#i feel like it would be way better received

[sunsburns]

track 10 — mark grayson (invincible) !

⟢ synopsis. you totally don't have a thing for mark, that would be crazy ... unless

⟢ contains. 18+, mark grayson x afab reader, nsfw, oral (m & f receiving), cunnilingus. mark is kinda subby, friends with benefits but they like each other, reader is so down bad it's embarassing, and mark isn't any better, gets a little nasty when it comes to cum, mark is a proud moaner, mentions of porn, both mark and reader are lowkey pervs.

⟢ wc: 15k+

⟢ author’s note. mark is an eater, sue me. there's stupid jokes thrown in here, just a long written work of me pushing the casual sex with mark idea. i also like the idea of having an alien boyfriend and making mark more alien than human. a lot of it was inspired by this work from ao3!

You’re such a pervert.

At least, that’s what Mark and William would call you if they saw the way your eyes trailed, lingered, on the way fingers slipped into the holes of bowling balls, your gaze locked on the flex of forearm muscle tightening beneath warm, sandy skin. Veins rising just under the surface. The smooth way wrists rolled as they brought the ball up, perfectly casual, totally unaware.

You exhaled slowly through your nose. The warmth in your stomach was beginning to simmer into something heavier, something you refused to name in the middle of a public bowling alley, under neon lights and the scent of cheap nachos.

Mark would turn scarlet if he caught you. You knew the exact look—eyebrows shooting up, eyes wide and blinking, stammering over his own breath like a shy bastard. And William? God, he’d never let you live it down. He’d smirk like the devil himself, a wicked grin twisting on his face as he realized you’re not so different from him, seconds away from pointing across the lane with an audible gasp like he’s scandalized.

You huffed and slouched deeper into the worn leather seat, folding your arms across your chest like it might shield you from the shame of your own libido. Or at least from the sight of Mark, now lining up his shot.

Why did you even agree to this again?

Third-wheeling William and Rick’s bowling date for the millionth time had officially become the sad little cherry on top of your tragic sundae. You were no longer just the single friend. You were the perpetually single friend. The “don’t worry, you’ll find someone eventually” friend. It made you want to tear your hair out of your head.

Worse still was when Amber and her new boyfriend showed up. You’d run out of excuses not to come by then—tried “midterms,” “period,” even “funeral” once, which William did not find funny. (You still do.)

Maybe that was an exaggeration because you know how competitive William and Amber get so there wouldn’t be much love to go around if the game was close, but still!

And maybe it wasn’t always like this. Maybe they didn’t completely leave you out. They included you in the group cheers, the trash talk, and even the occasional victory dance when one of you got a lucky strike. You weren’t invisible. Just… orbiting. A little too aware of the way everyone else had someone to orbit with.

But tonight was different.

Because Mark Grayson was here.

You hadn’t expected it—had already accepted your fate as the designated third wheel, again—but when William pulled up and you opened the car door, there he was. Sitting in the back seat. Tugging at the sleeves of his sweater. That stupid, kinda cute grin on his face when he saw the shock on yours.

Mark Grayson. The best friend turned part-time cryptid. A guy you maybe saw once every other week if the planets aligned and there wasn’t a kaiju climbing out of Lake Michigan. These days, he showed up in the group chat typing out things like “Sorry I’ve been MIA, was in space lol” or “brb gotta swim in a volcano for endurance training :(” like it was completely normal and not the kind of thing that made you feel a weird cocktail of secondhand stress and... butterflies.

He was still the same guy who sent you videos of raccoons screaming into bird feeders at 2 a.m. Still remembered to say “hi” to your mom over text. Still promised you he wasn’t dead every now and then. But sitting beside him in the car—seeing his knee bouncing, his jaw shifting with a soft grin like nothing had changed—it hit you just how much had.

He looked… older. And maybe you looked older too but it was like he’d seen things and hadn’t told anyone. His eyes had that faraway shine he got when he was lost in thought, and even with the quiet hum of William and Rick’s shitty playlist and the greasy scent of drive-thru fries between you all, you could feel the shift in the air. A little quieter. A little heavier.

You had to play it cool. Pretend your entire body hadn’t immediately started sparking like faulty wiring the second he said your name and nudged your knee with his. You had to stop smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt.

You had to act like this was any other night. Like he wasn’t the reason your stomach had butterflies and your thighs had opinions.

You leaned your head against the window, hiding your face, hoping the dark would swallow the flush climbing your neck. You muttered something sarcastic about “the prodigal son returning,” and Mark just chuckled, that same warm, dorky sound that always made your stomach twist.

He said, “You act like I’ve been gone for five years. It’s only been, like, two weeks.”

You gave him a flat look. “You missed two birthdays, Mark.”

He winced. “Okay, technically I was there for William’s. You just couldn’t see me.”

“Yeah,” William piped up from the front seat, smirking. “Because you were in orbit.”

Mark shrugged with a guilty laugh and you were smiling the whole car ride.

Not because he was saying anything particularly funny—though he did, at one point, launch into a truly terrible pun about black holes and bowling balls—but just because he was there. And you wouldn’t have to sit alone all night, nursing a soda while Rick and William played footsie over the ball return.

By the time you all reached the bowling alley, cheap neon lights flickering overhead, you were already white-knuckling it through the evening. The floors stuck just a little to your soles, gum-slick and soda-stained, the way only old alleys could be. It felt like someone turned the heater up to just uncomfortable, and you were nearly sweating through your shirt despite the chill of your drink between your hands.

You’re trying your best not to blare your teeth because neither Rick nor Mark would understand how badly you need to sink them into something. And the last thing you need is William playing Cupid again. If he catches even a whiff of this (and he will, the man could sniff out sexual frustration like a fucking bloodhound) you’ll spend the rest of the night dodging his attempts to set you up with someone’s cousin. Or sibling. Or roommate. Or ex.

So instead, you cross your legs, pressing your thighs together like a lifeline, grateful for the thick fabric of your jeans creating friction, if nothing else. You chew furiously on the nachos Rick ordered for the table, salt and fake cheese mixing with the lingering taste of your own desperation, pretending to be invested in the score.

You tried to have a little shame with the way you were staring—really, you tried. But your casual glances across the lanes kept narrowing, funnelling, zeroing in on one person. And the way Mark moved tonight was ridiculous.

You were practically biting your fist, hating how much you loved the way his shoulders shifted under that stupid sweater—the very same one he used to wear in high school. Still threadbare in places. Still soft-looking. Still familiar. Except now, it clung a little tighter to the broader frame he’d grown into, hugging his chest and upper arms like a secret he hadn’t meant to keep from you.

You don’t even think that yellow button-up he used to pair it with would fit anymore. Not unless he wanted to pop a few buttons and really give you something to talk about in therapy.

Mark had filled out in ways you didn’t quite expect—broader shoulders, a thicker chest, and maybe, just maybe, he’d gotten taller too. It was subtle at first, the kind of change that didn’t register until he handed you his old, beloved Seance Dog t-shirt one afternoon like it was nothing. You remembered how the sleeves used to sag on him, how the shirt had always hung a little loose, and yet it had fit obscenely tight the last time he wore it. The fabric had clung to his torso like a second skin, sleeves straining around his biceps, the hem inching up every time he moved, flashing bare slivers of skin that had no right being that distracting.

You still kept that shirt. Obviously. You told yourself it was sentimental value.

But he looked good tonight. Unfairly so. Maybe he’d always looked good and you were just blind before. Or maybe being away from him for so long had cracked something wide open. Or, worst-case scenario: your hormones were finally staging a mutiny.

Mark kept adjusting the sleeves of his sweater, rolling them up to his elbows like he didn’t know what he was doing. As if the sight of his forearms—tan and veined, the muscles shifting under his skin—wasn’t actively short-circuiting your brain.

You tried to be normal about the way you watched him walk over to the ball return, fingers ghosting across the slick surfaces like he was reading them in braille. You watched his hand pause on the biggest ball available, the one no one else bothered with, and he lifted it like it was made of foam. You felt your pulse stutter at the way his fingers—pointer, middle, thumb—slid into the holes like they belonged there, like they knew what they were doing. His forearm flexed, slow and subtle, and something deep in your stomach clenched in a way that made you feel both ashamed and violently alive.

His skin barely shifted from the strain. Just a soft pull. A ripple. The gentlest whisper of effort. But you admired it all the same. The slight dip of muscle at his elbow. The veins running up his arm. The quiet strength of his grip.

You tried not to imagine Mark’s hands on your hips. Or in your hair. Or in your mouth. Or worse—inside you. You tried not to think about what kind of sounds he might make. Was he a moaner or does he just groan? Would he whimper? Would he say your name like it meant something?

Would Amber tell you if you asked her?

She probably would. She’d smirk, hand you a drink, and tell you to stop being a pussy and go find out yourself.

You shift in your seat again, squeezing your thighs tighter, desperate for relief, for control, for anything other than this maddening ache.

Mark throws the ball. It gutters. Again.

He looks back at you immediately, face scrunching like he’s trying to play it off, but you catch the flicker of embarrassment behind it. You give him two exaggerated thumbs up, all supportive sarcasm. He returns the gesture with just as much sass, which makes you laugh, which makes your heart thump, which makes everything worse.

God, he really does hate bowling. He’s terrible at it. And somehow that only makes you want him more.

If you had a dick, you’re sure you’d be dealing with a painfully obvious hard-on by now. Instead, you’re left to wonder how wet your jeans are getting and whether the people around you will just assume your nipples are hard from the cold. (You wore a bra tonight. Thank God for small mercies.)

You shouldn't be thinking about one of your friends like this. Not someone you barely get to see anymore. You don’t want to ruin this with whatever’s going on in your head. But it’s too late, isn’t it? You’re already undressing him in your mind, mouth full of nachos, pupils blown wide.

You take another bite, chewing mindlessly, trying to remember when exactly this started. When Mark became more than just your high school buddy. When the sight of him made your lungs forget how to work. When you stopped seeing him as just Mark—and started seeing him as something else. Someone else. Someone you wanted.

“I suck.”

You hear Mark huff as he comes back from the floor. His frown is apologetic and self-deprecating as he drags his feet.

“And blow.” William snickers, rising from his spot next to Rick for his turn. His teasing tone is sharp and playful, drawing laughter from you and Rick alike.

“Fuck off,” Mark retorts, his irritation softening the moment—and then, like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Mark makes his way to you. And it’s stupid, the way your breath stills just a little. Just a second.

His face shifts when he gets close, softer now. “Hey,” he says, with that quiet little smile of his.

“Hi.” You try not to sound breathless.

“I suck at bowling,” he says again, collapsing into the seat beside you.

Now, being close enough to catch even the faintest trace of his cologne—the familiar scent that you and Debbie painstakingly chose for his birthday last year. You remember that bottle, both of you debating over what “smelled like Mark.” This one had lingered on your coat for days after he hugged you once. Reminds you that some parts of him have not changed at all.

Mark reaches for the biggest nacho on the plate, of course, he does, and he ignores your reminder that the centre nacho was meant to be saved for last.

“Too late,” he says, crunching into it, unbothered.

Your eyes dart over to the flickering scoreboard. There, Mid-game Mark is branded with a lowly score of twenty-five—a number so absurd it makes you laugh at his expense.

“Jesus,” you snort, trying to hide your smile behind your hand. “How does that even happen? I thought you had powers or something.”

“Doesn’t matter if I do. William knows I’m shit at bowling.”

That makes you smile, and you tease, “And you’re still here.”

“Where else would I be?” Mark shrugs, his tone light, but then he adds, “Besides, I’ve missed you.”

Your stomach does a sharp little flip.

“Have you?” You arch an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he says, without hesitation. His eyes don’t leave yours.

Then Rick laughs at something William shouts from the lane, and Mark seems to remember where he is. The spell breaks. He coughs, awkwardly. “I mean—I’ve missed all of you guys. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you echo, smiling despite yourself.

And god, maybe it’s not a big deal. Maybe it’s nothing. But maybe it’s also everything. Like the way he always used to wait for you to catch up in the hallways. Like how he still texts you song lyrics when he can’t sleep. Like how he sat next to you without even asking.

To try to muster up all your courage, hoping you do not sound like a loser.

“If you’ve missed me so much,” you tease, bumping your knee against his, “we could’ve just gone out ourselves, you know. I wouldn’t make you suffer like this.”

Mark looks at you then. Really looks at you.

“Are you free tomorrow by any chance?”

Your heart stutters. You pretend not to notice. “I don’t know.”

His face falls, just a bit. The corners of his mouth twitch like maybe he’s bracing for a punch. “Seriously?”

You shrug with a stupid grin that threatens to betray every thought swirling beneath the surface, and you almost feel bad—but not really. “I might have to move a few things around. Very demanding schedule, you know.”

“Right,” he says, eyes flicking upward in that way you remember so well, a glint of playful hope that sends your stomach into a flip. “If you push doom scrolling till after seven, do you think we could get lunch and boba? There’s a new store that opened up near my place.”

You pretend to think, tapping your chin. “That might work.”

“My treat.”

“Would you look at that,” you breathe, smiling so wide it aches. “My entire day just cleared up.”

He grins, “Uh-huh. Cheap ass.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Mark says with a shrug that’s far too casual to be innocent, looking anywhere but at you. “Must’ve been the wind.”

It takes everything in you not to laugh. God, you’re hopeless. Every time he looks at you like that—like there’s some inside joke only the two of you share—it hits something soft and dangerous inside your chest. It shouldn’t feel this personal. He’s always like this with you. Right?

Before you can fire back something smug or clever, William calls your name like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt. You roll your eyes but the irritation’s fake—your bark never really had any bite when it came to Mark, not when he looks at you like that. Not when he smells like that. Not when you’re sitting so close, you’re painfully aware of just how wet your panties are from… from what? A smile? A little eye contact? Pathetic.

Still, you’re smiling like an idiot when you hop off the bench and head to the lane. The energy in your chest is all fizzy and too much, too fast, but you try to channel it into something, anything else.

You take the ball and accidentally hit a strike. A perfect one.

You blink. “Holy shit.”

Laughter and chaos erupt behind you, and Mark shouts, “You fucking cheated!”

────────────

You don’t have a crush on Mark. You really don’t.

Because if you did, you probably would’ve told Amber not to go out with him after she asked if you were cool with it.

If you had a thing for Mark, you definitely would’ve wallowed in self-pity with your sad Spotify playlist and your arms elbow-deep in a bag of chips that one night he posted a photo with Eve in the middle of the jungle or wherever.

If you liked Mark—even a little bit—you probably would've pulled your hair out strand by strand when you found out he started dating Eve for real.

