you,” Joel muttered, voice thick and rough like gravel. His hands dragged up your sides, thumbs skimming the curve of your ribs. “Lift your arms for me.”

And you did—because you wanted more too. Needed it.

Joel peeled your top off slowly, taking his time, hissing when your bare skin was revealed beneath the dim light filtering through the truck’s fogged windows. His hands ghosted over you, calloused fingertips brushing along your collarbone, down to the tops of your breasts, his eyes dark as they devoured you.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he muttered, mostly to himself, his rough fingers slipping beneath the band of your bra, teasing. You squirmed in his lap, eager, desperate for something, arching into his touch.

Joel huffed a quiet chuckle, his lips curling as his fingers came up to pull the cups of your bra down and began palming your breasts in both hands, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

“That feel good, baby?” he rasped, watching your reaction as his thumbs brushed over your nipples, circling, teasing.

“Y-yeah,” you breathed, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Joel smirked, then pinched lightly, rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers. You moaned, head tipping back, arching into his hands.

“That’s it,” he murmured, leaning in, dragging his lips down the exposed column of your throat, over your collarbone. Then he licked along the swell of your breast before finally closing his mouth over your nipple, sucking slow and deep.

You gasped, gripping his hair, your hips instinctively grinding down against him. The friction sent a rush of heat pooling low in your belly, the hard line of him pressing right against you.

Joel groaned against your skin, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before switching to the other, giving it the same slow, torturous attention.

“Joel,” you whimpered, rolling your hips against him again, the need in you growing unbearable. 

He hummed, his hands sliding down, gripping your ass, grinding you down harder against him, “You’re so needy, baby,” he muttered, his lips ghosting along your jaw. “Bet you’re already drippin’ for me, huh?”

You nodded frantically, panting, whimpering, grinding against him, desperate for more.

Joel’s hand slipped between you, his fingers slipping to cup your covered mound, feeling the dampness that had seeped through the fabric. He sucked in air through his teeth as his fingers pressed firmly, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, baby. This all for me?” he teased, “Huh?”

You gasped when his fingers would press and sometimes skim along your bare skin, running along the lace, teasing, pressing just enough to make your thighs shake.

“Please,” you breathed, writhing against him, desperate for more.

Joel hummed approvingly, slipping beneath the fabric, his fingers spreading through your slick folds, teasing your clit before dipping lower, barely pushing inside.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice rough. “Takin’ my fingers so easy.”

You moaned, body shuddering as he continued to rub gentle circles around your clit before finally pushing two fingers inside, stretching you just enough to make your breath catch in your lungs. Joel groaned, watching you, drinking in every sound, every gasp, his fingers working slow and deep, curling just right to have your whole body shaking.

Your hips rocked into his hand, grinding against the heel of his palm, pleasure building fast, coiling tight in your belly. He smirked, his thumb pressing against your clit, rubbing tight, slow circles that had your legs trembling around his hips.

“You gonna come for me, already, sweetheart?” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Come on my fingers before I fuck you?”

You gasped, “Yes, yes–” your fingers digging into his shoulders, your body locking up as the coil snapped in your belly, pleasure ripping through you in waves as you cried out, coming hard against his hand.

Joel groaned, his head falling forward to kiss your sweaty skin, feeling the way you pulsed around his fingers, his cock twitching hard beneath you.

“That’s my girl,” Joel muttered, his voice wrecked as he slowly pulled his fingers from you, slick and shining in the dim light. You stopped breathing as he brought them to his mouth, his eyes locked on yours, watching your reaction as he licked them clean, his tongue dragging slow over his fingers. “So fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, like he was ruined by the taste of you.

Once he licked his fingers clean, he brought them to your lips and rasped, “Open,”

A wicked smile crossed your lips as you parted them obediently, letting him slide his fingers onto your tongue. Joel groaned low in his throat, watching you intently, his pupils blown wide as your lips closed around his digits.

You didn’t just take them—you sucked, hollowing your cheeks, your tongue teasing along his fingertips, slow and deliberate.

Joel’s smirk fell as his whole body tensed beneath you, muscles going taut as his free hand dug into your hip, hard, like he was barely hanging on. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, and suddenly, his slick fingers left your mouth, his hand moving to your throat—firm but careful—pulling you down to him, kissing you again. It was hungry, needy, open and wet, all tongue and heat, like he had to taste you again, like the last few minutes of teasing had finally broken something in him.

You moaned against his mouth, shifting in his lap, feeling the thick, solid length of him pressing right where you needed it most. Joel hissed at the friction, his fingers tightening on your waist.  Then his hands moved, gripping your hips, holding you there as he worked open his belt, the soft clink of metal making your stomach tighten. The zipper came next, slow and deliberate, the sound loud in the thick silence between you. You watched as he freed himself, his thick cock pressing hot and heavy against your inner thigh.

Joel’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark and dangerous, his jaw tight with restraint, “Still want this baby?”

“Yes,” you breathed, kissing his face, his neck, nipping and biting at his throat as his hands worked himself. You lifted yourself up to give him better access to you. “Want you so badly, Joel.”

He grunted at the sound of his name on your lips, so low and wrecked and needy for him. Reaching down, he hooked his fingers beneath the soaked fabric of your panties, dragging them to the side. His other hand gripped his cock, dragging the tip through your slick pussy, teasing, pressing just enough to make you whimper.

“Joel—”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with restraint, positioning himself right at your entrance. “Go on. Take what you need.”

You didn’t hesitate, sinking down onto him slowly, gasping as he stretched you, filling you inch by inch until he was seated deep inside you.

Joel’s head fell back against the headrest, his hands flying to your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh there.

“Jesus fuck,” he gritted out, his thighs tensing beneath you as he held himself still. “You’re—fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,"

You moaned, feeling every inch of him pulsing inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way. You barely had a chance to catch your breath before he rocked his hips up into you, and your head snapped up at the force, making you look up just in time to see a familiar face out the back window.

“Oh shit—Tommy.”

Joel’s entire body went rigid, “Please do not tell me you just—“

“No—Tommy,” you hissed, ducking down as far as you could, but it only added more friction, making Joel’s cock pulse inside you.

He grunted sharply, his fingers digging in harder to steady you, his jaw clenched like he was trying so hard not to react to the way you just squeezed around him.

Then, a truck door slammed shut.

“Hey, ain’t this Joel’s?” Tommy’s voice rang out, just outside, “Thought he left hours ago,”

Joel’s eyes snapped open, wild and alert. In an instant, his arm shot out, slamming the lock button with a sharp click.

Your heart raced, your hands scrambling to tug your shirt back over your head as Joel shifted beneath you, one hand still firm on your waist, the other reaching toward the door controls.

“Is he in there?” Tommy muttered to himself. The sound of boots crunching against gravel got closer.

Joel rolled down the window—but only a few inches, just enough for Tommy to see his face and nothing else.

Joel’s expression was thunderous. “The fuck do you want?”

Tommy’s brows raised. “Damn, hello to you too,” he muttered, squinting between the tinted glass. “I been callin’ you. You never got back to the landscaper—”

Tommy blinked. His brows lifted slightly.

“Well, hell,” he said, smirking. “That the coffee shop girl?”

You, still catching your breath, gave a little nod, “Hey Tommy,”

Tommy grinned. “Joel never shuts up about your coffee.”

Joel groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

Tommy’s smirk widened, shifting his weight onto one hip, arms crossed over his chest. “Well, you guys comin’ or what? Bout to head down to Jameson’s Bar down the street with some of the guys.”

The good thing was—from Tommy’s point of view—it probably just looked like a hot and heavy makeout session in the truck. He couldn’t see that Joel was, in fact, inside you. Your eyes flicked up to Joel’s face, still locked in frustration, his jaw clenched, his breathing ragged. And just because you could, just because you had to—you rocked your hips just a little. Joel choked on his own breath, his whole body seizing, his hands flying to your waist in warning. His eyes darted to you in a look that might kill you if you didn’t feel the betraying feeling of his cock twitch inside your cunt.

You bit your lip, eyes flicking down at Joel, voice sweet as honey, “Was just about to.”

Joel’s eyes flashed, his fingers pinching your ass hard in retaliation. You yelped, causing your body to twist up and into him, and he had to swallow his groan.

Then, suddenly, Tommy’s expression shifted.

His eyes flicked between the both of you—Joel looking wrecked, breath uneven, a little too flushed for the cool evening breeze, and you, doing your best to keep your face neutral while subtly adjusting yourself in his lap.

Tommy’s head tilted. His mouth parted.

And then, slowly, a knowing smirk crept onto his face.

“No way,” he breathed, realization dawning. “You are not—”

“Tommy—” Joel ground out, voice low and warning.

But it was too late.

Tommy burst out laughing, doubling over, hands on his knees.

Joel exhaled sharply, hands twitching on your waist, his patience hanging by a thread. “Swear to God—”

You, on the other hand, were trying very, very hard to keep a straight face.

Tommy finally straightened up, wiping at his eyes, still grinning like an idiot. “Man, you gotta be kidding me.”

“Get outta here,” Joel said between his teeth.

Tommy held his hands up in mock surrender, taking a step back from the truck. “Hey, hey, I ain’t judgin’—I just never thought I’d see the day my big brother was gettin’ it on in a goddamn parking lot like a damn teenager.”

Joel groaned, glaring daggers at him. “You done?”

Tommy smirked, but started backing toward his truck. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.” He shot you a wink. “You take care now, darlin’.”

You smiled sweetly. “I will, Tommy.”

Joel huffed sharply, clearly done with this entire situation.

You kept an eye on Tommy as he finally slid into his truck, still shaking his head as he fired up the engine. Before he pulled away, he called out—

“Don’t do nothin’ I wouldn’t do!”

Joel slammed the window up before you could reply.

The second Tommy’s taillights disappeared down the road, Joel let out a long, deep breath, his grip on your waist still iron-tight.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You giggled, biting your lip, still settled in his lap, still pulsing around him.

Joel’s gaze snapped to you.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, voice thick, dark.

You blinked at him innocently, then, just to test him, you rolled your hips slowly, feeling his cock move deep inside you again. Both of you moaned at the feeling.

“You’re playin’ with fire, sweetheart,” he warned, his voice low, rough.

“Mmm but you love it,” you smiled.

Joel growled, his patience finally snapping. His hands tightened, yanking you down against him, grinding your soaked heat over him slow and deep.

You gasped, your fingers flying to his shoulders, nails digging in as he began to set a rhythm, his hips rocking up to meet yours, filling you over and over again.

“Fuckin' hell, girl,” Joel gritted out as your forehead dropped against his, “You love this, don’t you?”

You could barely breathe, pleasure pooling low and hot, winding tight in your belly, “Y-yes, feels s–s–so good,” you gasped, rolling your hips faster, chasing the high that had been aching inside you since the moment he first touched you.

Joel’s lips crashed into yours, swallowing the moan that tore from your throat as his hips snapped up into you, deep and slow at first, like he wanted you to feel every inch of him. You whimpered, fingers fisting in the shoulders of his shirt, clinging to him as the pleasure started to coil, winding tighter and tighter with every drag of his cock inside you.

“Oh god,” you gasped, barely able to breathe, barely able to think beyond the feel of him filling you, stretching you, hitting the perfect spot over and over.

“That’s it, baby—just like that,” he murmured, his voice rough, his arms wrapping around you as he rocked up to meet you.

You moved with him, rolling your hips, your body seeking more, chasing it, the friction and heat spiraling higher, hotter, pleasure building until it felt like you were seconds from snapping.

Joel must’ve felt it, the way you were trembling, the way your body clenched tighter around him, because his grip on you tightened, guiding you faster, pushing you closer, until—

“Come on now, hunny–you all talk or you really gonna cum?” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with need. “Let me have it, wanna feel you.”