But that didn’t happen. So. You don’t have a crush on him. Obviously.

Totally.

And whatever weird, fluttery, buzzy feeling that’s dancing through your chest and your stomach right now? It’s definitely just the boba. Or something they put in the syrup. Maybe the taro’s gone off. Definitely not the way Mark’s eyes crinkle when he’s smiling at you. Not the way he showed up to your little lunch date(?) wearing that stupid shirt you always teased him for owning five of. Or how he paid without even asking, the casual kind of chivalry that makes your heart thud and your brain scream (even if he already told you it was his treat).

Your relationship with Mark has never been anything extraordinary. It’s… simple.

As simple as being friends with a half-alien can be.

You’ve always loved Mark’s company, though. You love the way he talks about all the dorky, nerdy shit that made him a bit of a loner in high school—the same stuff he still brings up now with zero shame. You like listening to him talk about it, even when you don’t understand half the words. Even when you know you’ll never, ever watch that weird Super Dog cartoon he keeps insisting would change your life. Not until he finally watches that limited-run K-drama you’ve been begging him to get through since last summer, anyway.

But anyway, you enjoy those moments you get with Mark—even if they’re rare. You enjoy spending time with him, catching up, listening to his stories, and then trying to make your own mundane ones sound even half as cool. You know you’ll never top the time he went to Mars. That story lives in a league of its own. But you still love the way his voice softens when he talks about spending a quiet afternoon with his mom, or the way he lights up when Oliver does something new—like picking up skateboarding or learning a dumb trick that’s only impressive because he’s small and determined.

Mark tends to set the bar pretty high without even trying.

And not just with stories. With everything. With how he lives, how he treats people. Without ever meaning to, Mark’s somehow managed to ruin dating for you. He’s set your standards insanely high. You’ve caught yourself comparing people to him—his kindness, his loyalty, his dumb sense of humour. You still wince when you remember William’s reaction to the last guy you matched with on Tinder.

“He’s like… a whiter version of Mark.”

You haven’t opened Tinder since.

“You okay?”

Mark’s voice cuts through your spiral, pulling you back. You blink like you’ve just come up for air.

“Sorry, yeah,” you say too quickly, shifting in your seat like that might shake the embarrassment off. You meet his eye for just a second—he’s already looking at you, head tilted, brows pulled together in quiet concern.

Your fingers tighten around your cup, the condensation beading under your skin. It’s cold. Which is helpful. Because you’re warm. Too warm. For no good reason. Definitely not because of how intently he’s looking at you, like he’s trying to read between your pauses.

You clear your throat. “Wait—so Cecil had you training on the moon?”

There’s a tiny hitch in his rhythm, just for a beat. You think he might’ve been expecting you to actually answer him, to say what’s on your mind. But Mark lets it slide. He shifts in his seat a little and starts talking again, picking up the thread of his story like it’s no big deal.

And you try to listen. You do.

You don’t get many chances like this—just you and him, no one else around. No William. No supervillain attack halfway through a sentence. Just… a booth, a couple of half-finished drinks, and him.

You want to soak up every second. But he makes it so damn hard for you.

You catch bits of the story—something about the new suit being way more annoying to get on, something else about Oliver cracking the concrete trying to ollie down the front steps—but you’re barely keeping up. Your brain is foggy and not in a cute, dreamy way. You’re kind of just… watching him.

The way he talks with his hands. The way he smiles halfway through a sentence, like he already knows the punchline’s only funny to him but he’s gonna say it anyway. The way he leans in a little when he’s excited, like he’s trying to make you feel the moment with him.

You laugh when he laughs, even if you miss the joke.

Because as long as he keeps talking, you don’t have to say anything.

You just get to sit there. And pretend like this is enough.

The thing was, Mark has always technically been an attractive guy. Tall, kind of annoyingly fit, with that sharp jawline that only got better with age. Charming in a way he didn’t even realize. At least you’d always known it. But you never thought you’d live to see the day (or the week… okay, the past few months—maybe even the year) where you’d start to see him that way.

Like, really see him. In that oh no kind of way.

You’d brushed it off for a while—blamed it on nostalgia, on hormones, on whatever. But bowling last night had been a bit of a breaking point. Something about the sleeves pushed up his forearms, the way he leaned over to aim, that boyish little grin when he finally knocked a pin down—it undid you. And you hadn’t exactly been subtle about the way you were gawking.

Still, it didn’t really hit you until this morning. When you woke up a little dazed, sheets tangled between your legs, and the ghost of a dream clinging to your skin. His voice had echoed in your head, low and warm and familiar. His touch—blurry, but undeniably his—lingered along your shoulder, your back. Your neck.

You’d jolted up like someone caught you.

So. Yeah. Maybe you had the hots for your best friend. Maybe your body wanted something more than side hugs and occasional shoulder touches and the familiar comfort of leaning into him during movies. But that didn’t mean you had a crush or anything. Right?

…Right.

So what if you’d taken a little longer getting ready today? Or if you picked a nicer perfume—the one you usually saved for special occasions—and spritzed a little extra behind your ears, just in case. Not because of him. Just… because. And if you fixed your hair in the mirror three separate times before leaving? Totally normal.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything.

Except it’s really hard to hold onto that thought when he’s sitting across from you looking like that.

His hair’s messier than usual, the curls a little looser like he ran his fingers through it instead of brushing it out. His light blue shirt clings in all the right places and you’re seriously starting to wonder if any of his clothes still fit him properly or if he just enjoys tormenting you. His biceps look like they’re threatening the seams and you hate how aware of it you are.

He's rambling about something now—probably a mission, or a weird encounter with a reporter who keeps calling him the “hot one.” He laughs, wide and open-mouthed, and you try to focus on his words but you’re too busy watching how his lips move. How easily that laugh bubbles out of him. How pretty his eyes are when they squint at you like this, catching you staring.

You should say something. Anything.

“You’re, uh—” you blurt out, then immediately regret it. He glances up, curious. You clear your throat and gesture vaguely at him. “You look nice. That’s a good shirt on you.”

He blinks. “Oh. Thanks,” he says, smiling like it’s no big deal, but his ears go pink. “Didn’t even realize—kind of just threw it on this morning.”

Of course he did. Of course he looks like this with zero effort. Meanwhile, you were practically putting on war paint to get your eyeliner even.

“It’s a good colour on you,” you add, a little quieter. Your fingers pick at the sleeve of your own jacket, trying to act like you’re not slowly disintegrating under the weight of your own thoughts.

There’s a beat. You feel his gaze again—steadier this time. Like he’s trying to see through the cracks.

“You got all dressed up too,” he says casually, elbow on the table, chin resting on his palm. “Special occasion?”

You scoff. “What, like I can’t look decent unless it’s for something?”

“I mean,” he teases, lips twitching, “you’re usually in sweats when we hang out.”

“That’s because you’ve seen me in every stage of human degeneration. There’s no mystery left.”

Mark laughs, deep and genuine. “There’s still a little mystery.”

You’re not going to ask what he means. You’re not.

Instead, you take a sip of your drink to hide the flush in your cheeks. You focus on the way the cold clings to your fingers, grounding you. Because if you let yourself keep staring, you’re going to do something stupid. Like, ask him if he wants to come back to yours. Or kiss him right here across the table.

You sneak another glance at him. He’s already looking at you. Again.

You want him so bad it’s physically painful.

And yeah, sure—maybe you’ve imagined what it’d be like if you were just a little bit closer. Not just physically. Closer in a way that means good morning kisses and bad jokes whispered into collarbones and brushing your teeth side by side, sleep-crinkled eyes and soft Sunday smiles. All those tiny, stupid, quiet things that make you feel like you belong to someone.

And if you let yourself feel it for just one second longer—you know exactly who you want to belong to.

You hope that whoever glances your way in this too-cute, hipster boba café thinks you’re on a date. God, you hope so. The way the two of you are sitting, drinks in hand, talking in that soft, familiar rhythm of long-time friends—it has to read as a date. Right?

Some unhinged voice in the back of your head keeps whispering that it is one, even if you never officially said it. Even if you didn’t dare call it that aloud.

You tried to drown that thought out while getting ready. Told yourself over and over—it’s just lunch. Just boba. With Mark. Your friend. One of your best friends. Who you’ve known since middle school. Who’s saved your life and seen you ugly cry at three in the morning. Who also happens to be alarmingly hot and stupidly nice and smiles at you like you’re some secret he’s been keeping warm in his pocket.

And who, to your absolute horror, you’ve recently started thinking about in ways you should not think about Mark Grayson.

He was already seated by the window when you got there. The sunlight poured in softly, and his forearms rested on the table. He was already sipping something dark with brown sugar pearls stuck to the side of the cup and scrolling on his phone, brow furrowed just a little.

You cringed remembering the way you froze at the entrance. Really froze. Long enough for a group of teenagers behind you to shuffle awkwardly around and brush past with a few muttered “excuse me”s and half-laughs. Embarrassing.

When you finally slid into the booth in front of him, Mark looked up and smiled, “Hey.”

And damn it if that stupid word didn’t do something to you.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound normal. “You beat me here.”

“I was excited,” he said, with that casual, open honesty that always got you. “Sue me.”

He then pushed a drink toward you. You hadn’t even realized he ordered for you—but it was your usual.

“Thanks. You remembered?”

“Course I did.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “Not that hard to remember the most annoying boba order in existence.”

You kicked him under the table. “Bitch.”

He grinned, totally unfazed. “Affectionately.”

You bring your forearms up to rest on the table, leaning in just slightly. The move feels natural—too natural—and you let your head tilt as you look at him, willing yourself to snap out of the storm in your head and focus. Present moment, please. Now would be nice.

The sunlight through the window catches the edge of his jaw, carving golden light into soft angles. His lashes cast shadows. His fingers tap lightly against his cup, unhurried. Your own drink is already gone—sucked down while you tried not to have a crisis about whether or not this felt like a date. Because it does. It really, really does. It feels like one in the quietest, scariest, most electric kind of way.

You’re trying not to jump across the table. God, what the fuck is wrong with you?

You’re insane, that voice in your head shrieks. Clinically. Emotionally. Hormonally.

Your eyes fall—again, helplessly—to his lips. And it hits you that this might be the first time you’ve ever really stared at them, but it also feels like you’ve always known them. You could probably sketch the shape from memory: the soft dip of his top lip, the way the corners twitch up just before he smiles, the slightly darker flush of colour when he bites down to keep from laughing.

You know them the way you know your favourite songs—effortlessly, intimately, over and over.

And it’s only then, maybe a little too late, that you realize his mouth isn’t moving.

Shit. What was the last thing he said?

You snap back to his eyes, expecting to find a look of confusion, maybe amusement. Maybe even irritation. You’d deserve it. You’ve been undressing him with your eyes the entire afternoon.

But you’re surprised when you find a peculiar, absent look on his face.

Mark’s face is distant. Still. His brown eyes are half-focused like he’s listening to something very far away. His hand continues tapping slowly on the side of his cup, but he’s not drinking it. Hasn’t drank from it in a while, actually. Probably because he’s been talking this whole time and you’ve been too busy losing your mind to pay attention.

“Mark?” you say, softly.

He doesn’t react.

Which is strange. Because you know how sharp his senses are, superhearing and all, he could probably hear a raindrop land five cities over if he tried. But right now, he’s staring so intently, so deliberately, that for a split second, you actually worry something might be wrong.

Until you shift. Just a little. Barely an inch.

And his gaze follows the movement, dragging downward like it’s magnetized.

You glance down.

Oh.

Right. The neckline. You forgot you picked this shirt. Or at least, you forgot what it might look like sitting across from someone like Mark.

Your stomach twists with something that’s equal parts heat and embarrassment. You want to roll your eyes—of course this is what’s got him so distracted. For all his superhero nonsense, you’re still friends with a guy.

“Mark,” you say again, this time with a little more bite, trying not to smile.

His eyes flick up from your chest, blinking rapidly. His mouth opens in a small “oh,” a hum catching in the back of his throat as he scrambles to respond, but doesn’t quite manage it in time. A second later, the realization hits, and his entire face ignites. His cheeks go so red you almost feel bad for him. But you find it sort of adorable.

He coughs, clearly trying to recover. His hand rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” He says, smiling meekly at you. His hand drops back to the table. “You just— I mean, I— You look really... goob. I mean boob. Good. I mean good. You look good.”

A shy grin splits your face open as your skin starts to warm. “Thanks. You look goob, too.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, groaning, biting down on his straw. “Fuck off. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, no,” you say, waving him off with a laugh. “I’ll allow it. That was... actually kinda sweet.”

He smiles at you, all shy and embarrassed. A little crooked. Like he knows what he just did and has no idea what to do with himself now. You’re pretty sure your heart is about to explode into a thousand glittering pieces right there on the table.

You sit there, breath caught somewhere between your ribs, watching him as he ducks his head, and chews on the boba pearls like they hold the secret to surviving this moment. And all you can think—loud, panicked, impossibly clear—is:

You want to kiss him.

And not just kiss him. You want him in a way that’s full-bodied and reckless. You want him with the force of every stupid dream you’ve ever had. You want him in that dizzy, hands-in-hair, clothes-on-the-floor kind of way. You want to ruin this whole perfectly lovely friendship in the worst possible way.

And maybe it’s the way he’s still not meeting your eyes. Or maybe it’s how warm your skin feels. Or how the sunlight is pouring in too golden and soft and romantic and cruel.

“Mark,” you say.

He looks up at you, eyes wide and mouth disgustingly full. “Yeah?”

“I think we should fuck.”

He chokes. Immediately. You watch in real-time as he sucks his drink the wrong way and practically launches into a coughing fit. A splash of tapioca pearls and brown sugar milk flies out of his nose and hits the table.

“Oh my god—” you mutter, reaching across to grab a stack of napkins.

Mark is flailing. Coughing, sputtering, waving a hand like he’s trying to say something but also very much trying not to die. His face is bright red. He’s laughing and coughing at the same time. It’s a mess. A scene. People are staring.

“I’m fine,” he wheezes, between hacks. “I’m—you—what?”

You try to smile, a little nervous. “I said I want to have sex with you.”

Mark goes absolutely still.

He stares at you, wide-eyed, stunned into silence. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. You watch his gaze dip—just barely. Lower. Lips. Throat. Chest. Then back up again.

“You—what—where is this coming from?” he finally blurts.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, fingers playing with your straw wrapper. “It just sort of... fell out of me.”

“Fell out of you?” he repeats, completely scandalized.

“I... I've been thinking about it for a while now...” You're starting to feel dread sink into your stomach, thick and slow like honey, but bitter like poison... or puke. What the fuck have you just done?

Your words hang there, dangling over the edge of a cliff you just shoved both of you off of. You can’t look at him. Not properly. Not when your face is on fire and your chest is tight and the booth feels too small. Not when the air feels heavier with every second he doesn’t say anything.

You’re seconds away from bolting. Or vomiting. Or both.

“It's been driving me crazy, believe me,” you manage, voice thinner now. “But uh, if you want to say no, say no."

“Oh my god. You’re serious.”

“...Yeah.”

“Like you want—”

“Yes.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Mark, you.”

He leans back slightly in the booth, and he looks away for a split second—at the window, the floor, anywhere that isn’t your face—but it doesn’t last. His eyes are back on you before you can even blink. “I just...” he starts but then trails off again.

“Can you just... like, reject me?” you finally puff out, cheeks burning. It comes out too quickly like you’re trying to outrun the silence. Your voice is too casual to be convincing, but you try anyway, like saying it first makes it sting less.

“Reject you?”

“I’m... I’m sorry I just threw this on you. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You want me to reject you?” His voice is quiet now, but not confused. There’s something else in it.

“So I can like, move on. Change my name. Move to a different state, maybe.”

The joke lands like a dying leaf. Your laugh is brittle. Empty. It’s all just armour at this point.

But Mark huffs a soft laugh of his own,

“I’m not... I’m. not gonna reject you.”

"You're not?"

He shakes his head slowly like he's still trying to believe this is real. His eyes meet yours, and this time he holds it. Locked in. No flinching. No looking away. All that stunned awkwardness melts into something steadier, something careful. Measured. Wanting. Like he’s finally letting himself consider what it would mean to say yes.

“No,” he says. “That would be stupid. And William would never let me live it down.”

The tension cracks just slightly, pulling a small, breathy laugh from you—something trembling and alive. Your pulse spikes. Your throat’s dry. You're still not sure you're breathing right.

“So... you want to—?”

“Yeah,” he says. Quick. Blunt. No room for misinterpretation.

Then again, softer. Like he’s scared of how much he means it.

“Yeah.”

Internally, you’re both reeling—because that “yeah” didn’t sound like a joke. It didn’t sound like some impulsive sure why not. It sounded like he meant it. All of it.

Mark glances down at his hands like he needs something to look at besides you. “I’ve been thinking about it too. Just didn’t think you were—y’know, thinking about it.”

“Well, I was. I am,” you admit, heart pounding. “And it was... getting really hard to just not say anything.”

He leans forward slightly, elbows on the table, voice lower now. This is no longer a conversation for public ears.

“So what... we just do this?” he asks.

“We could... just try it. See if it works.”

His eyes flick to your mouth again, and it makes your stomach flip.

“Like, casual?” he asks, but there’s a quiet tension under the word. Like he’s testing it out on his tongue and it doesn’t quite fit.

“Sure. Casual. For now.” It comes out a little breathless.

Mark smiles, but it’s not a smug one. It’s nervous. Small. “Right. For now just friends. Who, uh... sleep together.”

You nod, mirroring that same small, nervous grin. “Exactly.”

“But we’re still friends,” he says.

“Of course.”

“And more if we like it.”

“Definitely.”

“So I can take you on a real date if all goes well?”

“Please, do.”

He nods. “So, for now, we can still hang out. And do stupid shit. And eat takeout and talk about movies and—”

“—and maybe also make out sometimes,” you add, trying for lightness, though your voice wavers with the weight of wanting.

Mark pauses. “And definitely do more than make out.”

You blink. “You’re getting bold all of a sudden.”

He shrugs, but his eyes are glued to you now. “I just... don’t want to mess this up. But I also really don’t want to go home without kissing you.”

You inhale sharply.

“Well,” you say, grabbing your drink as an excuse to hide your grin, “your place is closer than mine.”

His expression flickers—first surprise, then realization. “Oh, so like... now? We’re doing this right now?”

You nod, trying to act like it’s nothing, like your insides aren’t vibrating with panic and anticipation. He stands before you do, waiting like he’s afraid you might change your mind if he moves too fast.

When you join him, you don’t touch—but your whole body is practically leaning toward him, every nerve tuned into his orbit. You leave the shop like that: side by side, hearts hammering, skin buzzing, still pretending this isn’t happening. But it is. Oh, it is.

The short walk to your car is deceptively casual on the outside, but inside, you’re spiralling. Spiralling and floating all at once. You’re aware of every breath, every step. A storm of want and nerves and what-ifs spinning in your stomach.

By the time you’re seated behind the wheel, your hands are trembling slightly on your thighs. You try to be subtle about it. Meanwhile, Mark slides into the passenger seat with a blush high on his cheeks—bashful, like he’s already guilty of something. Like the thought alone is enough to make him flustered.

He fiddles with his phone, plugging it in like it’s the most important task of the century. He scrolls through songs like his life depends on picking just the right vibe, and maybe it does. You pretend not to watch him, even though you feel like you're burning a hole through the corner of your eye. He’s acting like everything’s totally normal, like the two of you didn’t just agree—very plainly—to have sex. And god, that boyish fake-casual routine of his is so unfair.

Your breath hitches when the music finally starts. Some song you barely recognize filters through the speakers, but you barely process it. Your fingers twitch around the wheel.

You’d started the engine but never shifted into gear.

Mark glances at you.

Fuck.

That’s it. That’s your last straw.

Because he’s looking at you like he’s waiting. Like he’s curious and soft and a little bit shy, and it cracks something open in your chest. You’ve seen this man punch meteors. You’ve seen him dent walls and bleed for people he loves. And right now, he looks like he’d melt if you so much as leaned in a little closer.

So you do.

You lean (jump, really) across the center console, breath shallow, no hesitation left in you, and press your mouth to his—hot, urgent, not the least bit gentle (you could’ve broken your nose against his steel skin).

He lets out a muffled, surprised sound that you feel more than hear. But he kisses you back immediately, like his body was already on the edge, just waiting for the signal to move. His hands come up to your sides, cradling your ribs so carefully it hurts, like he thinks he’ll crush if he squeezes too hard (he can).

He leans into it fast. His nose bumps yours, and there’s a soft gasp when your lips part. It’s messy. Desperate. Hungry. You sigh into his mouth, tilting your head, and his fingers twitch against your waist. Then his lips part wider, and that’s your cue—your tongue finds the seam of his mouth, dragging across his lower lip before slipping in.

He groans.

Low, breathy, and real.

One of his hands slides lower, skimming the hem of your shirt, the very edge of his pinky brushing against the exposed skin of your side. It makes you tremble. He’s so gentle, like he doesn’t quite trust himself with you yet. Like he’s holding something precious.

You don’t know how long it goes on—seconds, minutes. But the car rocks faintly when he shifts in his seat, and that’s when you start to pull away. Slowly. Breathlessly.

You look at him—his lips parted, eyes still shut, like he’s chasing the kiss even as it slips from him. And god, you’ve seen that look before, but you never let yourself believe it was real. Now you can’t deny it.

Mark blinks at you. Once. Twice.

Then he leans in and kisses you again.

It’s different this time. Short. Sweet. A soft press of lips. Like punctuation at the end of a sentence you’ve both been trying to say for months. It tastes like sugar and burns fire.

He leans back into his seat, finally, hands settling awkwardly over his lap. You notice the way his fingers twitch—nervous, restrained. You could scream. From the heat in your blood. From relief. From how right it all feels.

“Sorry,” you say, even though you’re not. Not at all. You’re still tasting him on your lips. Still humming with the knowledge that he wants you—wants you—the same way you want him.

The way your voice lilts upward, a little smug, is what makes him scoff, eyes rolling.

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbles, shifting in his seat. “Just couldn’t wait, could you?”

You roll your eyes right back at him, grinning as you finally pull the car out of the parking lot. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck you. You said you didn’t want to go home without kissing me, so—I did you a favour.”

“Oh, did you?” he fires back, all sass, and the way he says it makes your stomach flutter.

You scoff, but it’s affectionate. And even though you’re driving now, even though the moment has passed, you can still feel it, thick in the air between you—the tension, the promise, the want.

“Yeah,” you say again, quieter now. A little breathless. “Yeah, I did.”

You park in front of his house and kill the engine.

Neither of you move.

“…So,” Mark says, finally.

“So.”

His head tilts toward you, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “Race you inside.”

“What?”

You don’t get the chance to say more before he’s already yanking open the door, half-tripping over himself in his rush to get out. You watch him scramble up the walkway, basically vaulting over the three porch steps. You just blink, mildly stunned—and vaguely reminded that he could’ve flown the two of you back to his house if he hadn’t insisted on you driving. Your car sits quietly behind you, utterly abandoned, as you step out and lock it with a flat expression.

He’s waiting for you at the front door, breathless and smug.

“I win.”

“You cheated,” you mutter, strolling up behind him.

“Nuh-uh.”

His hands fumble with the keys, like he’s suddenly forgotten how locks work. You wait behind him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his back, the way his shoulders tense slightly when you’re that near. It makes something in your chest squeeze, soft and wild.

The lock finally clicks. He pushes the door open and steps aside dramatically, gesturing for you to go in. “Milady.”

You roll your eyes but smile as you pass him.

Inside, it’s quiet. Familiar. You’ve been here a million times. Your gaze flicks around automatically. Debbie must’ve gotten a new carpet recently—soft beige with delicate lines you don’t remember from the last time you came over. You hum softly under your breath, grounding yourself in the domestic detail. Always a little surprised, somehow, by the size of this place. It’s modern and clean, tastefully decorated. It smells like laundry detergent and something faintly citrusy. It smells like him.

You turn around and he’s right there. Looking at you like you hung the stars and accidentally knocked one loose when you kissed him in the car.

And then he kisses you again.

No hesitation this time. Just Mark, pulling you in by the waist, cupping your face and his mouth finds yours with a kind of aching slowness—soft, cautious, almost reverent.

You melt into him instantly. Your fingers fist into the front of his shirt, knuckles brushing his chest as you pull him closer, grounding yourself in the warmth of him. He lets out a sound—a mix between a sigh and a groan—and it sinks low into your belly, heat blooming there with terrifying ease. He kisses you deeper, more sure now, like he’s already memorized the shape of your mouth.

His hands slide down your back, warm and soothing.

“Mom’s out with Oliver,” Mark murmurs against your lips like he knows you were about to ask. His voice is low, rough from disuse and want. “Won’t be back for a while.”

“Lucky us,” you mumble, and you barely finish the words before he kisses you again, harder this time, lips parting yours with such gentle insistence that your knees almost give.

He makes this delightful little sound, hands shifting to cradle your head gently, fingers threading through your hair like he’s been waiting a lifetime for the chance.

“So lucky,” He agrees, regretfully breaking away when your body tenses in a silent request for air. You’re disappointed too. Who needs breathing, anyway?

“Did you wanna watch a movie first?”

He’s not even out of breath.

“Not really,” you reply with a breathless laugh, cheeks already sore from grinning so much. Your hands are still resting against his chest, fingertips twitching with the need to keep touching him. He grins back, nodding once, and starts guiding you backwards through the house.

He’s careful with you. You’re walking blind, caught in the middle of another kiss when he gently redirects you away from a stray shoe, his hand tightening briefly around your waist to steer you around Oliver’s skateboard left smack in the middle of the foyer. You barely notice it. All you can focus on is his mouth, trailing kisses to the curve of your neck, the press of his lips to the slope of your shoulder. You shiver when his teeth graze your skin.

He doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re pressed up against the wall at the bottom of the staircase, both of you panting between kisses that grow hotter, messier. His hands bracket your hips, thumbs stroking small circles that send sparks crawling up your spine. He groans when your hips roll forward again his, instinctive, your body reacting before your brain can catch up.

You think you hear him whisper your name.

You’re tugging at the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel more skin, and when your fingers slide beneath it and skim along his stomach, he freezes. Not with fear—but like he’s overwhelmed. Like he’s trying not to fall apart from something as simple as your touch.

And then, in a breathless pause, he pulls back just enough to speak. His forehead leans into yours, eyes fluttering closed as he exhales shakily.

“I imagined this being sweeter,” he pants. “I’m sorry.”

You nearly melt on the spot.

Because the way he says it—it’s not embarrassed. It’s earnest. Vulnerable. It takes everything in you not to scream with joy.

God, if he knew how often you’d imagined this too—how many nights you’d curled up thinking of how it might feel to kiss him, touch him, have him like this—he’d probably panic and fly halfway across the city.

Instead, all you manage is a broken little whimper as your fingers twist in his shirt, dragging him closer. “God, Mark, that’s so hot.”

His eyes blink open, stunned. “It is?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless.

And that’s all it takes.

You don’t even remember deciding to move, but suddenly you’re being rushed up the stairs, feet stumbling as Mark pulls you with him. Your shoes get kicked off somewhere mid-way, lost in the blur of hands and mouths and shared laughter.

He’s hovering, quite literally gliding over the ground, but he seems to barely notice. His feet skim the steps, weightless with something that appears like joy.

Mark fumbles the doorknob twice before finally swinging the door open. Since he’s still kissing you, still pushing you gently forward, you almost tumble inside. He catches you easily, a strong arm firm around your waist, the other bracing himself against the doorframe.

He doesn’t even seem like he notices all that much, floating upwards for a moment before he’s kissing you silly all over again. It’s hot and wet and when he opens his mouth slightly, you follow, your lips parting just enough for your tongues to meet.

Your body fits against his like it was made for it, warm and pliant, your cheek brushing against his as he angles his head and deepens the kiss. You think you never want to stop kissing him. It’s addicting. He’s a drug and you’re hooked, irrevocably. 

You think you might be trembling, just a little.

You decide, boldly, to shove him backwards.

He lets you.

He trips over something in the mess of his room—could be a book, a shoe, or a part of his suit. You don’t get the chance to look. He stumbles until his back hits the wall beside his closet, half-collapsing against the old Seance Dog poster, and you swear he grins against your mouth.

You pull back just enough to breathe, just enough to look at him. Mark’s lips are kiss-swollen and flushed pink, cheeks dusted a deep red. His eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils botched wide with want. He chases your mouth again, barely containing a whine when you press your hands a little harder against his chest to keep him in place.

“Oh, Mark,” you murmur, lips brushing the corner of his mouth before trailing down to his jaw, then his throat. You press a hot, open-mouthed kiss beneath his ear and feel him shiver. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

“I—” The breath he exhales is ragged, shaky. You feel the way his pulse jumps strangely beneath your tongue as you mouth at the delicate skin of his neck. The slight scrape of your teeth draws out a sound you could get drunk on.