And that—his words, his voice, the command in it—was what undid you.

A sharp, wrecked moan tore from your lips as the pressure snapped, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your whole body shuddering and twitching as you clenched tight around him, pulsing, shaking, coming undone in his lap.

Joel groaned loudly, his head tipping back against the headrest, his jaw tight, his breath shattering as he thrust up into you, once, twice—

And then he followed, his grip bruising on your body as he buried himself deep, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he came, spilling hot inside you, his whole body locking up before relaxing, spent, wrecked.

The truck fell into silence, save for the sound of your ragged breathing, the sticky heat between you, the feel of his arms still gripping you, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, forehead dropping to his shoulder. “Holy shit.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a huffed-out chuckle against your chest. “Yeah.”

You stayed like that for a moment, neither of you moving, just breathing each other in, the moment settling between you.

Finally, Joel ran a slow, warm hand up your spine, his voice still gravelly when he spoke.

“So.” A beat. “We ain’t goin’ to Jameson’s, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head against his shoulder. “Not a chance.”

Joel smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple.

“Good.”

[malusokay]

Our Brains Are Rotting and Cicero Knew

On distraction, decline, and the intellectual rot Cicero saw coming. (from my substack)

O tempora, o mores—Cicero’s lament still echoes, like a parent sighing at their kid for putting the milk back in the fridge empty. He hurled those words into a world that thought it was collapsing, but honestly, Rome didn’t even know what real rot was yet. Cicero stood in the Senate, cloaked in self-righteous fury (as only Cicero could), accusing the guilty and clutching at virtues that were slipping through his fingers. “Iniquissima haec bellorum condicio est: prospera omnes sibi vindicant, adversa uni imputantur,” he said—history is cruel, always ready to share the credit for triumphs but quick to pin failure on a scapegoat. And oh, how disappointed he’d be to know his words, once etched in fire, are now buried in scrollable trivia, nestled between TikTok trends and threads about the dying sourdough starters.

Our rot is quieter and more subtle, almost polite, like water slowly ruining the foundation of a house no one even lives in anymore. It doesn’t come with swords or collapsing senates, but with screens. Flickering, endless screens. A thousand voices all talking at once until it’s just static, white noise buzzing in your brain. The kicker? We hold the wisdom of entire empires in our sweaty little hands, every speech, every scroll, every fragment of brilliance painstakingly saved by people who didn’t even have plumbing—and we just let it rot beneath algorithmic garbage. We traded Lucretius for lip-syncs, ars est celare artem for captions written by bots.

And Cicero? Poor Cicero, who believed so fiercely in the res publica, in the duty to preserve both morality and intellect—he’d probably choke on his wine to see us not just distracted but actively sabotaging ourselves. “Nescire autem quid ante quam natus sis acciderit, id est semper esse puerum,” he warned, because ignorance of history is the fastest way to stay a child forever. And, well, here we are: eternal toddlers in the nursery of civilization, sucking on the pacifier of whatever mindless content the algorithm spits out next. We’re not just lost; we’re willingly staying lost. It’s almost impressive.

Yet we think we’re clever. That’s the worst part. We think we’ve outsmarted the ancients, with our steady diet of soundbites and videos, each one shorter and dumber than the last. Meanwhile, Cicero would be rolling his eyes so hard they’d get stuck. “Legum servi sumus, ut liberi esse possimus,” he’d remind us—slaves to the rules we create, but these aren’t the rules of a republic. They’re the rules of a distraction economy. We call it freedom, but it’s more like gilded captivity. Every thought reduced to a trend, every story a fifteen-second flicker. What freedom is that? It’s like decorating your prison cell with fairy lights and pretending it’s cosy.

The rot isn’t just in the content. It’s in the way we approach it, like tourists in a museum, glancing at the masterpieces but never stopping long enough to feel their weight. We skim the Iliad, marvelling at its age but missing its fire, its warnings, its unbearable humanity. We quote the poets but only because it sounds sharp on a tote bag, not because we understand the exhaustion behind it. The ancients fought for words like these, polished them with the desperation of people who knew empires could crumble at any moment. And what do we do? We scroll right past, looking for something quicker, easier, something that sparkles.

We are exactly the people Cicero feared: writing tweets no one will read, building monuments to vanity instead of virtue, shrugging off the weight of history for the cheap thrill of now. The ancients taught us better. They polished their words like marble, made them heavy and sharp, meant to outlast empires. But we’re just tossing them aside to chase the next shiny thing. It’s not that we don’t know better—it’s that we don’t care.

And so, our brains rot. Not from hunger, but from excess. From too much noise, too much fluff, too much everything. The cry of��O tempora, o mores isn’t dead, but it’s definitely hoarse. And the worst part? We’ve stopped listening. We don’t even notice the silence.

thank you for joining me on my little 4 AM Cicero brain-rot spiral. Usually, things like this stay buried in my notes, but where’s the fun in that, right? Lots of love, Malu <3

[lavenderchqn]

✧・┆drunk on love — lyney

— it's the evening of lyney's birthday when you receive a call to retrieve your drunk partner from the lovely hands of his friend group's.

this piece is set after the story of red lines, although it works as a standalone read~

content warning: lyney is drunk. he's silly, but he's drunk.

Your eyes are barely open when your phone rings. You’ve been trying to finish correcting your master thesis for the entire evening, after sending your boyfriend out to spend his birthday with his friends. Taking a glance at the caller, as well as the time, you notice it’s Wriothesley. 

You answer the phone, worry already seeping into your mind. “Hello?”. There are so many things that could’ve gone wrong… given Lyney’s ability to handle alcohol. 

“Hi,” Wriothesley says breathlessly, sounding more than exhausted. “Sorry to be calling you so late.” 

“It’s alright, what’s up?” You interrupt, drumming your other hand on your keyboard. “You sound miserable, man.” 

“Tell me about it…” He says voice muffled as if he’s covered his mouth with his hand. “I hate being the designated driver on nights like these.” 

“They made you the designated driver?!” Shock fills your voice. “You didn’t drink, did you?” 

“I didn’t, don’t worry—“ Wriothesley laughs. “Quite amusing to see this lot completely drunk. I mean, Neuvillette has been crying about Furina breaking one of her nails for the entire time.” 

“Ahh, gotcha.” You nod to yourself, hoping that the man will get back on track soon. “Do you need my help with something?” You ask. Wriothesley calling you is not something that happens regularly. At most, he'd only send you embarrassing pictures of your boyfriend. 

“Lyney’s been calling out for you since he took a shot of whiskey. I don’t think I can take him, Furina and Neuvillette home without a drink myself in between…” 

As if on cue, Lyney — the man in question — seems to notice he’s being talked about that. You can hear a sudden movement followed by a cheerful laugh. 

“Hi, baby!~” Lyney’s voice seems more joyous than ever. Yeah, that man is as drunk as a kite. “I miss you so so so much!!” 

“Having fun?” You ask, a small smile gracing your face. Given how stressful the winter season was for everyone involved, with the ever-nearing period of defending their scientific titles approaching, you felt nothing but happiness that Lyney went out to celebrate his birthday with his friends. 

“Not the same without youu…” With how he's speaking, there must be a small pout on his face — his eyebrows knit. “No, no no… Wrio, let me talk man…” Ah. Wriothesley must be making a deal with your boyfriend to retrieve his phone. 

“As I was saying,” The sole sober person speaks. “You’d do me a huge favour by coming to pick your prince.” 

“I’ll go put on my shoes and be on the way.” You say. “Just send me the address. Oh, and don’t allow Lyney to drink more, alright?” 

“Will do. Thanks, and sorry, again” 

The message containing the group’s location comes the moment you end the call. Dressing yourself in anything comfortable, you’re ready to head out and take Lyney’s car. Ever since getting your driver’s license, he swore the only car you’d ever need is his. 

Luckily the road is not too crowded, nor glistened from the rain despite all the inside jokes of Neuvillette’s tears causing it. You arrive without much issue, already spotting the group as you pull up to the parking lot. 

Wriothesley is busy balancing an asleep Furina and Neuvillette who keeps on sobbing, head supported on his shoulder. Lyney’s standing on his two feet, zipping up his jacket. Lovely. Perhaps getting him back to the house will be easier than expected. He seems to spot you, approaching as you park the vehicle. 

His eyes curve into straight lines as he breaks into a smile. Swaying from side to side, he throws himself into your embrace, burying his face into your shoulder. “Missed youuu”

“One child less to care for?” You ask Wriothesley while patting Lyney’s head.

“Unless you turn the car around…” He chuckles, readjusting Neuvillette’s position. “Thanks for the help, really.” 

“Happy to help, Wrio.” With that, you split — each of you heading to their car. With the way you’re both basically dragging other people, it does take a while. “Message me when you’re home!” You shout as he’s settling his friends into the backseat. 

“You too!”   

“You’re going need to let go of me, Love.” You say, still patting Lyney’s head. It’s been almost five minutes of you standing out in the cold, your partner too clingy to allow you to drive the two of you back. “I promise you, once we’re home you’ll get all the cuddles.” 

The blonde turns his head, looking directly at you. It’s unfair, you think, that even underneath this lighting, he still looks like a statue. His hair is unusually curly, and a pair of glasses is balancing on his nose. Not to mention the pure delight in his violet eyes, matching the warm, albeit drunk smile. 

“Pinky?” He extends his finger, looking determined. Of course, he’d make you promise something as silly as this. You quickly interlock with one of your own, moving afterwards to open his door. 

“Get in,” You smile, holding the door for him. “You’re the passenger prince today.” 

All you can hear back is the tiny gibberish thoughts of a drunken man. You help him with the safety belt, and only when you confirm he’s actually buckled in, do you take your designated driver’s seat. 

For the first time during your ride, it’s completely quiet. You’re unsure if Lyney’s fallen asleep, but checking the overhead mirror tells you his eyes are very much awake. His head sways slightly as if he was listening to music. 

“What’s on the playlist?” You ask, leaning your head towards him, as to signal you’re talking to him. 

“Marry you.” 

You blink, momentarily distracted by his response. “Marry you? That’s what's in your head right now?" You tease, stealing a quick glance in his direction. 

Lyney nods enthusiastically, though the movement is a bit too exaggerated in his tipsy state. “Yep! As Bruno says… It’s a beautiful night,” he slurs with a dreamy smile. “I wanna marry youuuuu.” His voice, although off-key, is filled with unmistakable affection, and it takes everything in you not to laugh.

“You’re so drunk, baby.” You say with a chuckle, shaking your head at him missing some of the words.

“But I’m honest!” He protests, his pout returning. “I think we should… should get married. Like, tomorrow. Or maybe today? We’re both free today!” 

“Lyney,” You sigh, though you can’t hide the grin tugging at your lips. “You’re not even going to remember this conversation in the morning.” 

“Will too!” He insists, crossing his arms in a huff, though his coordination betrays him and he almost smacks himself in the face. “I’ll remember everything. Like how much I love you, and how I wanna spend all my birthdays with you. And how…” His voice trails off, softer now. “How you’re the best thing in my whole world.” 

Your heart squeezes at his words, even if they’re fuelled by alcohol. “Alright, my sweet drunk prince,” You say gently. “Let’s get you home first, and then we can talk about this… grand proposal of yours.” 

“Promise?” He mumbles, already starting to doze off. 