The afternoon sun floods into the room in slats, casting golden stripes across his skin. Everything smells like him. The colour of his t-shirt matches his walls, and the thought makes you smile stupidly as you glance up at him again. He’s smiling too. It’s infectious.

You can still feel the strength of the heat rolling off of his skin. “No one’s ever called me pretty before,” he mumbles against your mouth.

You pull back, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not…”

A frown tugs at your lips as your hands drop to the hem of his shirt with a wordless plea. He pulls it off obediently, albeit somewhat distractedly. “That’s fucking criminal.”

Where it lands doesn’t even matter—your eyes are fixed on his chest. His bare chest that you’ve been given permission to properly ogle at. You swear you feel your mouth salivate a bit. 

“I feel like I should’ve known sooner,” he teases, breathless.

You blink up at him. “Known what?”

“That you liked me. I mean—look at you.” He gestures toward your face with a sheepish grin. “You’re drooling.”

“I’m not drooling,” you huff, making a face even though your cheeks are warm. “I’m admiring. Big difference.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at you.

“And yeah,” you say, fingers dancing along the waistband of his jeans now, just teasing. “You’re pretty stupid for not knowing sooner.”

He scoffs, but the look in his eyes is warm and soft and maybe a little reverent. You don’t let him say anything else.

“Stupidly pretty,” you murmur, crashing back into him, pressing your mouth to his again with more heat than before. You lick into his mouth, then drag your lips along the column of his throat, down to that same aching spot on his neck. You feel his hands tighten on your waist, and he exhales a shaky, desperate breath like it’s the first one he’s had in minutes.

Your hands roam more freely now, gliding across the newly exposed skin like you’ve earned the right. You’ve seen Mark shirtless before—countless times, actually—but never like this. Not with your breath catching in your throat and your hands trembling just slightly with want. Not with your mouth practically watering as you finally get to touch him like you’ve always wanted to.

Well… unless that one time you helped him put sunscreen on his back last summer counts.

Because this is different.

This time, he’s letting you feel. Explore. He lets you be a little mean and even tug at the trail of hair leading under his pants.

He’s warm in the way fresh sunlight is; comforting, radiant, and magnetic. Your fingers trail down the groove between his pecs, slowly. You knew his body is obviously muscled since his Invincible suit doesn’t leave too much to the imagination, but it’s different feeling warm, sculpted skin than the cool spandex (or whatever it’s made out of.) You trace the faint outline of each muscle, letting your hands dip lower until you reach the ridges of his abs.

And just beneath them—your hand pauses.

You feel it. A soft, rhythmic thrum under your palm. Not quite a heartbeat. Not quite human. It’s steadier than a pulse, more like a hum—like something alive and electric and ancient ticking in the hollow of his chest. It makes your breath hitch.

How alien is he? You wonder.

But the thought doesn’t scare you. If anything, it makes your stomach swoop. You press your hand flat against the faint, vibrating sensation, mesmerized.

Mark watches you, breathing a little heavier now. His hands are wandering too—palms gliding down your sides with more confidence than before. You gasp when he gropes your ass, hard, the pressure unexpected and firm. He pulls you flush against him, and you yelp, catching yourself on his chest with a small, surprised laugh.

His chuckle is low, rumbling beneath your cheek as you bury your face in his skin. It’s so warm. You want to wrap yourself in it.

Then his lips are back—just behind your ear, kissing that soft spot that makes your thoughts short-circuit. You feel yourself sway forward, dizzy with heat and hunger.

Your mind flickers between two options: Pull your shirt off or pull him to the bed.

Instead, your knees hit the carpet before your brain can stop you.

His hands dart forward to pull you back up, brows furrowed with concern, but you’re already reaching for his belt.

“Oh,” he sighs, startled and wide-eyed. “You don’t have to—”

“I wanna,” you murmur, voice dripping with intention as your hand palms him over his jeans. “Please let me.”

You press your cheek against the bulge, coddling it like it’s already yours, your breath catching as you drag your nose slowly along its length. You mouth at the fabric, teasing him with slow, open kisses, and then you look up, eyes wide and sparkling and pleading.

“Please, Mark.”

His knees nearly buckle.

“Yeah,” he exhales, voice hoarse. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

He looks stunned, dazed, like he’s dreaming something too good to be real. His hands cradle your face so gently it makes your stomach flip, thumbs brushing your jaw.

He’s like a furnace, radiating heat in waves. Like a lantern in the dark. Bright and alive and everything in you aches to touch him more.

You kiss his clothed cock again, slower this time, almost reverent, and he shudders. You can hear the faint rasp in his breath, the catch in his throat as your fingers finally undo his belt and tug his jeans down.

He steps out of them awkwardly, kicking them to the side—and that’s when you notice the blur of colours on his boxers. You blink. Then squint.

And laugh.

“Is that…” You grin, tugging the elastic waistband back with a finger to get a better look. “Seance Dog?”

Tiny cartoon super dogs dance across the fabric, all in different poses—one in a wizard hat, a few riding on yellow stars. You let the waistband snap back against his skin with a cheeky pop.

Mark’s ears go red.

“It was laundry day,” he mumbles, flustered and pink.

“I think it’s cute,” you giggle, ducking forward and pressing a kiss right above the stupid little dogs. “So stupidly cute.”

He tries to say something in return, but you’re giggling all over his very real, very hard dick, kissing at the shape of it, and whatever excuse he was about to make dies a quick death.

“Whatever,” he mutters under his breath, trying and failing to glare at you.

You flash him an innocent look, resting your chin on his hip. “I swear, it’s cute.”

“You’re just saying that because you have me half-naked.”

“Maybe,” you smirk, batting your lashes. Then: “Are you gonna let me suck your dick, or…?”

He groans. His hand flies to his face to hide the actual whimper that comes out, and when he peeks between his fingers at you—grinning like you’re the devil—he can’t help but laugh. A breathless, half-embarrassed noise that melts into the warm air between you.

“Are you gonna stop teasing me, or what?”

You decide to be nice. Because honestly, you're not sure if you'll ever get the chance to be here again. A jagged breath escapes Mark’s lips when you finally tug his boxers down and free his cock from the cotton confines. He’s flushed deep and aching, and the heat low in your stomach tightens at the sight of him. He basically springs out, and you actually flinch a little as it bounces against his stomach. Hard, red, and glistening at the tip with precum.

You blink. Wow.

Okay. Wow.

He's pretty everywhere, but this is... a lot. In the best way. Surpasses all of your expectations. 10/10.

It twitches in front of your face and you feel the warmth radiating off him like a space heater turned up too high. Your hand hovers—hesitant for just a second—before you wrap your palm around him, slowly, carefully, like you’re holding something precious.

He twitches again.

The muscles in his stomach tense, flexing like a ripple under his skin, and you can’t help it—you smirk. Have you mentioned how insanely good he looks right now? That gorgeous, pink-tinged flush creeping down his chest, all the way to the tip of his cock?

Your brain short-circuits. Just pretty boy, pretty boy, pretty boy playing on repeat in your head like a broken record.

Mark exhales a shuddering sigh, and it punches straight through you. “Warm…” he whispers, dazed, eyes hazy and half-lidded. He looks drunk off you already.

“William wasn't kidding,” you mutter, half to yourself as you breathe again.

Mark blinks. “What?”

“He said you had a big dick.”

Mark chokes. “William—he’s never—what?”

“Said you guys used to stand side by side and measure them.”

“Fuck off—he did not say that—”

“Is it true you used them as lightsabers?”

“Oh my god—” Mark groans. He sounds like he’s dying. You don’t know if it’s the secondhand embarrassment or the way your thumb brushes right across his tip.

Maybe both.

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” he mutters, playfully pushing at your face. You bite your lip, triumphant.

Without thinking, you tighten your grip. Just a little. Just enough to make him keen.

His laugh dissolves into a broken sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and the hand that had pushed your face away now finds a new home buried in your hair.

You lean in and press a soft, teasing kiss to the flushed tip. His cock twitches again.

Mark’s breath catches in his throat.

Your hand never stops moving, a slow up-and-down that has him trembling. You kiss him again, right on the slit, and feel the heat pulsing against your lips. You run your tongue up the underside of his cock, tracing that thick vein from base to tip, and Mark makes a strangled, broken sound—like he’s holding on for dear life.

You push back his foreskin with your thumb and swirl your tongue in a lazy circle around the head. A droplet of precum smears across your lips and you hum against him, taking your time.

You glance up at Mark, checking back in.

“That’s good,” He affirms, voice breathy. “That’s really fucking good.”

Every sound he makes engraves itself into your brain.

You trail kisses down his shaft, your tongue learning every ridge, every pulse, every twitch like you’re memorizing him. Your pace is slow and calculated, and Mark is panting now, legs tense, body twitching under your every touch. You glance up—and fuck—he’s flushed all the way to his ears, lips parted, eyes glassy.

You wrap your lips around the head and sink down.

“Fuuuck,” he whispers, throwing his head back, and staring at the ceiling. His hips jolt upward, pushing deeper into your mouth. It’s a messy rhythm at first, but you welcome it, the way he shivers and gasps when he hits the back of your throat.

You work what you can with your mouth and use your hand on the rest, pumping steadily in time with the bob of your head. Your spit slicks his cock as you move faster, drool dripping down your chin and his shaft.

His thighs are shaking, abs tensing with every gasp. You can feel his restraint fraying—see it in the way his fists clutch the cushions, how his hips start jerking forward, chasing more of the heat and wetness of your mouth.

His cock pulses, thick and hot on your tongue, and he’s babbling now—words half-formed and strangled:

“F-fuck- shit, shit, shit—I’m gonna—ah, fuck me, yeah, f-fuck, I’m— wait shit—”

He pulls your head off at the last second, the hand in your hair tugging, gentle but frantic. You let him, breath caught in your throat, barely registering it until he’s panting and his cock twitches one more time before he cums.

Hot, white ropes spill across your face.

The first hits your cheek, thick and warm. Another lands across your nose, streaking upward toward your brow. It catches on your lip—your open mouth still parted. You blink in surprise but stay still, a little stunned by how hot your skin suddenly feels under each drop.

His moans taper off into little whines, his breath catching in his throat as he watches—eyes wide, pupils blown out wider and darker than you’ve ever seen eyes do before. It’s a strange feeling when you’re reminded that Mark isn’t fully human, even though he mostly looks like it.

You watch his pupils shrink back to normal size and he shakes his head like he’s trying to focus. And his voice cracks. His thumb brushes along your jaw, then dips lower, gently dragging through the mess he left on your chin like he's trying to process the sight of you. Like he can’t believe what he’s done to you.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, blinking down at you. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to—I should’ve warned you—sorry.”

You look up at him, breathless, heart thudding loud in your ears. A grin starts to creep onto your face before you can stop it. You try to fight it—you should be playing it cool—but you can’t help it. Your smile is slow and sweet and so telling. You fucking freak.

“That was…”

“Gross. I know. I’m sorry.” he interrupts, still flushed red and clearly panicking a little.

“I was gonna say hot,” you murmur.

Mark exhales hard, something unsteady and relieved loosening in his shoulders as he leans down to pull you up. You don’t complain when your knees sting, don’t comment on the ache blooming in your thighs. You barely notice it.

His hand comes to cradle your face, and you brace for a kiss—maybe something soft and grateful. Instead, Mark kisses you like he’s starving. Tongue sliding against yours, mouth open and frantic, tasting you, tasting himself. He licks your teeth, then your lips—wet and shining—and then your cheek, dragging his tongue through his own cum, whimpering into your mouth when he tastes it again.

Get a load of this fucking freak, Jesus Christ.

He doesn’t stop. Licks across your skin with deliberate, dirty reverence. Over your chin, your cheekbone, even the curve of your nose—slow and deliberate, like he’s savouring it. His cum. Your skin. You.

He whimpers. Literally whimpers. God. And then he moans. Loud.

You just laugh, soft and dreamy, trying to stay grounded even as every nerve ending in your body feels like it’s sparking to life, flames consuming you. You’re still dressed, and yet you’ve never felt more bare. More downed.

Mark steps out of his boxers and pants, bunched around his ankles. His skin is slick with sweat, flushed with exertion, and glowing with something golden. You’ve never seen anyone look more gorgeous in your life. You realize, with a quiet sort of devastation, that you’d do anything to stay in this moment.

He leans in again, kissing you hard, both of you ignoring the sticky trail still clinging to your face. Your mouth, your skin—it’s all his. And he kisses like he knows it.

You kiss him back like you need him to know it’s mutual.

The ache between your thighs throbs now, sharp and insistent, but you almost forget it when Mark groans—a deep, low sound that vibrates in your chest. He cradles your jaw in both hands, pulling back just far enough to whisper, “Keep kissing me. Don’t ever stop.”

You nod, dazed, breathless. “I won’t.”

You kiss him again. His lips. His cheek. His nose. His forehead. He shivers under each one. You want to kiss him until your lips go numb, until time forgets the two of you ever existed as anything other than this.

And then—without warning—Mark starts to float again.

You feel it before you see it: the weightlessness, the subtle lift of his frame. His hands never leave your face, but his body hovers, high enough that you have to crane your neck to meet his lips. He laughs breathlessly, as though he forgot he could even do this, and he takes you with him—gently, almost reverently.

Your back hits the bed seconds later, soft and warm, and you sprawl out beneath him. Mark hovers above, eyes shining with something deep and giddy and overwhelming. His smile is wide and blinding.

Your heart thrums beneath your ribs, loud and full and dizzy, and you grin back up at him, dazed, knowing he can hear it.

You reach down, fumbling with the button on your jeans. Your fingers are clumsy, adrenaline and nerves making them tremble, and you curse under your breath. Mark dips down to help, but he’s no better—his hands fumble too, and the both of you dissolve into breathless, giggling laughter. His body presses into yours as he tries again, lips brushing yours between chuckles, and eventually, together, you manage to get them off.

He tosses them behind him with a careless flick—there’s a loud crash as something topples off your nightstand. You both flinch, wide-eyed.

You glance toward the sound but don’t move. “What was that?”

Mark snorts against your lips. “Lamp. Maybe.”

Neither of you moves to check. Not when his weight settles over you again. Not when his hands find your waist and slide beneath the hem of your shirt, warm and certain. His touch is steady now, smoothing up your sides, slipping along the curves of your ribs like he’s mapping out every part of you.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, a funny-looking grin on his face as he watches his hands ruck up your shirt gently. When he lifts the top higher, the fabric bunching at your ribs, you raise your arms to help, and for one breathless second, your hands meet midair—yours and his, tangled in the cotton.