“I promise,” You reply softly, glancing at him through the mirror again. His eyelids are drooping, his lips curled into a content smile as sleep claims him. 

date of posting — february 2nd 2025

[slaygentford]

its not about "getting" Bach because. hi guys welcome back to my Bach chronicles. bachronicles if you will. it wasn't a matter of "trying to like Bach" or "getting Bach" but rather a matter of me having to soul search and figure out WHY i don't like Bach. and after spelunking deep within I realized the reason why I don't like Bach on the harpsichord specifically is because the instrument never lets up he's hitting that harpsichord like a metronome. and thats exactly it like. its a metronome. it isnt SUPPOSED to have normal phrases the way strings or horns have to bc they're limited by human movement (bow and breath) like a harpsichord has no resonance no pedals nothing and it marches the music like a drill sergeant. thats the whole point of it. the harpsichord ISN'T breathing its phrases are WEIRD and it's a feature not a bug. it's nosferatu not HAVING to breathe, and then when it chooses to breathe it sounds bizarre. I feel like a ray of knowledge from the muse euterpe just laser beamed directly into my retinas. I can keep thrashing against the unfeeling breast of Johann Sebastian but it is so much easier to sink into the great mathematical nothing of the harpsichord. like the only. the ONLY human obstacle the harpsichord faces. is exhaustion. exhaustion of the hands. I'm having a literal epiphany about music right now and you're laughing.

[channiesunshinx]

𝐹𝓇𝒾(𝑒𝓃𝒹)𝓈

Day 2 of Jeongin's birthday week fanfics

Pairing: Jeongin x F!reader Genre: Fake dating, friends to lovers, drama, angst, romance, fluff, Idol!jeongin x idol!reader Warning: Media pressure, emotional conflict

Jeongin leaned back against the plush sofa in the dimly lit party hall, taking in the music, the chatter, and the drinks flowing freely around him. It wasn’t his scene, but the other members of Stray Kids had convinced him to come. And, honestly, there was someone here he wanted to see—Y/N.

Y/N was a member of a newly rising girl group- Astral, known for her captivating voice and stunning stage presence. They'd met during a variety show, and while they hadn't spent much time together, there was something about her that kept Jeongin intrigued. They'd talked a few times, hung out at industry events, and became friends.

But that night, their friendship was about to take an unexpected turn.

The paparazzi were always lurking, but Jeongin hadn't thought much of it as Y/N slipped beside him, laughing lightly at something one of the other idols had said. It was natural, comforting even, and Jeongin couldn't help but feel at ease in her company. They were talking, just as friends, when suddenly, flashes erupted.

Jeongin froze, but Y/N was quick to grab his hand, pulling him toward a more secluded area. The reporters didn't seem to care—they were all too eager to capture the story. Jeongin, now holding her hand as they dashed away, could feel his heart race, but not from the excitement of escaping the paparazzi. Something about their closeness felt... different. He didn't have much time to analyze it as they quickly found refuge in a corner behind some curtains, out of sight from the cameras.

“I think they got us,” Y/N said breathlessly, still holding his hand. She glanced up at him, and their eyes met. “This is not good.”

Jeongin could only nod. They both knew the consequences of getting caught in a compromising situation like this. But Y/N, always the professional, quickly thought of a solution.

“Let's just say we're dating,” she suggested, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “It's easier to control the narrative that way.”

Jeongin blinked in shock. “What?”

“I mean, they'll keep running with whatever they want, but at least if we say we're a couple, it won't spiral out of control.”

He hesitated. It felt wrong, but Y/N was right. With the media so eager to make up stories, their best bet was to take control. And so, they made a quick decision that night: they would fake date.

Weeks passed, and the media didn't stop. Every sighting, every conversation, every shared glance between Jeongin and Y/N was turned into a headline. “Stray Kids’'Jeongin and Astral's Y/N: K-pop's New Power Couple!” the articles would say, showing off their supposed love story with carefully crafted pictures that made the world believe they were inseparable.

At first, Jeongin had simply gone along with it. Y/N had a natural charm about her, and they were, after all, friends. It wasn’t so bad pretending to be in a relationship, even if it was for the cameras. But soon, Jeongin couldn't deny the feelings stirring in his chest. Every touch, every shared moment, seemed to make his heart beat faster. What was once an innocent ruse had slowly turned into something more—something Jeongin didn't understand.

Then came the argument.

It had been a small thing at first—misunderstandings, petty disagreements, and stress piling up. But suddenly, it escalated. They were backstage after a joint performance, both exhausted, their nerves frayed, and one comment turned into another.

“You don't get it, Jeongin!” Y/N snapped, her voice sharp. “I'm not doing this because I want to be with you—I'm doing it for our careers!”

Jeongin's chest tightened, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them. “Then why do you act like you want to be with me, huh? Why does it feel like you're doing this for more than just the media?”

Y/N froze, eyes wide, then a bitter laugh escaped her lips. “So, you think it's real? That we're actually... this?”

Jeongin's face flushed. “You're the one who suggested it. But now you're acting like I'm the one who's confused?”

They both stood there in silence, tension thick between them. Jeongin could feel his pulse racing, but Y/N just turned away, shaking her head. “I don't want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Jeongin asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“This whole... fake thing. I don't want to be your friend if it's like this. I just can't anymore, Jeongin.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, like a punch to the gut. He wanted to reach out, to tell her he didn't know what was happening, that he didn't want to lose her, but he didn't know how. Before he could say anything else, she walked off, leaving Jeongin standing alone with his racing thoughts.

Later that night, Jeongin found himself pacing in the Stray Kids dorm, unable to shake the feeling that everything was slipping through his fingers. He needed advice—he needed someone to make sense of this mess.

The other members were scattered around the living room, some on their phones, some playing video games. But Jeongin went straight to Bang Chan, his leader, his friend.

“Hyung,” Jeongin began, his voice low, “I think I've messed up.”

Chan looked up from his phone, sensing the seriousness in Jeongin's tone. “What's going on?”

“I... I think I'm in love with Y/N,” Jeongin admitted, his heart pounding. “But everything's a mess. We’re supposed to be faking it for the media, but I can't stop thinking about her. And now she's mad at me.”

Chan nodded slowly, his expression softening. “Jeongin, I think you've been in love with her for a while now. But it's complicated, right? You need to be honest with yourself first. If you care about her, don't wait for the perfect moment—just tell her how you feel.”

The words hit Jeongin like a wave. He had been so focused on the fake relationship, so caught up in the public image, that he hadn' realized he was already in love. With Y/N.

That night, Jeongin couldn't sleep. He kept thinking about her—her smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, the way her hand felt in his. He realized that he didn't want to just be her friend anymore.

He gathered the courage, grabbed his coat, and left for her apartment. He wasn't going to let this fear hold him back anymore.

Y/N wasn't expecting a knock at her door at 2 a.m., but when she opened it, there stood Jeongin, looking both nervous and determined.

“I'm sorry,” he said before she could speak, his voice shaking. “I don't want to be just your friend. I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you for a while now. And I don't care about the media, I don't care about anything. I just want you.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart racing. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Jeongin's confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N didn't feel like a public figure. She felt like herself—just Y/N, the girl Jeongin cared about.

“I—” she began, but Jeongin stepped closer, taking her hands in his.

“I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it,” he said quietly. “But now that I do, I don't want to hide it anymore.”

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes as she pulled him into a hug. “Me too,” she whispered against his shoulder. “Me too.”

And in that moment, with the weight of their secret lifted, Jeongin and Y/N knew they weren't just pretending anymore. They were in love—finally, and for real.

Taglist: @mihoonz, @toasty0703, @lplondynnwoo, @loxgirl2004

[dearlyd3parted]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖: 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 | 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

🕸️chapter index: chap 1 chap 2 chap 3 🕸️ this chapter contains smut! 🕸️ pet name usage: baby, babe, love, the usual ^_^

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 3: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 - 9.6k

Yesterday was difficult.

It was now Saturday, and you were pondering on the time you had with Mark the day before. It wasn’t anything special. Actually, the day itself wasn’t difficult at all. 

When you brought up Xiaojun at the start of the week, or better yet, the idea of dating, you weren’t expecting him to be so…reactive. Well, obviously you couldn’t be 100% sure that was the reason, but you weren’t stupid. It was the only new factor that could have caused this change in behavior. Mark stumbled on his words more often, his eyes a little wider and little more downturned in fear and worry, the alleged secret admirer that just appeared, and his writings in the webs. Mark had always been strange, but never in a way so unexplainable.

It seemed all you could think about the whole week is what any part of this could mean. Did it make him uncomfortable to learn this new information about you? Had he forgotten how to act around you? Or, is it what you hoped for? Was he affected?

It made you feel insane that you were thinking about it so heavily, like a schoolgirl with some kind of toxic limerence, trying to dissect the pieces in her favor. 

It didn’t help that yesterday had been so nurturing. Mark rarely has a drained social battery; that’s just not a common thing in his nature. He’d just rather spend alone time with you, and you were unfortunately aware of that. Unfortunately, because it made you that much more hyper aware of every small detail. That much more aware of every unconditional smile, every tug on your sleeve when he wanted you to follow, every laugh that echoed in your skull. And not to exclude his penetrating eyes as you tried to sleep on the train, but how could you when he was so close, his eyes never straying from anywhere but you. It was impossible not to burn under them.

Worst of all, that look. That god forsaken look that had you sliding down the wall of your apartment entrance the moment you entered your home. You had seen it before, it never got easier. There wasn’t a time you could recall where it didn’t make your hands sweaty and your heart thump aggressively in your chest. It just couldn’t have come at a worst time.

It was just unfair, honestly. For Mark to look at you like you created the sun and the stars given the events of the past week. It made you wonder if he would still look at you like that if he knew.

It wasn’t a crime to be in love, you knew that. Though it definitely felt like a crime to be in love with your best friend for years without end, never once saying a word. You had told yourself all this time that you didn’t want to burden him with the weight of what you felt on top of the burden of being a hero, and that had allowed all these years to pass. You had to ask yourself a lot more frequently now if that was really the case or only part of it. If Mark knew you loved him, he would know every action, every word that came from your being the past few years was laced with something else other than friendship. There was always the chance it would ruin those memories. That he would never look at you in the way you adored ever again.

Trying to figure out Mark Lee was exhausting. On top of that, figuring out yourself and dealing with self-doubt that you had never been one to struggle with, it had worn you.

After your face burned 5 shades less red, you pulled yourself up from the floor, dragging yourself to your bed and flopping down, sleep coming easy aside from the recurring images of Mark that were always just there. Distantly, you wished you never started this effort of trying to press his buttons. Things would have stayed the same, but they wouldn’t have been so frightening.

You drifted quickly to sleep, and when you woke up you found yourself still in that pool of bad emotions. Yunjin was out for the weekend, and the apartment felt unsettling being so quiet. If this was a normal circumstance, you’d probably find comfort in your best friend. However, you figured that would probably make you feel worse.

So, you sat on your fire escape, dangling your feet into the night. It felt less alone than being in your room for some reason, and it was a good place to pop in headphones and listen to whatever music decided to shuffle on. It was the best effort you could think of to try and stray away from a fact you knew was becoming irrefutable. All this love was too large to be contained anymore.

You were lightly jostled out your melancholic state when your phone started to buzz, and you pulled it out of your pocket of your hoodie the screen shined with the caller id “Mark ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡” under a picture of the both of you during your 7th grade spring formal. You sighed as your thumb went to slide to answer. Mark really was inescapable, but you couldn’t seem to get enough. “Hi, Mark.”

“I’ve been texting you! I already started my patrol, but as soon as I went out, I went to chase after a bike thief! He was pretty slippery to catch, but I got him! I don’t know whose bike this is though…” Mark rambled through the phone, a small smile on your face despite everything. “I’ll have to leave a note…Anyway, join me, yeah?”

You sighed, a few hours of going back and forth with Mark is probably the last thing you needed. However, you already admitted you can’t get enough. “Yeah, I’ll join you. Give me a second.”

Shuffling could be heard on Mark’s end, signifying he was up to some sort of shenanigans, as he quickly responded. “Alright! I’ll be waiting!”

You hung up the phone, looking out at the city one more time, before heading into your room. You sat at your desk chairs, letting your monitors light up as your computer powered on, and before you knew, you could hear the familiar ‘beep beep’ indicating that you had connected to the communications system. Your first sight was Mark standing in a pizza shop.

You couldn’t help but laugh a bit, finding it ridiculous that he had already gotten distracted “Got hungry?”

Mark perked up as he heard your voice. “Ah! You’re here! Yeah, I thought I’d swing by. Just waiting on mine now! The guy tried to give it to me for free again, but I slipped a 20 in his jar. You want some?”

You were adjusting the volume and screen on your monitor, going to answer him. “No, I’m okay-”

A gasp could be heard as you felt a cold and rough hand come up to your mouth. You could hear Mark asking what was wrong as your chair turned around, and suddenly you were surrounded by 3 men you had never seen, one of them clearly holding some kind of weapon. 

Your eyes went wide as you watched one of them hold a finger up to his mouth, and before your body or mind could react, there was a bag over your head. 

.   　˚　✭　*✦　.　‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ 　 ˚　.˚ ✭　.

Mark was feeling a lot better.

He had a nice day with his crush of years the day prior, and although he had lost a few battles this week, the war wasn’t over. He realized that now.

For the first time since the week started, he didn’t feel anxious or like his world was coming to an end. He was…calm. As calm as he could be as he started his patrol, unable to get a hold of you. He figured you were busy and would get back to him momentarily, and as he saw someone yelling after a man wearing all black with a stolen bike, he decided to get right to it.

That chase ended up taking him longer than he expected. He definitely had an experienced bike thief on his hands. After leaving a note on a bike whose owner was nowhere to be found at that point, his stomach growled a bit, so he swung himself to his favorite pizza parlor. Mark frequented there even in his full Spider-suit ever since he forgot he was wearing it once and waltzed right in. Now every time he goes, he has to bicker with the owner who never wants to let Mark pay. 

As he waited for his pizza, you finally answered. It didn’t take him long to notice that you sounded sadder than usual. While you switched from the phone call to the comms system, he figured that he should get to the bottom of whatever was causing you to be gloomy. 

And then, you stopped talking. 

One second you were talking to Mark, declining his offer of pizza, and after a short gasp, he couldn’t hear anything. 

He tried to call out to you and gave it a minute or two. Maybe you stepped away and would be back soon. That had to be it. However, after Mark started calling out again with no answer, a terrible yet familiar feeling set in the pit of his stomach. The one he got before most of his major fights that signified impending doom. This was worse, though, way worse. Mark had never gotten it with you.

His feet were moving before he could process it, running out of the pizza restaurant and jumping into the night. You were far, your apartment being a good 3 miles away. Mark figured if he hurried, he could reach it in 5 minutes. So, that’s what he did. He was still using that burdensome unassisted aim, and he was going at a speed that surely one mistake could cause him to get hurt. Mark didn’t care. He wasn’t even thinking about that. All he knew is that he needed to reach you as soon as possible.

Mark saw your apartment in the distance, his body going overdrive as he ran on the ledge of a building, throwing himself into his final few swings. As he approached, the pit in his stomach only made him more nauseous when his eyes landed on your window wide open. 

“Maybe she just wanted some air and left it open, maybe she just wanted some air,” Mark muttered to himself in a breathless state, as he landed on the wall, jumping onto your fire escape. He wasted no time in climbing in, the apartment deadly silent. 

“Y/n?” Mark called loudly, making his way room to room, finding that no one was there. He turned back to your room, his blood running a little colder. “Just call her…Just call her…” Mark murmured, pulling his phone out to dial you. 

Mark’s head turned when he heard your phone buzzing on the desk, walking up to pick it up. The sight confirmed to him that something was wrong. “Shit.” He whispered to himself, holding he phone tight in his hands.

Mark’s head flew up as a signal struggled to connect your monitor, and suddenly he was met with a face he had never seen before. A man with a scar above his eye.

“Spiderman…I see you’ve made it.”

Mark leaned on the desk, staring at the monitor trying to get a better look at the man. “Who the hell are you?”

The man chuckled, his eyes dark as he stared at Mark. “Not important. All you need to know is that I have your little girlfriend.”

Mark’s heart couldn’t have sunk further, his body ran cold as his fists clenched. This douchebag was talking about you. He shuddered before he shot up, as if ready to bolt out. “Wh…Where is she?”

“She’s fine, don’t worry. All I need from you is the drive that gets me into junk drawer. I know you have one.”

The eyes on Mark’s mask narrowed. “Junk drawer? What do you need with that?”

The man seemed irritated, exhaling hard as he retorted. “Doesn’t matter to you. Just bring it to me and I’ll give you the girl. I won’t give you long.”

Mark would’ve flung out the window there and then, but then it hit him. “Where do I find you? Where are you?” He demanded with frustration.

“You’re a smart kid. I’m sure you can figure it out. We’ll be here…”

The man turned the camera and briefly, it flashed to you, sat in a chair before the connection cut, and Mark was left alone. 

“Damnit!” He yelled as he sat down, already working to trace the origin of the call. Mark was working on autopilot, his heart racing as the seriousness of the situation set in.

How could this happen? Mark was just talking to you mere minutes ago. You were right, he hadn't been careful enough with you. Someone had connected you to him, and now you were gone. With a lunatic who wanted the entrance to junk drawer, at that. He worked diligently until he reached coordinates, and he was already flung out the window.

So many thoughts ran in his fear-stricken mind. Does he call for help? How much time did he have? Were you really alright? What does that idiot want with junk drawer? 

He only knew one answer, he needed to make sure you were safe above all else.

.   　˚　✭　*✦　.　‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ 　 ˚　.˚ ✭　.

The warehouse you were in was empty. Well, mostly empty. There were parts and scrap metals on the floor with tables scattered around, all of which with some weird unconventional weapon on top of them. There was only one table that didn’t have an odd invention on it, it held a plethora of monitors, and a chair for the man that you assumed was behind all of this.

You quickly realized this man was deranged in the most idiotic way. Your head was in a bag, a piece of tape over your mouth as you were rushed to the warehouse like some kind of movie kidnapping. You weren't moved in a car or by foot, someone had carried you with what sounded like some type of jet technology that sounded all sorts of unsafe. That way, you made it fast to the damp warehouse on the outer side of town.

The guy, who was addressed as Scar by his men on the radio, was quick to brag to you about his maniacal plan. He told you that he once worked for Tony Stark, and Tony got “petty” and fired him. He showed off his various “inventions” that he found pride in creating all on his lonesome. You sat there with your hands tied behind your back, not saying much in order to tread lightly around someone who was clearly not thinking clearly.

 As you heard him interact with Mark and his own lackeys, looking around at weapons that the more you looked at them didn’t look up to any legal standards, you started to figure him out.

“You’re making a mistake.” You said quietly to scar, who turned to look at you with a smirk. “They’re already at junk drawer, aren’t they?”

He scoffed, a cocky smile on his face. “You're smarter than your boyfriend.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath at the word boyfriend, but feeling it wasn’t an appropriate time to correct him. “Your machinery doesn’t look safe, junk drawer is protected for a reason. There’s tech in there that could be dangerous if used wrong. And…if Stark Industries fired you, it must have been for a reason. A man like Tony doesn’t do things out of pettiness.”

Scar’s expression grew a little more serious before he huffed and turned around to look away from you. “What are you, a fan of the avengers or some shit?” 

You pursed your lips, fan was an understatement. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. Some of these weapons don’t look up to regulation. If these were sold…it…it’s just a mistake.”

Scar was visibly more irritated now. “Shut up before I put the tape on your mouth again. I know what I’m doing.”

You highly doubted he did, the whole stunt a clear act of vendetta. You just hoped Mark would realize that soon as well. Afterall, a villain with no plan is more unpredictable than one who does have one.

Your foot tapped anxiously as you kept trying to budge at the ropes on your hands. It was just a waiting game for Mark to show up, all while his men were already making plans to enter junk drawer when it was left vulnerable. The wait didn’t last long, as it turned out Mark found the coordinates faster than you expected when you both heard a thud land on the roof. 

Scar stood up, standing behind your chair as he turned you to face the entrance, and the situation was only becoming more and more tense. “He’s too early.” 

Seconds later, Mark was stumbling in, and Scar was prepared with an outstretched hand, hooked onto some kind of makeshift ray, a copy of some of Stark Industries tech, as a message to stay back

There was a silence as Mark assessed the situation, and you could tell he was acting frantically. In the silence, your mouth was open before you could think it through. “You have to go to junk drawer, there's already people over there! He’s bluffing!” You blurted out, Scar yelling ‘Shut up!’ as soon as you said it. 

Mark stood with a firm stance, his face unreadable under the mask, slowly he started to inch forward. “I have the drive.” Mark announced, seemingly completely ignoring what you had said. “You have to let her go.”

Scar only smiled, pulling the chair back with you in it. His hand snaked around your neck. You gulped as you stared at Mark with a growing expression of worry. More for the heist that was about to take place and less for yourself. “Good. Keep walking, slow and steady, until I tell you to stop.”

Mark was beside himself, this whole thing had felt like a fever dream to him up until then. Up until he saw this random guy with his hand around your neck. Touching you. “Okay! Okay! Just…don’t do anything.” Mark blurted through his teeth., trying to seem assertive but ultimately sounding what he was, horrified. 

Mark kept inching closer as Scar moved his hand away from your neck to the back of your chair. “Just keep walking, slowly.” Scar ordered.

So, he did. He inched closer and closer, and you couldn’t believe he was entertaining this. “…just drop it and go.” You pleaded, your voice desperate and worried as he kept coming closer. Mark ignored you again, it was clear he was disregarding what you were saying despite the severity of the situation.

You could feel Scar’s satisfied smile with each second that passed. It was never about you at all, it was always about wasting time. Yet, Mark couldn’t seem to understand that. “Keep walking, a little further.” Mark obeyed, walking closer and closer, the drive clenched in his hands.  

Suddenly, scar spoke out. “Stop. You’re close enough.” Scar demanded when Mark was only a few feet away. “Put the drive on the floor, and back away.”

Mark did just that, scrambling back faster than he came. The air was thick as Scar stepped out from behind you, walking to pick up the drive and returning back to the chair. 

Mark watched in a nervous silence as the ropes on your chair were undone. Yet once you were free, his hands were on your shoulders, not letting you move. You looked back to Scar, a lump in your throat, and to Mark with a heavy look.

“I did it,” Mark said shakily, getting frustrated, “so let her go.” 

Scar was silent, listening to the feedback on the radio behind him, as if deciding what to do. He kept a tight hold on you, as he pulled the chair back with you in it, the legs scraping making an unbearable sound. Not as unbearable as getting pulled farther and farther away from Mark, though, wanting this whole thing to be over already.

As you and Scar reached closer to his communication systems, you could hear the discourse. The men on the other side are still going back and forth with each other, one of them asking ‘how much time?’ and something in your stomach told you this wouldn’t be the end of it. You could hear him behind you, doing something, reaching for something, but your eyes wouldn’t leave Mark. 

Finally Scar let go of your shoulders, the freedom catching you off guard. “Stand up, go to him slowly.

You did just that, the adrenaline barely keeping you up on your own two feet as you put one foot in front of the other. You didn’t know what slow meant, what was acceptable or unacceptable, but you did know that if you didn’t get to Mark soon, you wouldn’t reach him at all. In a moment, your heart skipped a beat, a chill down your spine as you decided to break into a full sprint.

Your efforts were in vain, and as you had expected, that God awful jet sound came on, and a gangly cold arm snaked around you, shooting you in the air.

You could barely process your own scream as you clung onto it for life, debris falling over your face as you were shot out of the warehouse ceiling. When you found it in you to open your eyes and look at Scar, he wore a stressed look.

“Let’s go for a little walk.”

.   　˚　✭　*✦　.　‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ 　 ˚　.˚ ✭　.