Mark yanks it off with a breathless little laugh and lets it fall off the edge of the bed.

His gaze drops. His smile fades.

There’s a beat of stillness where he just looks at you. Really looks. His eyes drag over your chest—mismatched bra and all—and he blinks slow, like he’s committing it to memory. You swear he stops breathing.

His thumb lifts, brushing along the strap of your bra where it sits on your shoulder. He plucks at it gently, eyes fixed on the way the fabric moves beneath his touch. He does it again, slower this time, dragging the pad of his thumb over the edge of the cup. The way he stares—it’s not even lust, not exactly. It’s something softer.

The intensity of his gaze makes you want to shy away for just a second. You sit up and jab his side.

He jerks with a yelp, eyes flying back to yours.

You raise a brow, fighting your smug grin. “Who’s drooling now?”

Mark rolls his eyes, mock offended, but the flush on his cheeks betrays him. He opens his mouth to respond, and you swipe your thumb across the corner of his lips like you’re wiping something away. Annoyed, he groans loudly.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

He catches your fingers in his hand. Brings them to his mouth. Nips at them playfully. You squeal, and then he kisses your knuckles so soft it makes your stomach swoop.

And suddenly, the teasing slips out of you like air from a balloon.

You lie back without thinking. Just melt into the bed. Mark follows you down, still holding your hand. He kneels between your legs, gaze pinned to you like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. When he finally lets go of your hand, it’s only to cradle your face in one palm, thumb brushing along your cheekbone like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The words are quiet. Like a secret. Like he doesn’t even mean to say them aloud.

You flush hard, suddenly self-conscious in your bra and underwear—the colours don’t match, the cut’s nothing special, there might be a stain if he looks hard enough—but Mark’s eyes don’t so much as flinch.

You swallow, trying to think of something to say. “Says you,” you manage, reaching up to tug him down. “You were wearing Seance Dog boxers not five minutes ago. And I still almost cried from how good you look.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, forehead bumping yours.

And then you kiss him sweetly. His lips press to yours like he’s trying to say something through it, like he’s trying to give you all the things he doesn’t have words for. One of his hands roams lower, down your side, curving around the bend of your thigh. He hooks your knee up and around his waist like it’s instinct, fingers digging into the plush skin just beneath your ass, and pulls you closer so he can grope your ass and do some other decidedly not-so-sweet things.

He discovers you’re wet under his palm through the rough fabric of your panties. No surprise there for you, you’ve been wet for a while now, but a deep sound tear from the back of his throat, so far that it almost sounds like a growl. It’s hard to separate your thoughts from him. Kissing him, sweet and warm, blazing and getting hotter.

You barely have time to think of anything else but your beautiful friend who happens to be an alien superhero. Your head’s too full of him to do anything but gasp when he moves again.

A ghost of a touch—just one finger dragging down the centre of your panties, light enough to drive you insane—pulls a small, breathy sound from your lips. And then he’s doing it again, tracing over your clit, featherlight and teasing. You’re not sure if your face simmers from embarrassment or sheer eagerness, but it’s hot either way. Your breath stutters. Your hips twitch, helplessly.

“Y’like that?” Mark mutters against your mouth, voice thick and a little rough, and you nod against his lips without hesitation, a soft whimper slipping past them.

“Good,” he breathes. “Good… lemme know if I’m doing this wrong.”

The words hit you like sunlight breaking through clouds—so warm and sweet it makes your chest ache like a cavity. That twist of pleasure low in your stomach tightens a little more, and you have to resist the instinct to roll your hips against his hand. He’s being so careful, and it just makes you want him even more.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could do wrong, Mark,” you sigh, and he kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue brushing yours in a way that makes your toes curl.

You pull away on a light, breathless hum, licking your kiss-swollen lips as you blink up at him. There’s the tiniest flicker of disappointment on his face, quickly replaced when your hands slide up to the straps of your bra.

“Take this off?” Phrased like a question, secretly a plea, a demand wrapped in velvet and you’re verging on begging. Mark huffs, pretty lips curving upwards.

His hand slips away from between your thighs, trailing heat across your skin as he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. The second the strap loosens, he watches you slide it off, his gaze dropping like gravity’s pulling it down.

His pupils dilate in that weird, telltale alien way they do as he takes in the sight of your tits.

A warm palm comes up to cup one breast, his touch tender, adoring—and then he leans in and bites. Not hard, just enough to make you hiss and gasp, the shock of it sparking in your chest. Your nipples peak to attention. His mouth is everywhere all at once, licking, sucking... marking you. You barely recognize the sounds leaving your throat, broken and wanting.

You’d caught a glimpse of yourself in his mirror earlier—faint love bites trailing across your neck, purpling and pretty—and now you can feel him adding more. You wonder idly if he’ll wear the ones you gave him too, or if his body will heal them away before sunset.

Mark drifts lower, slow and steady. You sink your fingers into his hair, threading through soft, inky black strands, and he rewards you with a kiss pressed just beneath your breast. Then your ribs. Then the centre of your belly, nose bumping your navel as he licks slow, warm stripes up and down your skin, teasing just along the underside of your boobs again.

It’s almost too much. You’re breathless from how soft he’s being. From how much he clearly wants you. From how he’s taking his time.

You look down at him, chest rising and falling. He’s already looking at you—of course he is. You follow the line of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the soft arch of his eyebrows. There’s this little furrow at the corners of his eyes you know is from years of smiling, and your heart just about splits open at the sight of him.

You have it so bad for him that your hips jerk up instinctively, needing more contact—needing him—just because his eyes catch yours and hold.

Mark presses a soft, sweet kiss to your knee. “I’m so excited I think I might pass out,” he mumbles, voice thick and a little shaky, the words dragging warmly over your skin. The tip of his nose nudges along the inside of your leg, tracing a slow, lazy path downward—knee to thigh—his breath fanning across sensitive skin.

Then his mouth finds you.

One gentle kiss through the thin fabric of your panties, right against your cunt. You twitch, a sweet noise pushing past your lips. 

He follows with a slow lick, dragging his tongue in a teasing stripe over you, the wet, thin barrier of your underwear doing nothing to dull the pressure. You huff breathlessly, your brows drawing together as he hums low against your clit.

The duvet crinkles beneath you as you sigh and sink into it. There’s a low throb curling deep in your gut, spreading like wildfire.

“Mark,” you sigh his name like it’s a prayer. 

He hums again, this time lower, rougher. His fingers dip beneath the elastic of your panties, warm and tentative, but he doesn’t pull them down just yet. His mouth moves lower, nose pressing in just right, and it steals the air from your lungs, your exhale lilted with a moan.

“I feel like we should have music playing,” he murmurs.

“Music?” you echo, half-dazed, raising an eyebrow you’re pretty sure he can’t see. His only answer is the smirk you feel more than see, pressed right into your skin.

And then he moves the gusset of your panties aside.

He groans—an actual, full-bodied moan—like the sight of you just knocked the breath out of him. He dips a finger into his mouth, wetting it, and mutters something under his breath about giving you a heads-up, that he’s not exactly an expert and most of it comes from the porn he watches (those homemade ones, the amateur videos couples post on Twitter which he swears are genuine clips of what sex is like).

You almost laugh—almost. You're about to tell him not to worry, that you probably know even less—but then his finger presses against you, tentative but eager, and slowly, carefully, he sinks in and you can’t help the soft groan that burns through you.

“Fuck, Mark,” you gasp, the words catching somewhere in your throat. He withdraws immediately, eyes flicking up to yours in question, and sucks his newly wet digit finger into his mouth.

“Good?” he asks.

You nod frantically. “S’good. So good.”

“Fuck—can I?” He asks, and you nod. You don’t know why he’s asking, you gave him a green light ages ago, but your hips lift to help him anyway as he hooks his fingers in your panties and pulls them down. “Y’taste so good,”

Mark leans down and puts his mouth on your hot cunt again. Every slow, willful stroke of his is timed perfectly to the beat pulsing through you. His hands hook under your thighs and pull your legs apart wider, his mouth slanting over you in a way that makes your back arch off the bed.

Your hand tangles in his dark, inky hair and tightens reflexively when he finds your clit again. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t slow, even when you tug. His tongue moves with growing confidence, and the velvet heat of his mouth spreads slick across you, every pass making you ache harder.

A breeze from the window flutters the curtains, the only sign the outside world still exists. But in here, everything is warm and golden and humming—all soft sheets and quiet gasps, all Mark Grayson.

If the tug hurts, Mark doesn’t show it. He hums again, deep and greedy, and your hips rock helplessly against the slope of his nose. Your fingers tighten, your eyes squeeze shut.

“Oh god,” You whine prettily. “That’s— uh— fuck, that’s really good.” 

Between your thighs, you hear and feel the moan Mark gives back. Your thighs twitch, caught in that impossible pull whether to close around his head and warm his ears or keep them open just to feel more. Your hips continue to move instinctively, helpless rolls up into his face. And he takes it appreciatively.

His tongue drags down your folds, and he sucks and slurps, slow and purposeful before flicking at your fluttering entrance. It makes you squeal, a sound you barely recognize as yours.

“Fuck,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to speak. His voice is hoarse, soaked in arousal. “You’re so wet.”

You can only blink, dazed, caught somewhere between disbelief and bliss. Mark sounds like he’s in heaven, like this is as good for him as it is for you—maybe even better. And god, if he keeps talking like that, you’ll never recover.

His chin and lips are slick, shining in the low light. You don’t know if he’s been talking to you the whole time, but you can’t dwell. Not when he’s back on you, plush lips locking around your clit and lavishing across the length of your slit. He moans into you, tongue dipping deep, greedy and soft and insistent.

The pressure in your core coils tighter, the pleasure winding up like a string pulled taut. Your chest rises and falls in sharp, shallow breaths. Your voice dissolves into a string of high, breathy little “yes, yes, yes,”s and Mark’s name, over and over, like a mantra.

He mutters something again, something messy and mumbled into your cunt. It takes you a second to realize he’s tapping at your hand where it’s buried in his hair. You lace your fingers with his, and he sighs like you just gave him oxygen.

“Please,” he says into your skin, almost frantically, “please cum on my face. Please, please, s’only fair.”

Your mouth parts, breath catching. He’s so beautiful—messy hair, flushed cheeks, his lips swollen and wet, eyes dark and heavy with lust. He glances up at you, and for a second, his eyes meet yours. But then his lids flutter shut, a shiver rolling down his spine as he moans again into your pussy.

“Fuck,” you swear.

“Yeah?” Mark hums before slowly sinking a finger inside you again. It’s slow, precise. Intentional Pumping the digit in and out of you with ease.

“Yeah, yeah,” you whisper.

“On my face?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Fuck yes, Mark,” you snap, voice rising. “I’ll cum on your fucking face—shut up!”

You see it then—that look on his face. A smug, delighted one. The same one he wore last night at the bowling alley when he finally knocked down a pin after guttering every ball. But now, it’s laced with morale, more self-satisfied, delighted, proud. Like he knew what you’d say. Like this was always going to happen.

And he just wanted to piss you off.

“Fuck you,” you mutter.

Mark chuckles, wicked and low—and then he adds a second finger.

A pressure builds low in your belly—slow at first, like a ripple pulling tight across your core, until it's urgent, searing, and impossible to ignore. Every movement Mark makes intensifies it, the flick of his tongue, the curl of his fingers inside you, the way his mouth works your clit. It’s not subtle anymore. It’s all-consuming. Flickers of starlight burst behind your closed eyelids, and you feel like you’re floating—no, caught, tethered to the sheets by his arm locked firmly over your hips.

“…Just like that,” you whisper, breath hitching. The words spill out instinctively, barely more than air. But they light him up—you can feel the way he doubles down, how he hones in on every sweet spot with sharper focus. “Keep going. ‘M close… so close, Mark. Please, don’t stop. Please just—”

Your mouth drops open. Not a sound escapes. Not even air. You go still, caught in that heart-stopping moment where everything tightens—every nerve pulled taut.

Then it rocks through you like lightning—white-hot and blinding. Your whole body jerks, legs trembling as the orgasm washes over you with no restraint. A whimper bursts from your throat, then another, and then it’s just breathless moans and helpless groans as you claw for something—anything. One foot presses into Mark’s back, anchoring you. Your fingers tangle in his hair again, desperate. The sheets twist beneath your spine,

Mark moans into you, a sound that hums right through your bones. He doesn’t let up—he licks you through it with soft, steady strokes, like he knows exactly what your body needs. Gentle. Sure. So fucking sweet.

When you finally manage to push him away, trembling and spent, he pulls back slowly—like he hates to leave you. He drags his fingers out of you, and plants a soft, lingering kiss to your swollen clit. A farewell, like he’s grateful for it. When he lifts his head, his face is shining with slick, lips pink, eyes dark and dazed.

His grin is crooked, eyes sparkling. “I think I did good.”

“Could be better...”

He rolls his eyes and leans in slow, almost shy. Like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. You don’t. You kiss him back eagerly, tasting yourself on his lips.

“You should sit on my face and suck me off next time,” he says, his voice low and serious. “After our date. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

The idea of a date and a possible next time sends a thrill right through you, low and giddy and a little unhinged.

“I wanna fuck you first,” you murmur, your breath still uneven, chest rising and falling against his. The words come out raw and honest, no hesitation, and it sends a shiver down Mark’s spine. You feel it, the way he literally trembles.

He groans softly, tucking himself into your side, arms curling around your waist like it’s the most normal thing to do. “Maybe next time,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. His eyes are shut tight, and he clings to you like your words rewired something inside him.

“You need a minute?” you ask, fingers stroking along his back.

“Just a minute… You?”

“…Yeah.”

“Okay, good. I don’t have condoms anyway.”

You snort, eyelids heavy as you nuzzle into him. “When’s your mom getting home?”

“Probably not for another couple hours.”

You glance at him, still breathless, still kind of high off him. “Wanna fly to the store and get some? Pick up takeout on the way?”

He groans dramatically. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You grin. “We can plan out our date after, too. I’ll even read an issue of Seance Dog.”

Mark grins back, a lazy, cocky tilt to his mouth. “Fuck yes. Can I pick the takeout?”

“Sure, you’re paying anyways.”

[loovser]

better than cake

synopsis: during thanksgiving, you had an argument with tommy. thankfully, ellie is there to make you feel better.

wc: 1,7k

cw: nsfw, dom!ellie x sub!reader, fingering + oral (r!receiving), praise, cursing, licking/sucking fingers, use of pet names (doll, baby), brief mentions of weed. 18+ mdni smut.

the room is quiet. you couldn’t even hear the muffled voices anymore — it’s like they were never there to begin with. it finally brings you the peace and relief you were looking for.

today it’s thanksgiving. it’s a day when you are supposed to be grateful and enjoy your friends and family’s company. and you tried to. tommy and maria had invited joel, ellie, jesse, dina and their parents over to your house, for lunch.

you dressed up nicely, putting on clothes that you really liked. you felt good about it. you were having a good time, even managed to sit next to ellie. she is one of your dearest friends and… well. you have a huge crush on her.

but then, it happened. tommy wanted you to stop going on patrols and he brought it up during lunch. you engaged in a heated argument with him, telling him how it wasn’t fair. you get it, he was worried about you. but there isn’t any other way of learning how to deal with the world if you don’t really experience it.

however, he said something that hurt you deeply. about how you would get yourself and others killed because of your recklessness. fighting back the tears, you excused yourself from lunch and ran upstairs, to your room.

which is where you are until now, hungry and lonely. but you needed some time alone. it frustrates you, really, how one bad decision during patrol has been taunting you for so long. you’ve learnt from it. he is your father and should have some more faith in you.

a soft knock on the door makes you snap out of your thoughts. you sigh, thinking it is tommy. “look, dad, i’m not in the mood-“

“it’s ellie.” she cuts you off. you can almost hear the smirk in her voice. it makes you wonder how much raspier it could get.

“it’s unlocked. come in”

and she does. her auburn hair, which was half tied up, is now loose. it falls prettily, in a mullet.

“you thought i was your daddy?” she teases, her smirk getting wider when you blush.

“shut up.” you laugh.

then you see it — the little plate in her hands. there’s a slice of peach cake on it. your favorite. your mom always bakes it for thanksgiving.

“did she tell you to bring it to me?” you ask, curiously.

“who? maria?” you nod and she chuckles. “no. i know you like it, so… i brought it.”

it hits you like a train. the way she says it so genuinely. like it was natural for her to do so, to know you so well. you smile. she smiles back, getting closer to where you are.

your room isn't very big — cozy and cute, some would say it suits you perfectly. it has some posters of things you like. a big, comfortable bed. a vanity that you love, some book shelves.

there were plenty of times in which you and ellie would get high there, together. it was a secret you would share. no one else knew you smoked weed and honestly? you just liked doing it with her.

she puts the plate on your lap, her hand brushing on your thigh, making you shiver. thankfully, she doesn’t feel it through the fabric of your clothes.

“since you didn’t really have anything. this is the only thing i could bring, so eat it.” she murmurs, almost shyly.

it’s cute when she does something like this to you. she always gets flustered and avoids your gaze — just like she is doing now.

“have you tried it yet?” you ask, grabbing the fork and eating a piece of the cake.

“no. you know i’m not really into sweets.” she shrugs.

the peach is so fresh that when you bite into it, the juice runs down your chin.

“careful there…” ellie says, her voice a little rougher.

when you look up at her, she is already staring at you. there’s something in her gaze, something familiar. something that makes a shiver crawl down your spine.

she leans closer, thumb brushing your chin, wiping the juice away — and then she licks it clean.

you almost gasp, but you manage to keep it together.

“i thought you weren’t into sweets?” you smirk, teasingly.

“smartass. there are a few that i really enjoy.” her lips quiver as she says that.

“you haven’t tried the cake to know if you like it or not…” you insist and she laughs.

“you are right, i haven’t. should i?” she grabs the little plate from your lap, hands lingering on your thighs for a little longer than they should.

“yeah… you might like it” it’s all you manage to say, enticed by the way she’s looking at you. like she’s hungry, or even… starved.

“there’s another way i could taste it, you know?” her voice is low as she puts the cake away. you know what she means. but you want to hear it from her.

“which way would that be, ellie?” her green eyes suddenly darken.

“why would i tell you when i can show you?” it’s all you hear before her lips crash into yours.

they move hungrily, confidently. like she thought about it before, more than once. like she knew how she wanted to kiss you. and you give the same want back to her, your lips following hers just as needy.

her hand tugs at your hair and you moan into the kiss, which seems to fuel her even more. she sits beside you, thigh brushing yours, and you swear your heart skips. then she tugs you gently, guiding you into her lap without breaking it. it’s rough and passionate, like you’ve both been keeping those feelings buried and now that they are free, the longing and desire are being poured into it without hesitation.

your fingers tangle into her hair as her tongue explores your mouth with fervour, her own hands traveling down your back and gripping your ass. you can already feel the heat pooling in your panties and it makes you wonder if she’s in the same state that you are. though when she lets out a soft whimper against your tongue, you can tell that she is.

and when her hands squeeze your ass, you gasp. you feel she smirking at the sound, as she breaks the kiss to catch her breath.

“you were right. i like it.” she teases, her forehead against yours.

you chuckle, panting. your breaths mingle and everything feels too hot. but it gets worse when she moves her kisses to your neck. you feel like you might combust at any moment.

“you could taste something else…” you murmur, voice shaky, already half-lost in the way her tongue flicks on your sensitive skin, how her teeth graze against it. nipping, then biting. marking you as hers.

“oh, yeah? is that so?”

she trails kisses down to your collarbone as you confirm, caressing her scalp. “mhm”

“what is it? use your words, doll.” she bites harder in your skin.

“els, please… eat me out.” there’s no time to be embarrassed about it, not when she’s already taking your clothes off and settling in between your legs.

“so pretty… especially when you beg.” her breath is fanning over your cunt and it almost makes you squirm in your spot.

she teases, getting closer to where you need her the most. you know she wants to hear you beg again, by the way she shoots her eyebrows up, grinning.

“please… ellie, please.” you give in.

she slides a finger through your folds, letting out an approving hum. “so wet. all for me, yeah?”

you nod eagerly “yes. all for you.”

with that, she licks a long stripe from your soaked entrance all the way to your clit. you let out a whimper, melting against her tongue. “fuck, you taste so good, baby” she purrs. you can’t take your eyes off her and neither can she. she dives into your pussy, making it impossible for you to talk while she sucks and kisses you. like this is the best meal she’s ever had. she’s too good at it, it’s unfair.

all you can do is relish the feeling of her tongue on your sensitive flesh, sucking your clit and your folds. your hands find her hair, pushing her harder into you, drawing a moan from her mouth into your cunt.

“oh, shit, els! don’t stop!” you moan out, having her right where you want her and she groans, sliding a finger inside you.

“won’t stop until you cum for me. doing so good, baby.” she coos.

your hips grind against her face and her fingers before you can even think about it, seeking your release. when she slides another finger, all that leaves your mouth are whimpers, cries and incoherent words.

“thaaaaat’s it,” she says, pussydrunk. all she can focus on is tasting and pleasuring you “use me. show me how good it feels.” everything she says makes you closer and closer to the edge. no one has ever fucked you like this before, you can’t even talk properly.

she curls her fingers, hitting that spongy spot. you can see stars as she turns you into a babble mess. “can’t talk, hm? feels that good? fucking take it.”

her tone is teasing and demanding. it makes you crazy.

“i’m-“ you clench around her and she feels it, her own thighs pressing together, unconsciously.

“i know, baby.” she cuts you off, pumping her fingers harder as she sucks your clit. “cum f’me, i got you.”

and you do. that familiar knot in your stomach snaps as your orgasm washes over you. her name leaving your lips like a prayer as she rides out your high.

You're still breathless when she pulls her fingers out, leaving you clenching around nothing. before you can say anything, she sucks them clean.

“that’s much better than peach cake.” she murmurs, as she presses a kiss to your inner thigh, lingering there as your breathing slows. you laugh, light-headed and aching, as she curls up beside you.

i knooooow we are not anywhere near thanksgiving but i love the whole vibe it brings so i just had to do it! hope you like it 💘

[teddypines]

Mother's Dinner Drama

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Summary: Family dinner dind't turn out like it should when Y/N's mother starts to get involved. Warnings: Mother issues, maybe a bit of trauma. Angst with hurtfull words. Little violence. little dissociation. Sweating.

Batmom!Reader x Batfam. Batmom!Reader x Bruce Wayne. Use of Y/N for Reader, Fem!Reader, Use of she/her pronounce.

Notes: Was feeling the angst a little to much. And thank you all for the great comments and reposts on my stories. It means a lot to me that you all enjoy the stories. Words: 2473

Picture from @lightningstrikes-art credits to them.

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Bruce knew of Y/n's troubled Relationship with her mother, Sharon. He had seen it over the years. How she would belittle and control Y/n over the littlest things. It took some time to fully see the true extent of it all, but he quickly realised that the love Sharon had was conditional. Unlike the love he used to receive from his own mother. The love he was trying to give Y/N and the children.

He also knew that Y/N still loved her mother even if it was conditional most of the time. He knew she tried to reach out, to bond or just be at peace. Sadly most of the attempts went unsuccessful. Over time things did change since Y/N got to see how unconditional love was really like from Bruce and she had to focus on the growing family. So less time for big family meetings. Which neither of them minded, it gave Y/N time to heal a little.

Y/N learned over time, and with a little therapy, how to take the good with the bad and that most of her mothers shit came from a place of no control and the belief that the world revolved around them. With this she tried to be a better mother to their children. She didn't yell when something broke or got spilled. She didn't lie or use cheap tactics to get her way. didn't manipulate the situation to her will or made the children feel bad. She gave them what they never got.

It was one of the somewhat regular dinners that Y/N's parents had with the Wayne’s. Of course Sharon was being Sharon. Talking, just to talk and hear her own voice. Telling the boys what to do and what not. Giving off this fake consurne, maybe it was really her worrying, but it all came from a place that would only benefit her.

Things were going as they were going with a big family like theirs. The boy's set the table as Alfred helped Y/N with the last touches for dinner. This is where things went south. 

Sharon walked into the kitchen, having nothing better to do. “Do you two need any help with anything? I could bring something to the table already or mix the dressing in the salad?” 

“No thanks, mom, we have everything under control here. If you want you can ask Bruce If he needs help with picking a wine.” Y/N answered as she handed Alfred the last two bowls with strawberries and cream for dessert later. “Are you sure? It doesn't look like you have it under control.” Sharon responded as she started to look for a fork. Once the fork was found she went straight into one of the salads and took a bite. “Hmm, it needs more mustard dressing.” she said while already starting her search for the dressing.

Y/n looked at her mother with a numbing feeling already growing inside her chest. “Mom, we are fine and don't need help. The salad is fine, if you want more dressing you can add it once you have some on your plate. Damian doesn’t like the strong taste of mustard so the amount of dressing is less as a base.” She tried to get her mother to see a little sense with her words. Sharon however didn’t listen and took the salad bowl into the dining room.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Y/n asked, trying to catch up with her. “I'm just going to fix the salad sweetie.” Sharon answered as she looked back at her daughter. This made Y/N worry a little more. All because she knew the patrons, patrons Bruce told her were not normal to know. “Mom, stop!” Y/n snapped as she saw their mother reach for the dressing. “Don't put more dressing into that salad!”

Sharon heard Y/n but didn't listen anyway. Why would she, she was going to make this salad better. Putting a whole lot of dressing into the salad and started mixing it in. “There we go, now try it, it's much better like this. You can finally taste something.” She said with a smile, feeling rather proud of herself. She however quickly saw the mad expression on Y/n's face but didn't take it as a hint that she did something wrong. “Owh, don't look so sour sweetie, we all make mistakes.”

“No mom! I told you not to put more dressing into that salad! Why didn't you listen?!” Y/n asked, raising her voice a little in upset. She didn't care about the dressing for themselves but for Damian. Is her mother really that insensitive? 

“To make it taste better sweetie, it was rather bland.” Sharon answered, not seeing the problem that was so clearly there in front of her. 

“It's supposed to be like that mom! Damian hates mustard dressing, I warned You about this. It's bland for a reason!” The little scene slowly turned into a bigger one as Alfred and the boys got into the dinning room with more food they wanted to put on the table. “I was just helping.” Sharon answered. “I didn't know Damian hates mustard dressing. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Mom, I told you that not five minutes ago so you wouldn't put the dressing in! And I didn't ask for your help! I told you we were okay.” Y/n snapped. She was done with this, it wasn’t just about her anymore, Damian got dragged into it and she didn’t want her mother to do the same to her kids. It took everything inside them not to explode with anger. “You know what, it’s fine. I guess you just have to tell Damian he can’t have any of the salad.” Y/N sounded rather toxic. A hand running through her hair. They tensed up, which only got worse when Sharon reached out to them. 

“I’m getting the napkins I guess..” Tessa said as she turned away from her mother. leaving the dining room as quick as she could. “What’s going on?” Bruce asked as he walked into the dinning room with the wine that matched the steak. Seeing how Alfred and the boy’s were looking over at Sharon. “What did you do?!” Bruce asked Sharon, rage already boiling inside him. Sharon didn’t answer at first. So Bruce handed Dick the wine and stepped closer to Sharon. “What. Did. You. Do?” His eyes spitting fire.

“I just fixed the salad and Y/N flipped out. It's only some extra mustard dressing, I'm sure Damian wouldn't mind.” Sharon answered.  “Ts, I do mind, Sharon. Mom didn’t tell you not to do it just because.” Damian rolled his eyes. He was done with his ‘grandmother's’ shit. “I'm gonna find mom.” He said before pushing the bowl with potato wages into Jason’s hands. Not caring if he would keep balance before storming off. Sharon looked a little nervous when her husband walked into the dinning room. “What’s wrong with Damian? He looks like he wants to murder someone.”

Everyone turns to Andrew, making the man a little nervous because of all the tension. “Okay who died? and where is my Sweetpea?” Andrew asked as he looked around the room. Once his eyes fell on Sharon he didn’t need anymore answers. “Sharon what did you do?”

“I was just trying to help! Y/N/N didn’t like it and got mad at me.” Sharon answered, luckily Andrew knew his wife and knew Y/N wouldn’t just get mad. “She is just overreacting and overly sensitive about Damian not liking mustard.” She added shortly after, making Dick and Jason even more angry. Andrew sighed as he rubbed his forehead. He was disappointed in his wife once again. “Sharon, you are so out of your mind right now. This is really insensitive of you and i can’t believe you did this. I hate saying this, but you are just like your own mother.” Those words of course hit like a ton of bricks for Sharon. 