Ever since Mark knew you, you always seemed to talk with your face. Therefore, it was heart wrenching when he saw you communicating something he had never seen on the face he adored, genuine dread and fear.

That is what he was met with as he walked into the warehouse, trying to comply with this asshole’s demands so he could get you out of here, preferably kick his ass, and make sure nothing like this ever happened again due to his carelessness. Yet, there you were, telling him to leave. To go protect junk drawer, as if that was more important than you.

As he placed the drive down on the floor, He could care less what the implications were if junk drawer was getting broken into at that very moment. All Mark knew is that it was making his blood boil to see the man touching you, making you sweat in anxiety under his calloused hands. He knew he had to put an end to it soon. 

Mark only briefly thought about the plan being used to waste his time. Under any other circumstance, he would be strategizing to get you out of harm's way and interject in the villainy taking place. The latter seemed to matter nothing to him, not when everything was at stake.

Mark’s breathing trembled a little in relief when he finally saw you inching towards him, still with those words on your face that said something was wrong. He pieced together what it was when you tried to sprint, and just like that, you were in the air. Without a single thought, he was swinging after you. 

Mark used every ounce of stamina and strength he had to chase after you. Those jets were strong and bulky, emitting some sort of beam of heat that he just knew he couldn’t get close to. His heartbeat only picked up, his pants heavy as he tried to think of how he could get close enough. The man was flying with you higher than the skyline, and if Mark wanted to reach you, he’d have to swing himself from with lots of momentum. 

Until, the jets started sputtering, a nasty smoke emitting from it as the man seemingly started to lose control. Perhaps it would’ve been a good thing, but he was carrying you. Mark didn’t care if he got burned, he started moving in closer. As he did, the man made a b-line higher and farther for a building under construction. 

Mark enhanced his sight, zooming in to watch as the man went in hot, the jetpack on its final stretch. 

Time was moving slow for Mark as he watched the jet contraption fail, sending you and the man landing on the construction site, followed by an explosion that rattled the structure as Scar’s invention gave in on itself. Mark wasn’t even looking as the guy tried to get away, fidgeting with some other gadgets he had on him, he could only see you terrified and knelt down on the flimsy wood panels of the structure, frantically looking around. He was so relieved, yet so shaken to see you were alright, knowing that it was seconds away from going wrong.

Mark’s been in life-or-death situations, fought villains and monsters of the ordinary person’s nightmares. He had never been as scared as he was in that moment, since he realized you were gone. Never had he felt chills run up the back of his spine so prickly and cold. Suddenly, it made sense what it was that had caused him to be a coward the whole week. Why he couldn't utter a three-letter phrase that came so easy to live but so hard to admit to you, especially when it could change everything.

He was scared to lose you.

3. 

Mark landed as softly as he could in front of you as to not jeopardize the likely unstable floors, kneeling in front of you as he grabbed your face that ran pale in fear. “Are you okay?! Are you hurt?!” He questioned breathlessly, his eyes roaming over every inch of you.

You nodded, your hands shaking as you went out to grab his wrists. “I... I’m fine, I told you he’s not trying to hurt me. He’s just buying time.”

Mark couldn’t buy that you were alright, not until he was one-hundred percent certain. “What’d he do to you? Was he in your house?”

You sighed shakily, your head shaking, “Mark, I said I’m fine. You need to get to junk drawer.”

Mark shook his head, looking around for any signs of Scar. “I don’t care, I’m not leaving you.” Mark asserted, his hands holding onto yours tight. “I’ve gotta get you away from here-”

“Mark, please listen. This guy’s crazy, if his weapons get on the market who knows-”

“Y/n please,” Mark cut you off, his head turning back to look at you. “No way in hell am I going anywhere when he’s out for you.”

“He’s not after me, please just listen-”

“You listen to me!” Mark said in frustration, his anger and horror and stress from the past hour bubbling up as he snapped at you, “I don’t care what they’re doing.”

“I only care about the girl that I’m in love with, and I’m not leaving you!"

Mark stared at you, a blank expression under his mask. He wasn’t able to stare for long, nor was he able to feel the effects of what had just blurted out of his mouth before his head whipped around, and aimed right at him was another weapon that looked like it couldn’t possibly be regulated. His body was moving before he could process it, and now he was just pissed off. 

Total peace wasn’t an option for Spiderman, but it was for Mark. Mark had found that in you, and for someone to take the one thing, the one person he had all to himself to comfort him, it made him ooze with rage. He dodged poorly taken shots, jumping and flipping from place to place as he avoided every hit, coming in with only one motive to make sure this guy couldn’t get near you again.

Mark’s mind and body moved on its own the closer he got, desperate to put an end to everything. When he came to his senses, it seemed he had won. A particularly effective web had Scar tied around a pole, unable to move. 

Mark stood in front of him, his chest going up and down as the haze in his mind allowed him to only think apprehend, apprehend, apprehend dimming down as the worst of it seemed to be over.

Scar’s condition seemed to be far worse, struggling against the webs, yelling out in a fit of rage as his vengeful eyes sat on Mark. 

“It’s over, just stop fighting, man.” Mark hissed, his fists clenched on his sides. 

Scar moved one of his hands that was hidden behind his back to the front. When Mark looked down, he noticed a little remote in them.

“I hope you don’t make it.”

Mark didn’t have time to be confused before a boom vertebrated behind him. His body twisted, running in a full sprint towards you and your falling figure.

It was quite ironic when you really thought about it. When he was first bitten by that spider, he often cursed the responsibility that came with his great powers, one’s he never explicitly asked to have. He spent a lot of his rookie years wondering why him. Why Mark Lee? As if he wasn’t odd enough, never fitting into most places. Now he just had to be the weird and awkward one and Spiderman. Some nights, he even wished he would wake up and he’d be normal again, never having to worry about his “duties” ever again. 

Now, here he was. Soaring into the night to reach your outstretched hand, your fingertips moments away, praying to this once unwanted power of his to work in his favor for once and save you. Someone who gave him something that he never has and never will beg to go away in his life. Someone who gave him love.

Once his hand clasped yours, he pulled you into his chest, grunting as he shot a web just in time, to deflect the fall. The both of you were already too close to the ground, and the best landing he could stick was flipping through the air, breaking the fall with his own body as he slid to a stop in an empty lot. 

It was quiet for a long time as Mark gazed up into the sky, holding you tight in his arms. Only when he heard the sound of sirens and an alert inside his hud that Mr. Stark was on his way and alert of the situation did Mark’s eyes flicker back to life. Looking up to see the destruction of the construction site and holding you tighter, Mark let his head fall back, breathing a sigh of relief that it was over. You were safe.

His body ached, and his arms hesitantly untangled themselves and outstretched on the cold floor. Mark’s injuries were the last of his worries, his only concern was your wellbeing. He didn’t know if you had sustained any injuries from that whole thing, the only indication that you weren’t knocked out cold was your hands gripped firmly on his shoulders still, and the slight shake in your body.

“Y/n,” Mark said softly, “Come on. We’ve gotta get you to a hospital.”

When Mark tried to stand the both of you up, he was met with resistance, your body doing its best to push him to stay down. Mark hated not seeing your face, not knowing what you were feeling, so all he could think of doing was wrapping his arms around you again. Fearful? Shaken? Angry? Maybe it was a mix of all of those? God, he wanted to know so he could make it better so bad-

Oh. You lifted your head to look at Mark. You looked like you felt all of those, but one he wouldn’t have expected was the most prominent. 

Longing.

“Are you really in love with me?”

Mark’s heart sank for what must have been the millionth time that day, and he thought that couldn’t possibly be a healthy amount. He hardly remembered any of what he said during that whole ordeal, but as he was reminded of that one, it definitely sounded like him.

 He was cornered, completely and utterly cornered. Not only could he not run with you on top of him, but he also probably couldn’t run after that fall anyway. What he really couldn’t escape though, were those damn eyes that were big and curious and desperate for an answer. 

So, he just started talking. 

“Are you really asking me?”

If that wasn’t an answer enough by the way that his lip quivered as he stared at you, Mark’s hand moved to brush hair out of your face, looking at you like nothing else existed in that moment before he continued. “You know…I’ve nearly died a lot more than your average person.”

Mark laughed under his breath, talking quietly as he was still trying to recover from getting the wind knocked out of him. “Everytime it happens, I experience that life flashing before your eyes thing. It isn’t…what it seems. People make it sound like it's a slideshow of your best memories that just plays out. It’s not. It’s like…a dvd player, and you get to pick your favorite movie.”

“Everytime, I chose to see you.”

Mark smiled weakly, his eyes beaming with something he had never quite let you fully see before. “Maybe because you’re comforting, or because it feels like you’re all I’ve ever known, or maybe because I love you, but it’s always you. Sometimes, I look forward to that. Almost dying. Cause’ it means even if just for a second, you’re all I see. Though, it’s like that even when I'm fully conscious as well.”

Mark sighed, throwing his head back as he grabbed his face in disappointment. “Sorry, not making much sense, I think I hit my head too hard.” He admitted with a small giggle. “I thought…I’d made that much obvious. But I’ll say it again for the record, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I really, really, really love you.”

The eyes on his mask blinked in disbelief like he couldn’t believe he finally uttered the words. “You don’t have to say anything, and whatever you decide to do with that, I’ll accept it wholeheartedly. But honestly…I’m just glad you know.”

Mark couldn’t stop looking at you, a glossy film over your eyes. He always imagined what you would look at him like when he told you. In his wildest fantasies, you wore the widest smile on your face or made a completely disgusted look. He couldn’t have predicted this one, but…in a good way.

After a short stillness, your hands moved to pull the mask off his face, throwing it to the side as your hands shakily came to his cheeks. For what felt like ages, you couldn’t take your eyes off every part of his face, reading him like a map. Your thumbs were tracing over his cheeks, his jaw, the outer corner of his eyes, and Mark only stared at you wordlessly, your reaction becoming less and less predictable.

Mark definitely couldn’t predict your lips on his. Nor could he predict how soft and pillowy they were.

When you pulled away, a small prickle fell from the corner of your eye, and his hand was quick to reach up to wipe it away. As if any tear on your face was sacrilegious. They were happy tears, though, that was evident with your smile as you beamed at him, “You’re an idiot.”

Idiot was the last thing your tone of voice was saying to him, and soon he was smiling too, his hands running around your neck. “I guess I am.”

Mark can’t be blamed for leaning in for yet another kiss. Not when he was finally granted permission to do what he’s always wanted to. 

.   　˚　✭　*✦　.　‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ 　 ˚　.˚ ✭　.

1 month later

Having Spiderman as a boyfriend had its perks for sure, but sometimes there were things that you just had to deal with.

For example, it meant you would never be late to work or class ever again. If you had woken up late, you had your own public transportation system to throw you from place to place. The same thing could be said if you ever needed something from the grocery store or wanted some takeout, as Spiderman proved to be faster than any delivery service. Of course, there was the pride you felt at all the good deeds your boyfriend and longtime best friend had done. A compliment to him felt like a compliment for you. He had also gotten you a signed card from almost every avenger you could name. Although he had done that one for you long before he became your boyfriend, it’s just nice to list it off.

One of the downsides you could name though was definitely when he would knock at your window covered in cuts, bruises, scrapes, sometimes having broken bones, and a hurt ego. However, he had done that long before he was your boyfriend, too.

Tonight, as you laid down enjoying some rest and a movie after a long day, you knew that would be the case when there was a knock at your window, and a quick turn of your head showed you Spiderman pawing at the glass. “Babe? Let me in, yeah?”

You scurried up, knowing by the sound of his wince that something had happened as you quickly popped open the window. As you took a step back, a tattered Mark Lee entered the room, pulling off his mask and revealing a cut that had even made it up to his lip. However, he didn’t seem to be in excruciating pain as he smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. “Hi, Y/n. I may have had a little accident.”

You sighed, a small smile on your face as your hands came up to rub his back, finding that he winced a little as you went to touch it. “Mm..I see. What happened now?”

Mark only nuzzled further starting his rant. “Well, long story short, I went to go find Mr. Stark and he was in the midst of hashing it out with this weird like…metal man. I was like, ‘Mr. Stark, need some help!?’ and he was like, ‘Just go home kid!’ but I didn’t really listen and kept trailing behind him. So, ended up getting dragged into it.”

You pushed him away and only held onto his arms as you looked up at him. “Are you serious?” You asked with concern, looking down to see he did have quite a few cuts.

Mark nodded with a smug smile, leaning in to plant a long kiss on your forehead. “Mm…yeah. Love you.” He mumbled, sounding way too normal about the whole thing.

A month wasn’t long enough for you to be used to Mark’s level of affection, but really you wondered if any amount of passing time would ever make your heart pound less in your chest. “Yeah, I love you too. But…we gotta clean these up. Go wait by the sink, yeah? I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Mark placed another kiss near your eye, causing you to flutter it shut. “Yes, Ma’am.” He replied, trodding his way to your bathroom as you scrumaged around your room to find the first aid kit you learned to keep on hand at all times.

Once you found it, you made your way into the bathroom. Mark was leaning against the counter, his suit loosened up as he inched his way out of the torso area. Placing down the first aid kit, you went to help him out, and he thanked you as his arms were finally free.

He looked down at himself, and so did you, he really was littered with small gashes sporadically throughout. Not to mention, it was criminal that he looked so good in such a state. “Mark…” you said softly, opening the first aid kit and getting straight to work. “You really have to listen to Tony when he tells you to do things.”

Mark winced as you wiped the first one with alcohol, his eyes fluttering shut. “Not my fault that weirdo started swinging at me!”

You smiled to yourself, his antics always being amusing to you. “Can’t believe you’re the Spiderman and you can’t take a little alcohol.”

Mark chuckled as he leaned one of his arms on the sink counter, the other resting at your hip. “Alcohol stings! You don’t have to clean them, you know. They’ll be gone in a few hours.”

You stopped dabbing, having barely placed your first bandaid down, a smile on your face. “Yet you always come so I can treat you.”

He smiled, pretending to pout as he pushed around strands of hair on your face. “Maybe I just wanna see you. Ever thought of that?”

Your cheeks went warm as you tried to continue what you were doing. “I figured that out a while ago.”

Mark just watched you, something he could do shamelessly now that he was dating you, and he knew that at least you knew a fraction of how much he loved you. He wasn’t sure you knew entirely, though. “Can I kiss you, please?” He asked in a pleading tone, his big eyes boring ingo you as both his hands moved to your hips. “You really don’t have to clean those. And, it’ll make me feel better.”

You sighed, putting down your cotton balls and bandages and meeting his gaze. “You’re so needy, you know that? What about the cut on your lip?”

Mark pulled you closer, wanting you pressed flush against him. “This thing?” He inquired by pointing at it, pressing his lips together to prove a point. “Barely even hurts.”

You giggled, and Mark felt his heart flutter knowing he caused it. He always did. “I guess I’ll allow it then.” You teased.

Mark tilted his head, leaning in closer to you as you stared at his lips. “I was gonna do it anyway.”

You swear you will never get sick of this feeling, the way that he handled you so carefully, his every move filled with adoration. Your first few kisses at the start of the relationship were slow and steady, testing out the water seeing how far they could go. Neither of you really had any experience before then, either being too awkward to have a first kiss or refusing to have it with anyone but each other and never knowing that fact.

However, ever since you started, it seemed you couldn’t stop. Small and sweet kisses, ones where you could feel his smile on your lips or whisper a quick ‘I love you’ turned into deeper and more passionate ones that…well…tended to end the same.

The point being, you couldn’t get enough of each other. Not after waiting all that time. So it went without saying that lately every kiss ended in Mark wanting to devour you. It was no different for this one.

It started off tame until it wasn’t, now Mark was passing his tongue across your lips, trying desperately to get inside, and squeezing your hips while he rubbed circles into it. Your hands rested on his shoulders, but honestly if he wasn’t so cut up they’d probably be running all over his torso.

Getting so heated while he was still in his spider suit was definitely new though, not that you were complaining when again, he looked way too good for someone who was supposed to be injured.

This kiss deepened, and you seemed to only want to press further into him. Mark’s hands got more explorative, and you found yourself opening your mouth even more, trying to taste every bit of him. It kept going until your hands at his neck started moving with a mind of their own, one of them reaching up to his nape and pulling on some of his hair.

For some reason, the small act drove Mark insane, and he detached his mouth from yours as a rather pathetic moan left his lips, and he looked at you with passionate eyes, his face burning red as he reached up one of his hands to bury it in. “Sorry, sorry.”

You were panting a little, trying to find your breath again after that as you stared at him with a soft smile. “It's okay.” You said softly to him.

You were hoping to continue, until you noticed something pressed firm against you, and you realized why Mark’s ears had gone so red. As you looked down, confirming a bulge pressed right into you, you swear you could hear Mark turn ten shades darker. You just smiled, brushing hair out of his face so you could see him better. “That excited already?”

Mark’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and looked at you. When you talked to him like that in the way he loved, especially during moments like this, it just wasn’t good for his sanity. “How can I not be? You’re too good at this.”

You laughed a little both of your hands on his face as you stared at him with parted lips. ”You want me to help?”

Mark’s face was shades of pink and red all over before he answered you, his voice a little shaky. “Help how?”

His heart almost slammed out of his chest as you knelt down, and it took everything in him to not start whining. “Love,” Mark muttered, his hands going down to your face, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” You answered back, tilting your head a bit as you looked up at him, your eyes shining with a desire in them. “You don’t want me to?”

Mark didn’t know whether to nod or shake his head, so instead he just waved his hands. “No! Yeah! I mean, I want to. I just…I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

You smiled at him with your hands on his thighs and it felt like they were burning prints into him. “I wanna do this, Mark, so don’t worry.”

Before he could process it, his hands were gripping onto dear life on the counter behind him, and you were tugging at his suit, pulling it down to find his boxers. Mark could hardly contain himself as your hands played with the waistband. “I can take these off?”

All he could do was nod, watching as you pulled them off of him, excruciatingly slow, and feeling the heat creep up heavy on his neck once they were.

The both of you had gotten awfully used to each other in the past month. You really couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. This hadn’t happened, however, and he felt so vulnerable as you just stared at him, already leaking at the tip as you wrapped your hands around.

“I’ll try my best.” You said, and Mark shouldn’t have looked down, because he was met with the sight of your eyes directed straight at him as you took the tip of his dick in your mouth.

A shiver ran down his spine as you played with it, moving your tongue and your hand to see what made him react positively, but Mark was so obsessed with you and everything that you did that there wasn’t a single part he didn’t find enjoyable.

He tried to bring himself to watch, but everytime his head would start reeling. He resorted to keeping his gaze on the ceiling most of the time, his hands gripping onto the counter behind him. “Fuck…” Is all that Mark managed to whisper in a shaky voice, trying not to make much noise.

You wanted him to make noise. It’s a habit of his that drives you the craziest. When he enjoys it so much he can’t help but resort to whining, pleading, begging. As you looked up at him, you were determined to hear that from him. Slowly, you took more of him in your mouth.

Mark shot to look down the deeper you went He was half concerned, knowing you had never done this before and not wanting you to hurt yourself, but the sight of you adjusting yourself to take more of him went straight to his core. “Y/n…love…slow down…” Mark stuttered, his hands white from how hard he was grasping onto the countertop.

You didn’t pay him any mind, continuing to work to hear those sweet sounds from him, inching more and more as you tried tips you had heard before. Hollow out your cheeks, swirl your tongue, make eye contact. As you looked up at Mark and his crumbling composure, you confirmed that the last one definitely made him the craziest.

You had maybe fit only a little more than half of him in, taking a few breaks to catch your breath as you relied on your hand, and Mark was right where you wanted him. Moans and whines mixed together as his body shaked, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Either you were exceptionally good at this for your first time, or Mark couldn’t believe it was you. Likely both.

After what seemed like forever, you finally felt him hit the back of your throat, and you kept your hand on what didn’t fit. A few tears pricked in your eyes, but you didn’t care. You were enjoying seeing Mark fall apart way too much.

You wondered what would happen if you bobbed your head even more, and so you did. It seemed that was the breaking point for you poor boyfriend as he shuddered, his hand on the back of your head, grabbing at with caution. “Y/n…God. You can’t…” Mark whined out, his body shaking even more.

You could, and you kept going until he was reduced to whines and pants and you could feel him twitching in your mouth. He hunched over, trying to guide you away. “Love…I’m gonna cum…I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You ignored all of his efforts, finding his words as an encouragement to only keep going more and more and more. Then, finally he let out one final moan that told you to expect the hot fluid that filled your mouth, and you tried your best to keep it all contained as you finally let it out with a pop.

Mark leaned down to you, his eyes wide as he realized what he had just done. “Baby, you don’t have to…” Mark began to say, but cut himself short as he watched you gulp, licking your thumb for the small bit that had dribbled out of your mouth. “Did you just…?”

You nodded, standing up to your feet and grabbing onto his arms, almost like you were trying to indicate something. Soon after, Mark's lips crashed on yours.

There was something so attractive about a man who kissed you senseless regardless of having just came in your mouth, unafraid of his own taste. It was even more attractive as he picked you up effortlessly, never breaking the kiss, and sitting you down on the sink. Not to mention the way he knew what you wanted, and what you wanted was him.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, Okay?” Mark whispered against your neck, his hands on your thighs as he planted kiss after kiss. Soon, they roamed to the hem of your shirt. “Can I take all of this off?”

You nodded, barely saying a small ‘yeah’ as he started undressing you like a present. First your shirt, your bra, your shorts, and saving your panties for last. Never taking his lips off of yours or anywhere on your body as he did so.

“You’re so pretty. So good to me.” Mark said, placing kisses all over your jawline, on your chest, on your stomach, wherever he could reach. “I love you so much, Y/n. My beautiful girl. I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

“Mark…” you groaned, saying his name in the way he knows means you needed something more.

Mark kissed your shoulders, his hand going down to your clothed cunt, feeling how soaked through it already was. He slid them off, throwing them to the side with the rest of your clothes. “I know, love, I know. I just really wanna be inside you, is that alright with you?”

You nodded eagerly, “I have condoms in my drawer.” You told him.

“Wait here.” Mark said as he scurried off to find one. You could hear him opening every drawer, probably making a mess rummaging through your things and finally he stumbled back in. Mark ripped it open and slipped it on, going back in to place a deep but quick kiss on your lips.

“Come, I wanna try something,” He said, pulling you off the sink. You expected him to move locations, instead, he just turned you around, back against him as you faced the mirror.

“I…Is that okay…?” Mark asked timidly. “I just…I want you to see.”

If you weren’t losing your mind already, you were at that point. Your hand stretched out behind you for him, finding his face. “Yeah, it’s okay…just please, do it already.”

It was an offer he couldn’t resist and he was lining himself up with you before you knew it. “I don’t think I need to prep you, but…” He said, placing a kiss on your shoulder. “Tell me how you feel, love.”

It was your turn to grip onto the counter as you felt Mark slide in, bottoming out in you pretty easily. It was a new position and Mark was just girthy, but the both of you seemed adjusted after a few moments.

“Mark…please move,” you pleaded to your boyfriend, yearning for feel some type of friction. Mark wouldn’t stop kissing your shoulders, your back, your neck, as he started to give you the movement you wanted.

Every thrust felt enhanced in this position, and you could hardly hold yourself up. Mark always started slow, but once he started to get comfortable, his stamina would allow him to just go faster and faster until one of you came first.