Sharon gasped at Andrew’s words before slapping him. This made everyone gasp and Dick quickly walked over to check on Andrew. “What is wrong with you?” He hissed to Sharon. Bruce however was quiet, too quiet. He walked over to Sharon with a purpose, almost like an animal on a hunt. He grabbed Sharon by her arm and walked to the entrance. shuffling her coat and bag into her arms before shuffling her out the door. Jason throws Sharon’s shoes out of the door right after. “and don’t come back!” He yelled.

Jason looked up at Bruce, seeing the rage still present. “Go check on mom and Damian please. I'll help Dick, Tim and Alfred with gramps.” Bruce didn’t say anything to Jason’s words, but he did give Jason a proud smile before going to look for his wife and youngest son. 

<------------------------------------------------>

Bruce found his wife and youngest son in one of the lounge rooms, both cuddled up on the couch. With a sigh of relief Bruce walked over to the couch and sat down next to Y/N. “Love? Starlight?” Bruce ran a hand over Y/N’s head and down her back. Y/N and Damian both leaned against Bruce. “Hey baby bird, did you protect momma for me?” Bruce asked Damian, knowing his youngest would always protect Y/N especially with the way she protected and loved Damian. 

“Momma needed some space, but not alone space.” Damian answered as he leaned against his father. He too tried to comfort Y/N, but he felt how closed off his mom was right now. He knew she was just trying to stand up to her own mother, knowing a little about that himself, but it hurt him to see her so hurt. Bruce ran a hand over Damian’s hair. “That is very thoughtful of you Dami.”

The three of them sat there for a few minutes in silence. Damian and Bruce didn’t know how to reach Y/N right now. Bruce knew his wife and knew she was dissociating right now. He didn’t like it when she did that, but he understood why she did it now. Especially after what happened with her mother. It was hard for him, but right now he had to wait. 

“I don’t get it… That she would do this to me and my siblings, yes… But to her grandchildren… Why would she not listen to me when I say a child is sensitive to something… Why would she not listen to a mother when she is one herself!? when she knows how it is to not be listened to too!” Y/N started, first she was saddened by it all, but it quickly turned into anger. "WHY?!"

Tears quickly formed in her eyes. “why wouldn’t she listen to me?... Why would…” Y/N stopped as she was pulled into Bruce’s lap. “Because your mother is not the mother you are. She is a mother, but not a mother by heart like you are, love.” He answered in an attempt to sooth his wife. He whipped away her tears and kissed her forehead. “You fought for your son, something Sharon would never do. You would go against anyone and everyone, your mother wouldn't, that is what narcissistic people do. She would manipulate a situation to her will, something you would never even think about.” 

Bruce was right about those things, both Y/N and Damian knew that. “I know it’s hard when your own mother is not the mother you wish and crave she was. But we can’t pick our mothers, just the mother or father we want to be to our own children. You are a wonderful mother Y/N/N, a mother with a big loving heart and I am so so proud that you stood up to your own mother for Damian.” Y/N cried into Bruce’s chest at those lovefilled words. Words that made her feel like she did the right thing, that she did indeed was a good mother and not being pathetic or overreacting. Damian looked away. His father’s words hit him a little too, but he was going to hide that it did. 

Y/N sniffed her nose after a moment and whipped her eyes. “I’m okay, for now, i can be nice for dinner. I don’t want anyone to wait even longer.” She said, determined to not ruin the night even further. She was about to pull away and stand up, only to be held back by Bruce. “Love, don’t push yourself. Everyone is okay with waiting, they are mostly just worried about you. Besides Alfred and you are masters at reheating food, we can wait, truly.”

<------------------------------------------------->

In the end Y/N and Damian joined everyone again after calming down a bit. Bruce quickly went to his office so he could contact his lawyer, wanting nothing more than to help Andrew divorce Sharon. 

Everyone helped with getting dinner ready once more, the overdressed salad washed down and in the compost bin. Everything was reheated just right by Alfred’s magic hands and Y/N made sure the cold meals were not bad or too warm. The boy’s finished setting the table and Andrew sat down as everyone worked. He didn’t like it but Y/N told him to, he just had one of the biggest fights with his wife and was going to prepare for a divorce. He needed a little break. 

Dinner itself was wonderful, filled with laughter and a warm loving glow going around the room as everyone enjoyed the food.

“Is the salad okay?” Y/N asked Damian once she saw him take a few bites of one of the other salads that were made. She was still a little worried after the previous events. “Yes, momma, the salad is perfect.” Damian answered with a big smile on his face. appreciating the concern she showed for him. Something he loved about her, something that really made her his mother. Made her their mother. Y/N gave Damian a soft smile, glad the salad was to his liking. Glad all the food was to everyone’s liking. 

The older boy’s were happy to see their mother back to her usual self. This was their mother, the person who meant the most to them. the person who was there when their own mother’s weren’t. The person who loved them no matter what they would do. Their comfort and home.

Bruce grabbed Y/N’s hand underneath the table and gave her a smile. “You look beautiful, love. Like a queen.” He complimented her before lifting her hand. giving it a gentle kiss. “A queen who is nothing without her king.” Y/N answered with a big smile on her face. This was home.

[tojisteddy]

Just thought about Inmate!Suguru and jeeez | cw: 18+ mdni, some fluff, phone sex, masturbation.

Inmate!Suguru who has everyone in the prison on a tight rule despite being locked up himself. Inmates, officers, the god damn warden— everyone moves and does as he says.

If you think some people saw him like a God in there— you’d be right.

Strict on routine, Inmate!Suguru is up by five, morning tea with his cell mate, breakfast by six, headcount at 7, a college course or two in the morning, ‘straightening shit out’ he likes to call it right after lunch at 11:50, meeting his cell mate and a few of his older buddies for mahjong on the coast yard by 1pm. Work out at three pm while listening to Britney Spears and Aaliyah (yes, he’s a big fan). He’s either on weights, or playing basketball. Long hair slipping out of his ponytail, Orange jumpsuit tied at his waist, sweat dripping through his wife beater— God would you pray to see him like that right then and there. Suguru showers after that, dinner at 5, another headcount, he spends the rest of the time in his cell. Thinking, drawing (he’s got a knack for it), another tea, listening to the mixtape you sent him of songs you’d been listening to, writing a reply to one of your letters.

But when Inmate!Suguru does miss you, and I mean really misses you, gets out a little track phone hidden in his mattress and calls you. It could be the dead of night when he does it, lights out in the prison of course, he knows you’re deep in sleep but he calls anyway. You pick up on the forth ring, he sighs, “Baby.” Soft because he doesn’t he doesn’t want to disturb his cell mate, an old man who’d been in for too long on a sentence he didn’t deserve. You don’t even open your eyes, you’d just go on yapping about anything that pops up in your head because that’s what he wants to hear. Your sweet voice that takes him away from this dirty cell, this prison and home to you, where he’ll be in ten more months. even if it’s just for ten minutes.

That’s what he misses at times like this. Your voice, your smile, your soft body pressed against his— the way you’d laugh at the dumbest jokes, your curls getting in the way of your gorgeous face or when your brown black hair is overlapping with his jet black strands— he missed it all.

Inmate!Suguru who has Saturo look out for you while he’s in jail. He’s a good friend to him and to you and trusts him to take care of what you won’t tell Suguru because you don’t want to worry him. You car in the inbound lot? Suguru’s got Gojo to get it out for you. Sink making that weird noise again? Suguru’s Gojo’s calling a plumber to come fix it. Want to hang because you’re feeling lonely? Don’t worry, Gojo’s bringing your favorite snacks over and hogging the couch.

Inmate!Suguru who only calls you from the pay phone once a month. Just before dinner on the third Friday, 4:30 pm sharp every time. “You are now receiving a collect call from—“ and there’s a break in the automated message so he can speak, “missed you soooo much doll.” “Inmate number—“

Suguru can hear you moaning on the other line, squirming and rubbing at your bundle of nerves. “Miss you baby, shit!” You gasp, turning your head into your pillow. Suguru’s already imagining it, your mouth open, cursing up a storm, running away from your own pleasure.

Yup, phone sex. The freak had to hear you get off for him, help him envision exactly what he’d do to you when he got out of that place. He’d fuck you till you didn’t have words to speak, give you everything you needed.

“Come on baby, put your phone to your pussy, gotta hear her.” You follow, bringing the phone down and opening your legs further. You’re completely soaked, running your fingers through your folds that squelched with every movement. You were making a mess that’s dripping down to your little asshole. You’d been edging yourself for the last 40 minutes, waiting for Suguru to give you the demand to let it go. It always feels better this way.

“Good girl, sound so perfect. Stick those fingers in your pretty cunt for me, yeah? Just like I always do.” He grunts, shifting to give his growing chub some breathing room.

You slip one finger in thrusting it a little then another finger.

“Not- ughh- it’s not as big enough!” you whine thrusting your fingers inside your hole as best as you can but they could never do what his big tattooed hands could do. Get you cumming in two minutes. Suguru snickers, god you sounds you were making were music to his ears. “I knooow,” he fake pouts, his poor baby :(, “Just imagine it, you can do it. Try to find that spot for me, just like I would do. Rub on your fat clit, and think about me teasing your nipples. Licking all over ‘em just how you like. You can do it, you’re a good girl.”

You shake groaning at his words and working your fingers into your gushing entrance. Mumbling his name while your thumb found your clit.

Your back arches off the bed, “Gonna- hnnngh- cum! Sugu Lemme cum!”

Suguru smirks, the bastard, “Not so sure.”

“—B-but”

“—B-b-but,” he mocks, “come on, you can hold it for another second, can’t you?”

You huff, squeezing your eyes shut, “I-I’m a good girl.”

“Yes you are, my gorgeous girl. Bet you’re gushing right now, imagining how I take care of you, holding you and touching you all over, hm?”

And there’s yelling, too fucking loud, three phones down. A guard telling them to calm down or shut up. Suguru tried to ignore it. Focus on you, your moans speaking right to his aching dick. Just before he can get out the words to let you release, some prick comes yelling at him.

“—Damn it Geto! You’re hogging the fuckin phone!” Someone yells behind him. He takes a breath through his nose, closing his eyes and not giving the idiot the slightest attention. He runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, sweet girl, gonna have to finish yourself off without me, okay?”

“O-okay.” You hiccuped, clarity finally getting to you. “I was holding you up.”

“No, never. I love our calls baby- just- fuck— these damn monkeys don’t know when to keep their fucking heads down and mouths shut. Do they?” Your boyfriend sneers, he’s half talking to you, half talking to himself because how dare an imbecile below him interrupt his precious time with you?

Suguru knows the monkey doesn’t even understand the gravity of the situation, how incredible you were, his princess. How every second of his 20 minute call, hearing you moan and cry his name, was thee most important thing every fucking month he was in here.

He’d skin him.

“You write me a letter like you always do sweetheart. I miss you, love you.”

“Take care of yourself. I love you Sugu.” Fuck, the man’s heart gushed. He hears your sweet lips pucker, sending him a kiss and then the dial tone. Suguru puts the phone back, straightening his poster and turning towards the man who yelled at him and tying his hair up.

“Pray you don’t die today.”

Inmate!Suguru, who surprisingly became close with a man with pink hair named Sukana. And it’s fucking off that the two would get along, both men like control and to be able to control whatever setting they’re in. Any setting besides the little book club created by the sweet elderly woman, Ms. Joanne, who used to be in jail herself and decided to help those who were just like her when she got out. She new exactly how to control the big and tall men around her— by informing them she’d take away the books if they didn’t get their act together. That changed everything.

Inmate!Suguru who would rather you send him a letter than call often. Who knows you cried your eyes out those first couple months right after your calls and hates that he’s the cause of your pain. So he writes and writes all the feelings and words left unsaid down on paper so you can remind yourself of all his love whenever you want. And you do the same writing and writing till your heart is at ease, full, waiting for the day Suguru makes it back home to you.

a/n: finally writing by manga/anime boys, I live.

most recent masterlist

[koyagifs]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

pairing: mingi x reader au: 9th member | idol genre: smut word count:2.6 k synopsis: unbeknownst to you, wooyoung had declared war with the others, mingi making the first move. warning(s):MDNI dom!mingi, oral (f. receiving), PUSSY MUNCHER Mingi, oral (m.receiving), unprotected sex, cream pie, doggy, MDNI part one here

You wandered into the kitchen, Wooyoung’s shirt hanging off your frame, soft and oversized as it clung to your body in all the right places. Without much thought, you started the coffee maker, fingers moving on autopilot. The front door creaked open, and you barely looked up, mumbling a distracted, “Hey,” to whoever had come in, your eyes still glued to your phone as you doom-scrolled.

Mingi’s eyes lingered on your neck the moment he stepped into the kitchen, the faint marks there making his jaw tense. Jealousy hit him like a wave—sharp and sudden—as irritation bubbled just beneath the surface. He could practically hear Wooyoung’s smug voice in his head, teasing him without even being in the room.

And then, like clockwork, he imagined Hongjoong’s exasperated sigh, the inevitable scolding that would be aimed at both you and Wooyoung for being “irresponsible.” The thought brought a smirk to Mingi’s face despite himself.

Setting his drink on the counter, he made his way toward you, ignoring the buzz of his phone—undoubtedly Yunho blowing it up with a string of dramatic texts. But Mingi had more important things to do.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you into his warmth as he nestled his face against your neck. You giggled at the sudden affection, your fingers instinctively finding his hand and lacing through it.

“Hi, baby,” you teased, your voice still laced with sleep and the remnants of laughter.

Mingi hummed against your skin, his lips brushing just beneath one of the marks Wooyoung had left. “Wooyoung really did a number on you,” he muttered, the hint of a pout in his voice making you smile.

“You jealous?” you asked, tilting your head slightly to give him better access.

He didn’t answer right away—just pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your neck. “Maybe,” he whispered.

"Maybe?" you echoed, a smile playing on your lips. You turned in his arms, facing him, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Just maybe?" you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingi met your gaze, his eyes darkening with a slow burn of lust and something deeper—possessiveness, devotion. The kind that always simmered just beneath his calm exterior.

"You know I am," he murmured, voice low and gravelly. "You know how I get."

You nodded, your fingers drawing lazy circles on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "I do," you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch without hesitation.

"But you know what else I know?" you said, voice playful now, eyes gleaming as you looked up at him.

He raised an eyebrow, that signature smirk starting to tug at the corner of his lips. "What’s that?"

"You know how to make me feel just as good," you said softly, before leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

He responded instantly, like he’d been holding himself back just for this—arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against him. The kiss started slow, lingering, full of heat that simmered just beneath the surface. But then something shifted.

Mingi kissed you harder, like the dam had finally broken—like he was starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His hands gripped your waist with more urgency, your body molded perfectly to his as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head to chase more of you.