This was no different and your head hung down as he started to pick up his pace. That is, until he used his free that wasn’t on your waist directing your movements to pick it up, holding it firm. He groaned in your ear, losing himself by the second as he spoke. “I…I want you to watch.”

The phrase went straight to your core, and you could only shudder as you did as he wanted. You watched as he went from looking at you in the mirror, down to where he was pumping in and out of you like his life depended on it. You watched his hand on your waist, directing you onto him.

Needless to say, neither of you were going to last very long in this position. Soon Mark was getting sloppier in his movements, and when he started pushing your back down, reaching even deeper than he already was, you knew you were close.

“Mark….I…I’m really close…” You panted, your legs shaking underneath you.

That seemed to only make your boyfriend go faster, giving you the last bit of everything he had. “So am I…we can cum together, love.”

Mark resorted to both hands on your hips as you reached your peak and it had sent you over the edge. You leaned on the counter riding out your orgasm meanwhile Mark felt your walls contract around him, and it only took a few more thrusts before he was right there with you.

He slipped out of you, throwing away the condom as he caught his breath, seeing you leaned over the counter.

A few seconds later, Mark was hooking his arm around you and under your knees, carrying you bridal style to your bed. You were still out of it as he sat you down, and it was beyond how he has the ability to walk around after that.

Mark had gone into the bathroom, and came back out with his boxers on, a wash cloth, and a fresh pair of clothes to help you change into.

Sex was great. With Mark it was amazing, actually. However, nothing felt as great as having a partner who takes care of you, who helps you clean up and change info new clothes, who you know loves you unconditionally because you’ve known him for years. And during all this time, he always treated you with the same dignity and devotion.

As Mark finished helping you slip on a hoodie, you grabbed his hands, looking down at them with a warm look in your eye. “You know, I still can’t believe how many times you tried to confess to me.” You told him with a giggle, recalling the story he told you about his trials and tribulations in finally telling you he loves you.

Mark knelt down, wanting to meet your eye level better. “I can’t either. I’m honestly surprised we’re here even now.”

“I’m not.” You answered. “I don’t know…I just always felt like one day we would. I always knew you’d be first to crack.”

Mark laughed, scooting closer to as his eyes stayed locked with yours. “I’m just grad I kept trying, because apparently the third time was the charm.”

“I took a leap of faith, and it gave me the love of my life.”

.   　˚　✭　*✦　.　‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ 　 ˚　.˚ ✭　.

- chapter 1

-chapter 2

[torresxpatrick]

There was no feeling that compared to being in the ring with another human. There’s only so much satisfaction Pat can get from hitting a bag that hangs from the ceiling for hours at a time - it doesn’t fight back, it doesn’t give any kind of unexpected movement. Sometimes, Patrick wished he actually pursued fighting in a way that felt more real, arranged fights with real hits, real dodging, an actual element of what he fell in love with so many years ago. But still, he could feel his body as it aged, not holding its own nearly as well as it used to - perhaps it was a good thing his ‘real’ fights were in limited numbers these days. Still, he relished the times that a gym goer took him up on the offer, flying around in circles on his feet as easy as walking down the street (maybe even easier, Patrick has been known to trip over his own shoes). The exhaustion left in his bones, the weight in his lungs as they stepped out of the ring, it was his own euphoria. He grinned at the other’s offer, nodding lightly as he took a long glug from his water bottle. “Anytime, man,” he grinned, “if it wasn’t -”, a quick glance at his watch, “only 7:30, I’d be down for a beer right now.” Patrick chuckled, then quirked a joking eyebrow. “Or, a bloody mary…?” Another laugh and the man shook his head, draping a towel over the back of his neck and grabbing onto both ends, letting the towel hold the weight of his heavy arms. “No, seriously though, you ever wanna punch something, you know where to find me. I’m always down to jump in the ring, y’know me.”   

───they are not old, per se; Hunter does not feel old, by any means, but still he is not in his early twenties. athlete or not. he can still do everything he could back then, but it has its toll, whether he likes it or not, recovery time is not the same. Dakar is hard as it is and the fact that he barely gives himself a moment to rest after, not even for a couple of days, adds to it; he wasn’t simply messing with Patrick when he mentioned it. regardless, he is glad they can humor themselves a little about it, as well as for the offer given that he doesn’t really feel in the mood to work out, even when he is already halfway there by being at the gym. in truth, if it wasn’t for his competitive nature, he probably would still be in bed.

after talking himself into doing so warm-ups, followed by a bit of weights, he made his way over to Patrick just when he started feeling that he would rather head home than push through another set. “I highly doubt it,” he laughed but joined the other man nonetheless; not for an actual fight, he hoped, they could just spar and run through some drills for a while. and it’s not like he puts any less than a hundred percent into each step, but it doesn’t make the fact that he feels sore and spent after having ridden dunes for long distances for the past two weeks. “next time, we will make sure you give me a challenge…” he said once they had about wrapped up; people started coming to get their morning exercises in and he was about to call it a day at the gym. “or better yet, grab a beer,” he laughed; he was teasing, of course, he was down for them to do both.

[spotaus]

Okay! This one is less rendered than the other two, but here's some doodles of Tulpa figuring out how to co-exist! (Aka Fresh not taking training seriously while Dream is trying desperately to get his friends to think he's normal.)

When Dream first returns to the Star Sans', he finds himself in a pickle, because he needs Fresh to move his body. Sure, they made a tentative agreement that Dream trusted Fresh not to break, but Dream hadn't been specific enough with the guidelines.

Fresh pilots Dream's body based on the commands from his soul, but more often than not Fresh simply decides not to listen. Sometimes when they're training, Fresh will suddenly make Dream fumble his bow or send an arrow flying way off-target. Dream is always frustrated by this, unaware that Fresh it doing it for his own good and is forcing the guardian to take a break.

Blue was also made aware of Fresh very early on. One day he was passing the kitchen where Dream was cooking and spotted how Fresh's little form was wiggling out of the hole on Dream's skull. Blue made Eye-contact with Fresh, but said nothing since it seemed like Dream was aware and didn't mind. He waited until Dream told him to acknowledge the parasite directly, but suddenly a bunch of Dream's weird actions made sense to him. Blue regularly makes sure to check in on Dream, before abd after he's aware of Fresh, because he knows Dream works himself into the ground.

Dream (eventually) figures out that Fresh was being clumsy for his sake and nearly cries about it (even his mother and the villagers never did that for him, and Blue was the only other person to ever pull him away from training for his own good) so he gets a bit emotional. He feels bad for how angry he used to get at Fresh for doing that, but Fresh never gave him a proper explanation either, so it was a two-way street.

And while Fresh was lienent around Blue and Ink, he never slipped up around Nightmare's gang. Though, he did fight seriously, which to him might look like goofing off, which is completely separate from Dream's fighting style. (For now Dream uses Arrows and his Bow, but I'm thinking Tulpa has a T-Shirt Canon or a Nerf Gun by the time they make-up.)

Ideally Fresh cannot be seen during combat because he actually pilots from around Dream's soul, but sometimes his parasite form expands to support Dream's weak joints and act like a shock-absorber.

[energeticpoltergeist]

FE Secret Santa (4/10)

Linhardt for @froggopi

edit: forgot to at @feshippingpolls

[thedreadvampy]

My housemate is moving out in January

She told us this a week or two ago, when she sat down and, after sitting with us watching TV for over an hour, said "hey so I bought a house and I'm moving out. We agreed on 2 months notice so I won't move until the end of January."

The last time she talked in the immediate terms about buying a house was in 2021, when the sale she was working on fell though and she was unemployed so it was a "when I'm back in a position to look I'll start looking again." Since then I've occasionally asked her how she's doing on the house buying front and she's been like "oh I'm getting there financially" but hasn't mentioned anything concrete.

She didn't tell us she was looking at places. She didn't tell us she had put in an offer. She told us when the offer was finalised. A week AFTER she emailed the letting agent about getting out of her part of the lease. And, it increasingly feels like, only because the letting agent's response was that we had to agree to change the lease.

The letting agent's response (which our housemate obviously didn't copy us into; we had to follow up separately and they copied us into the email chain) also includes that when we change the lease, they're empowered to change the rent, quote, "no cap". Rent was already going up in January - there's no possibility of Sam and I paying her share of the rent.

The really fucking upsetting thing is we're not strangers. This isn't a casual "housemate we found on flatshare" thing. She and Sam have lived together literally their entire adult lives. Me and her have known each other well over a decade. I lived in her and Sam's flat when I was homeless. We were the first people she came out to as trans. We're not super close but I thought we were fucking friends. And she's literally gone out of her way to not talk to us about this for what must have been months while the sale completed - which means she's lied to my face at least once cause I've asked her about her finances in that time (cause she's in a job she hates that she only took to get the house money, so it's like. when we've been commiserating about work stuff I'm often asking 'are you almost free?'). she literally went out of her way to talk to the letting agents before talking to us about putting us in a situation where we could lose our fucking home.

And she keeps. trying. to pretend nothing's happened. Every time I've seen her since then she's not mentioned anything or apologised or anything, she just keeps chatting away and offering hugs and fistbumps like nothing's happened. Like we're still fucking friends.

All it would take for us to still be friends and to be happy for her would have been one fucking sentence in the groupchat like "hey, just put an offer in on a house" or "I'm looking at properties, just so you know, that might happen in the next few months". Like nobody begrudges her for buying a house! It's very cool for her! She's 31 she's worked really hard to get the money I would love to be happy for her! Unfortunately she decided avoiding conflict is more important than giving the people she fucking LIVES WITH (who btw fronted her a month on the rent here while she was unemployed and agreed to take on a larger proportion of the move-in cost back in 2021, if we're still holding ourselves to shit we said 2.5 years ago), so no, you are not entitled to our friendship or to going back to normal.

like if she'd been honest with us it would have been something to process but we'd have had time to figure out our next steps. instead she's left us in a position where we have to find a new roommate before she gives her one month notice, which means finding someone by the end of December, which oh look that's the middle of the fucking Christmas holidays. and she didn't tell us anything until the START of December, or copy us into her conversation with the letting agent, meaning we still don't know what the rent on that space will be so we aren't yet in a position to advertise it. Has she offered to help find a roommate? Has she fuck. Has she offered to help out by moving her move-out date? Nah, she's moving as soon as she gets the keys because, quote, "that means her finances won't have to change". SOUNDS LOVELY. NOT HAVING YOUR FINANCES SUDDENLY CHANGE. I THINK THAT SOUNDS LIKE A REALLY REASONABLE FUCKING GOAL.

Thirteen fucking years she's lived with Sam. Four fucking weeks over Christmas she's left us to figure out a way to not turbofuck our living situation. And she's got the fucking nerve to try and pretend we should be interacting like nothing's changed. Jesus Christ. What a fucking unhinged way to treat...anybody, honestly. never mind the friends-your-entire-adult-life part. literally cannot imagine a scenario in which I would buy a house without telling the people I lived with.

(haha actually this is what my parents divorced over so apparently it's not unusual. although at least my dad had the decency to tell the woman he shared finances with at the point he put in an offer not the point the fucking sale went through.)

Like we'll be fine. It's a huge city centre flat with decent rent and queer housemates, hopefully even when the rent goes up it'll be an easy sell in a city with a huge housing shortage and big queer community. We've got a couple of people interested already, sight unseen - worst case scenario we have to live with someone we don't get on with. And it's given Sam and me a push to look at our own finances and as of today, we've got a mortgage decision in principle and can start looking at flats in the area - mind, we'll be transparent upfront and tell any prospective housemates that yeah, we're looking to buy and move out in the next 6-12 months, and we'll tell them if we put an offer in, because we're decent fucking people who aren't going to spring that on someone out of the blue.

But it's been I think 2 weeks and I'm so fucking angry I could spit. It's such a fucking betrayal. And frankly you know selfishly like. I just had a breakup a couple of months ago, I'm in the middle of moving jobs, both me and Sam have a history of housing instability and this has been the first decent, stable, safe, not-mouldy not-freezing home I think any of us have had, and this is so fucking triggering and upscuttling I could just start biting. like I was talking to my friend about it last week and it's just like. Can I have One Fucking Thing of the three main tentpoles of survival - home, work, relationships - that are fucking stable right now? because shit has been In Flux lately. and at least the work and relationship stuff has changed because of my decisions. going through all that work to make myself short-term unstable to gain long-term stability has been really hard and draining and then just as I was reaching the crisis point with work stuff BOOM, IT'S HOUSING INSTABILITY WITH A STEEL CHAIR. fuck. seriously fuck this and fuck her. we're going to make something good come of it but what a deeply, unbelievably shitty thing to do.

[sunfloweraro]

Okay I couldn’t not write something based on this so—Sky comforting Legend and giving him the hug he desperately needs.

***

In the dead of the night, the Master Sword woke him with a fleeting pulse of heat. Not nearly enough to burn, but the sudden shock of it jolted him into the conscious world with a soft gasp. With a soft hum of curiosity, Sky turned bleary eyes down to the Master Sword, held close to his chest as he always did. A beat passed, where a faint flicker of hope rose within him, ears alert for her voice. They dropped when he was met with silence. Not her, then.

With a weary sigh, Sky hauled himself up into a seated position, running a hand through messy hair as he searched the clearing for any sign as to why the Master Sword had chosen to wake him at this time. Monsters, he knew, would have announced themselves by now. Not an attack then. All the other heroes were asleep, except…

Sky inhaled sharply. Across the clearing, atop a rock they had deemed ‘watch rock,’ for the night, sat Legend. His eyes were unfocussed and downcast. Hazy and exhausted. His ears and shoulders drooped as he hunched over one knee, where he rested his head. A cut ran across his nose, a second through his bottom lip, from an earlier fight, and his hair was still filthy from the scuffle.

A heavy sigh filled the clearing, and Sky understood why she had chosen to wake him.

Gathering his thick blanket, Sky picked his way over to the rock, brows furrowing when Legend gave no sign he heard Sky’s approach. No sign he was even still alive, bar the terribly soft breaths escaping him. Sky clambered up onto the rock, making his steps loud to announce his approach. Nothing from their Veteran.

Sky sat next to Legend cross-legged, his blanket resting in his lap. He fidgeted with it for a moment, trying to decide how best to proceed. Another sigh from Legend, and Sky decided it didn’t matter how he handled this, so long as he did so now.

Setting a hand over Legend’s shoulder, he said, as soft as he could, “Ledge?”

Rather than the flinch he anticipated, perhaps even a shout of surprise and an instinctive blow to the jaw, Legend said nothing. But Sky didn’t miss the way his ears twitched at his voice, nor the way Legend turned away ever so slightly.

Legend was still with him.

“Hey,” Sky breathed, wary of speaking any louder when the air between them felt so fragile, so delicate. When Legend appeared as such. “Is everything okay?”

Finally, finally, Legend responded, a low hum escaping him, barely there, one Sky would have missed, had it not been for the heavy silence. “…so tired.” Sky’s heart sank. The way Legend had said it, a breathy, shaky thing that reminded him of shattered glass and tattered clothes. Worn out and broken.

The fire crackled and popped. Legend’s shoulders slumped farther, he leaned heavier over his knee.

“Okay,” Sky murmured. “Would… would a hug help?”

For his offer, he received a sharp, shuddering intake of breath that spoke more volumes than any words Legend could have returned. Tentatively, wary of shattering someone so fragile, Sky shifted closer, wrapping his blanket around Legend’s shoulders. In turn, their stubborn and sharp Veteran, his exhausted and despondent friend, leaned into his side. Despite the concern dripping down his ribs, Sky shifted even closer, wrapping an arm around Legend’s shoulders and drawing him into his side properly. Legend’s head dropped onto his shoulder, weighted down by his heavy thoughts, by this terrible duty that had been forced upon him.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, resting his head against Legend’s. He ran his hand up and down Legend’s arm, both to ground and to comfort. “Get some rest, Ledge. I’ll look after us tonight.”

A soft breath escaped Legend, acceptance in its weakest, most strung out form. It wasn’t long before Legend slumped against him, breaths evening out. Despite the relief, Sky found that concern pressing fiercely against his chest, ever-persistent. Come morning, he wouldn’t tease Legend like he normally might for falling asleep against one of them. He would check in on his friend. Would make sure the rest of them knew to, as well, in spite of his sharp jabs and fiery scowls.

For tonight, he would take care of them both.

aaaaand back to pen line art!! :D

I wasn't planning on drawing this, but I was listening to Mitski and that kinda influenced my mood, so...yeah. ✨angst✨

[roobylavender]

im really sorry if this question ends up being repetitive: but, if not for bruce’s over reliance on dick to regulate his thoughts and emotions, why would dick grow up into feeling like he needs to repress his emotions so much and his eagerness to act as people’s support? i know youve spoken about wolfman and his altering of their relationship but if ntt is generally an accurate portrayal of an adult dick, to me this nevertheless sounds like the consequences a parent-child relationship where the responsibilities are titled too much towards the child

i suppose this could also segue into asking for recs that would help me better understand your interpretation of their relationship 👀

not repetitive at all! to me the irony of wolfman's depiction of dick lies in that it is simultaneously something you can logically ascertain from prior canon but not for the reasons actually presented by wolfman. if that makes sense. he does extra work that isn't actually necessary to help explain why dick would act the way that he does because there's plenty of reasons for it without rewriting his history with bruce to have always been suppressed and edgy and dark. to me it makes far more sense to capitalize on the inevitable disconnect between bruce and dick as an adult and a child. batman: full circle is a good example of that dichotomy (and although it was published in the early 90s it built on mike w. barr's prior understanding of the relationship between dick and bruce that he wrote into the early 80s). bruce's primary concern for the people he works with is never standards or finesse but safety. he worries constantly about others coming to harm under his watch and with a child in particular those worries were exacerbated. he ran a tight ship not because he believed dick had anything to prove but because the only way dick could keep being robin was if he went about it safely. that was obv easy for an adult to understand. but not so much for a child

to bruce these worries were practical and par for the course (as well as an expression of his love and protectiveness) but for dick their consequences formed the crux of his entire world. as a child he idolized everything about bruce. his heroism. his work ethic. his skill. his resolve. his preparedness. if dick couldn't live up to the standard he set for himself in idolizing bruce then what could he ever hope to amount to? that was the thought constantly going through his head. and it's why the bulk of his childhood and primary tenure as bruce's partner was so precariously protected by the fact that nothing bad ever really happened during it (and admittedly this framing is convenient because even chronologically speaking nothing very significant happened in their history with each other until dick left for university in 1969) (i know dixon opted to write that whole shtick with dent in his version of events but personally i never found it necessary to do so). there is enough there in the idea of dick working hard for the course of a decade to embody who he believed bruce to be that lends itself to it eventually being difficult for him to healthily express himself once the rift between them actually began to emerge

because what about bruce was there to actually see that was broken and dark before dick became an adult? i know a lot of dick fans hate batman #408 because they don't like that it enforced "retirement" upon dick (which i personally believe is a conclusion they come to because of the way batman #416 re-framed the same scene) but to me that's an inaccurate reading of the text. batman #408 was about bruce (admittedly far too belatedly) recognizing that he could not in good conscience continue to ask dick to go out and be a vigilante on what he considered to be his own "orders". he viewed dick's close call with death at the hands of the joker as something directly of his own making. although their tenure with each other had been wonderful if dick wanted to continue to be a vigilante it had to be on his own terms and of his own volition. obv that was logical to bruce and it was something dick managed to accept in the moment. but it's still hard to go from always having a purpose alongside someone you idolized to finally being entrusted entirely to forge your own

in general i like the idea of dick the adult becoming privy to all of the personal problems and conflicts that come with being a vigilante. he was conveniently shielded from a lot of those problems as a child because all he had to do was be bruce's partner and hope to live up to the title. bruce had no reason to trauma dump on him or talk about his worries and concerns at length with him because it was never supposed to be dick's job to field those worries and concerns in the first place. he was a child. the only thing bruce wanted to do was to help channel his emotions through an outlet and provide him with a home to grow up in. but when you become an adult often that dynamic shifts. you're still not responsible for fielding those worries and concerns but you can perhaps be trusted with them. that's why i like the framing in batman #408 of dick now being a man. it's a subtle way to frame the double-edged sword of adulthood. the world is in your hands now but so will be the horrors that come with it. coming to terms with the real world that bruce lives in should be hard for dick. coming to terms with who bruce is when he's not perfect should be hard. coming to terms with how quietly bruce kept his grief because he did not see fit to overwhelm a child with it should be hard. that dichotomy of dick both wanting to be bruce's brother and his son should form the crux of their conflict with each other because you can't hope to be someone's equal and someone's protected at the same time in that kind of relationship. for dick to transition into the position of equal he has to expose himself to the fact that bruce is not in fact an idol but someone irrevocably human. and that should interfere significantly with his head and his own standards for himself

[hawkswildfireheart]

Very impressed with my gma.

Sh fell down the stairs and broke her pelvis in two spots on Christmas. She was going down backwards (please don't) and said that she hadn't been counting and missed the last step and fell. Literally one step. Spent a week in the hospital with just some Tylenol for pain relief (no surgery, they wanted to try conservative treatment first).

She came home on the 31st, had a hard time getting out of the car and up the garage stairs into the house. I hadn't been over there since, just getting updates from her thru text, or hearing from Mom or my aunt.

I was the one available today to be there when home PT came and it's night and day from when she came home a week ago. Had an actual stride while walking, had shoes on and was fine with the extra weight of them. Was flying up and down those garage stairs during PT and said that when she was stepping and had all her weight on the bad leg it didn't hurt at all. She's doing her PT regularly, following most of the directions (she did walk from the bathroom to her chair by herself yesterday without supervision, she agreed it wasn't a smart thing to do), she's moving around almost better than before the injury tbh and she's only 2 wks out from the fall

[lastoneout]

sometimes I don't think I could be autistic and/or like all that neurodivergent and then other times my fiancé makes a practical and logical argument as to why we don't need a tiny colander that's too small for most tasks and that to save space in the sink/cabinets I should learn to use the medium sized one and honestly we should probably just get rid of the small one and I am filled with such an immense rush of panic and discomfort and grief that I can't even explain it properly until I am saying shit like "the tiny colander is my friend" and "using the big one just FEELS wrong, you know, like going to albertsons instead of safeway" and "next you're gonna tell me I have to use the big soup spoons instead of the little ones and I'll pass away" and I can tell while he does love me and isn't actually mad he def thinks I'm being super illogical and can't fully understand why

like yes I KNOW I am being illogical I am well aware of that...however!! If things are different I will die and if I have to get rid of object that is my friend I will ALSO die, and the only explanation I have is "I like to have things a very specific way even if it doesn't make sense or is less convenient or wastes time and space and changing it is REALLY hard I can't just go "oh you're right" and then change it just doesn't work like that" which is like.....not a great explanation I don't think but that's literally all I've got so???

and like this is legit the only thing we ever "argue" over(bcs we aren't actually fighting we're just talking) it's just him being like "hey the way you do things is inefficient and doesn't make a lot of sense, wouldn't it be easier/make more sense to do it this way?" and then me scrambling to try to articulate "that's fair, but this is the way I do things, I can't change that" in a way that doesn't make me sound dismissive or insane or something which doesn't really seem to work all that well, or like...isn't really getting what I mean across correctly at the very least

[binders-and-beanies]

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