You let out a soft gasp against his mouth, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in him. Mingi didn’t waste a second—his hand slid from your waist to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze as he pushed you gently toward the counter.

You gasped again when your back hit the edge, and before you could catch your breath, Mingi lifted you with ease, setting you onto the cool surface. His body slotted between your legs, hands firm on your thighs as he leaned in again.

“Mingi—” you breathed, but the rest of your thought was swallowed in another kiss, hotter now, fueled by the possessiveness he’d been holding back since the moment he walked in.

His fingers gripped your hips, keeping you steady as he kissed you like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth. Like nothing else existed but you in his hands.

Then his lips moved—feverish and determined—from yours to the delicate skin of your neck. He trailed down until he found the marks Wooyoung had left, and without hesitation, began replacing them. His mouth latched onto the spots, sucking harder, slower, leaving behind bruises that were darker, deeper—undeniably his.

Your breath hitched, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you tried to stay quiet. Every drag of his lips against your skin made it harder. You bit your lip, swallowing the moans bubbling in your throat, remembering your other lovers still asleep down the hall. You didn’t want to wake them—not yet.

“Mingi,” you whispered, a plea, a warning, your voice trembling.

You whined softly, the sound slipping out before you could catch it, and Mingi’s low chuckle rumbled against your skin in response. He looked impossibly smug, loving the way you were already falling apart for him.

“Guess I’ll have to keep you quiet myself,” he whispered.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you effortlessly off the counter. You instinctively clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he started toward your room, his lips never straying far from your skin. Each step was accompanied by a playful nip or kiss, making it impossible for you to calm the fluttering in your chest.

The house was still quiet, the others clearly still asleep—or pretending to be. And while a part of you worried about getting caught again, the bigger part of you didn’t care, not when Mingi was looking at you like that.

He kicked your door shut behind him, eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Now,” he said, laying you down gently on the bed, “where were we?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, his mouth crashing back down onto yours, his tongue demanding entry. You gasped as he found your tongue, and he took full advantage, exploring your mouth with a hunger that made you whimper. Mingi was quick to take Wooyoung shirt off you, tossing it somewhere in your room. He broke the kiss just long enough to nip at your chin, then trailed his lips down your neck. You arched into him, your breath hitching as he sucked gently at the base of your throat.

His hands were everywhere, sliding over your ribs, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples into hard peaks. You moaned softly, your hips grinding against him, seeking more friction. He chuckled against your skin, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your body.

" don't worry pretty, i'm going to take my time with you," he mumbled against your skin.

Mingi's lips left a trail of dark, heated marks down your stomach, each one a branding of his desire. The faint, distant sounds of Hongjoong and your stylist faded into oblivion, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the raspy intakes of your breath. His lips finally reached your thighs, and he groaned, the vibration sending shivers through your body.

He pushed your legs wider, his strong hands gripping your thighs firmly. His eyes, dark and hungry, feasted on the sight before him. You could feel your pussy clench, eager and ready, the wetness coating your inner thighs. Mingi's breath hitched, a low groan escaping his lips as he took in the sight.

"Fuck," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting them slightly, exposing you more to his hungry gaze.

He leaned in, his breath hot on your slick folds. You could feel his tongue, wet and warm, tracing the edge of your thigh, inching closer to your center. His tongue flicked out, tasting you lightly, a tease that made you arch off the bed. He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin.

"So fucking sweet," he murmured, his voice muffled against you.

His tongue delved deeper, parting your folds, tasting your desire. Your hands fisted in the sheets, your back arching as he sucked gently on your clit, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he feasted on you, his hunger insatiable.

Mingi was already rock hard, the moans that left your lip made were music to his ears and he can he hear it all day long. He let out a small hiss when you pulled on his hair, but that didn't deter him from inserting his fingers inside your pussy. A sharp gasp left you and you could feel the smirk form on his lip.

Your body was a live wire, coiled tight and ready to snap. The pleasure built with each expert flick of his tongue, each suckle that sent jolts of ecstasy straight to your core. As you crested the wave, your body tensing and convulsing, Mingi hummed his delight, the vibration sending a chill down your spine. He released your clit with a pop, leaving you gasping and sensitive. His hands gripped your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his fierce, hungry kiss. He swallowed your moans, his tongue dominating yours, claiming your mouth as he claimed your body.

He broke the kiss abruptly, his hands moving to your hips. With a swift, powerful tug, he pulled you up and onto your knees, positioning you in front of him. He sat back on his haunches, his eyes never leaving yours as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweats. You tugged them down, his cock springing free, hard and ready. Your breath hitched at the sight, your mouth watering with anticipation. His hands fisted in your hair, guiding your head down, his voice a low growl.

"Take me in your mouth. Now."

You wrap your fingers around the base of his shaft, looking up at him as you take him deep, your lips stretching around him. You can feel him hitting the back of your throat, and you relax, taking him even deeper. He groans, his hands fisting in your hair, holding you gently but firmly in place. You can feel his cock twitching in your mouth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You start to move, your head bobbing up and down, your lips and tongue working his shaft, your hand twisting at the base.

You pull off with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock and you smile up at him, your eyes watering slightly. "Fuck, you taste good," you purr, licking your lips.

He growls, his hips jerking forward, his cock sliding back into your mouth. You take him eagerly, your head bobbing faster, your hand pumping in time with your mouth. You can feel his cock swelling, his body tensing, and you know he's close. His grip on your hair tightens, his hips moving faster, his cock fucking your mouth with wild abandon. You moan around him, the vibration sending him over the edge.

Just as he about to cum, he pulled your head up, his hand moving to guide you to the bed. Pushing your head down on the mattress as his other hand moved to guide his cock into your pussy, both of you moaning as he bottomed out. Mingi didn't waste a minute before he began to pound into you, your fingers curling onto your bed sheets as his hands held onto your hips tightly.

Just as he begins to thrust into you, his grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. His cock hits you deep, the sound of his balls slapping against your pussy filling the room. You can feel every inch of him, his cock pulsing inside you, his body slamming against yours.

Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, his pace relentless, his cock driving you wild. He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, his lips finding the shell of your ear. "You feel so fucking good," he groans, his voice a low growl. His words send shivers down your spine, your body arching against his, your pussy clenching around him.

Your head lolls forward, thick strands of hair framing your face as you gasp for breath. Mingi's cock drives into you, relentless and deep, each thrust shattering your control. His hand snakes around, fingers deftly finding your clit, rubbing it with slow, deliberate pressure. Your body tenses, your muscles clenching around him as waves of pleasure rip through you.

Mingi's grip on your hips is tight, bruising almost, as he fucks you with a savage intensity. He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, his breath hot on your ear. He reaches up and roughly grabs your hair, pulling your head back and exposing your neck.

“Say my name,” he commands.

Your lips part, but only a choked gasp escapes. Your brain is mush, fogged over by the raw, carnal pleasure coursing through your veins. Your fingers claw at the bedsheets, knuckles white, as you struggle to form words.

Mingi's pace doesn't slow, his hips slapping against yours, the wet sound of his cock fucking you filling the room. His fingers work your clit faster, the sensation almost too much to bear. You're on the edge, teetering on the brink of oblivion.

“I know you can hear me,” Mingi growls, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Say it. Say my fucking name.”

You gulp. Your vision blurs, stars dancing at the edges. You push down the overwhelming pleasure, scrambling to get hold of yourself.

“ Mingi,” you gasp, your voice barely recognizing it.

“Yes?” He grins, his voice taunting.

“mingi” you repeat, bewildered.

Mingi laughs darkly, his fingers circling your clit faster, his cock pounding into you harder. You’re gone. Lost in the pleasure, lost in him. Your body convulses, your orgasm ripping through you with the force of a tornado. Mingi follows soon after, his grip tightening as he thrusts deep, his cock pulsing as he fills you.

Your body trembled as it settled against the sheets, muscles spent and chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Mingi’s hands were still on you—gentle now, grounding—as if making sure you didn’t drift too far from him. He leaned in, brushing a kiss to your temple before finally pulling away.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice low and affectionate, laced with pride and tenderness. He slipped away to the bathroom, the sound of running water replacing the quiet panting that had filled the room only moments ago.

When he returned, a warm cloth in hand, his expression had softened. He moved carefully, wiping you down with gentle precision, his gaze flicking up every so often to make sure you were okay. The care in his touch, the way he took his time—it said everything he didn’t need to voice.

“You good, baby?” he asked quietly, thumb stroking your thigh.

You gave him a tired, blissful nod. “More than good.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before crawling into bed beside you, pulling the blanket over your bodies. You melted into his arms, your leg thrown over his, fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest.

[hummingbird24220]

Hello hello ^^ if it’s alright, could I request a scenario where reader gets a nosebleed in response to something Sanji does, I think it’d be cute or funny to have him be on the receiving end of it

(Also I rlly love the way you write the straw hats ^^<3)

hehehehe yes, my leggy boy deserves to be simped for in return.

Enjoy!

Crush à la Carte

Sanji x Reader

The galley smelled like heaven — butter sizzling, garlic browning, the faint, toasty undertone of fresh bread in the oven. But none of that compared to him.

Sanji was plating lunch like a magazine cover model had decided to try food styling as a hobby. Shirt sleeves rolled up just past his elbows, tie loosened just a little, blonde hair falling lazily over one eye, cigarette bobbing at the corner of his lips like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You were mid-sentence with Usopp, giggling about something dumb he’d said — when your brain glitched. All focus dropped out of your ears and straight into the black hole of your dumb little crush. And then Sanji did the thing.

He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and smiled. Not the wild-eyed, hearts-for-eyes “mademoiselle~!!” routine he usually pulled. No. This was soft, warm. Lazy, like a sunbeam. It hit your soul like a truck.

You short-circuited.

Blood. Nose. Everywhere.

“GAH—!” you gasped, slapping your hands over your face and practically knocking your stool over as you scrambled backward.

“Y/N?!” Sanji turned, alarmed. “Are you okay?!”

“Nope! Fine! Everything’s cool!” you called out in a high-pitched squeak, already spinning on your heel and sprinting out of the galley like it was on fire. “NOSE JUST DECIDED TO DO A THING, DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT!”

You could feel his footsteps behind you. That man was fast when worried.

“Wait—! Did you get hurt?! Did something hit you?!”

Yeah, your face hit the full force of his raw, untamed attractiveness.

You dove behind a stack of folded deck chairs on the upper deck, holding your face with both hands, praying your nose would stop bleeding before he found you.

Footsteps slowed nearby. His voice dropped, gentle.

“…Y/N?”

You stopped breathing.

He sounded worried.

But also kind of… guilty?

“Did I say something wrong…?”

Oh no. Oh no no no. Now you felt bad and nosebleedy.

Sanji’s shoes scuffed gently against the wooden deck as he stopped, peering behind the stack of deck chairs. You could see the tip of his cigarette curl a little trail of smoke into the sky. He was about to call your name again.

No time for pride. Only time for damage control.

You popped up like a Meowbanese jack-in-the-box — nose clearly stuffed with two balled-up tissues, hands awkwardly behind your back like that somehow helped your case.

“What? Huh? Oh—just, uh… dropped my… dignity!” You flashed him two thumbs up and the most painfully forced grin imaginable. “Haha! Carry on, Chef Extraordinaire!”

And then you bolted again, tissues fluttering as you turned the corner, slipping through the door like a ninja with no stealth and way too much panic.

Back in the galley, Sanji blinked after you. He looked around, slowly, like maybe someone else had seen what just happened. Nope. Just him. He gave a small exhale, scratched his head, and muttered:

“…Dropped their dignity, huh?”

Shrugging, he went back to delicately arranging garnish like nothing was weird at all. King of cool. Unbothered. Focused on the mission: make this meal perfect.

-

You returned a few minutes later, face scrubbed, tissues trashed, and nose only slightly red — though your pride had taken a direct hit and was bleeding out somewhere in the hallway.

Sliding into your seat as if nothing had happened, you folded your hands neatly on the table and tried to appear so normal. Calm. Collected. A person who definitely didn’t spontaneously bleed from the face over a pretty boy’s casual charm.

Sanji turned and gave you a polite little smile, setting a plate in front of you like usual.

“You’re back. Hope you’re feeling better.”

You nodded. “Much, thank you. Totally fine. Very healthy. Normal blood pressure and everything.”

Usopp, across from you, was barely holding it together.

“Dropped my dignity,” he mouthed at you, shoulders shaking.

You kicked him under the table.

He giggled louder.

You tried. Oh, you tried.

You sat at the table like a model of composure, hands folded, nose clean, staring at your food like you were very invested in the marbling of the grilled fish and not, in fact, in the man who was currently adjusting his tie just out of reach — sleeves still rolled, wrist veins on full display, looking like a romantic tragedy in a magazine spread.

Your blood pressure? Through the roof. Your dignity? Still MIA. Your brain? Scrambled eggs.

Usopp, of course, was living.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked with a smirk. “Not gonna, you know, explode again? Should I move my plate this time? Maybe wear goggles?”

You shot him a death glare. He winked. Bitch.

Chopper scurried up with his thermometer, concern in his giant sparkling eyes. “You do look a little flushed. Do you have a fever?! You did bleed earlier, it could be a sign of internal—”

“I’m fine, Chopper,” you said too quickly, waving him off with the limp enthusiasm of someone in a full-body crisis. “Just got… caught off guard. My body was like ‘hey let’s spontaneously combust’ and I said sure.”

Robin, sipping tea like the queen of ice she is, looked at you over the rim of her cup.

“Sanji flustered them,” she said simply, like she was narrating a documentary. “It’s love.”

SILENCE.

Everyone froze.

Your eye twitched.

Sanji turned from the counter slowly, like a cat who just heard the can opener.

“…What was that, Robin-chwan?” he asked, blinking, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

Robin just sipped her tea again. “Nothing at all.”

But the damage was done.

Sanji walked over, that gleam in his eye, like a hunter spotting prey that wants to be caught.

You backed your chair up one inch. He took two steps closer.

And then — smoothly, without fanfare — he reached down, took your hand gently in his, and with the grace of a prince at a ballroom, kissed the back of it.

Your brain blue-screened.

The room was dead quiet.

He grinned up at you, eyelashes stupidly long. “For your speedy recovery, mon chéri~.”

You stared at him. Blinked once.

Geyser.

Zoro, without looking, leaned back in his chair and lifted his food just in time as the fountain of nosebleed erupted from your face like a broken fire hydrant. Everyone flinched as it rained down like a cursed blessing from the gods.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t even make a sound.

You just tipped backward out of your chair and hit the floor with a soft thud, one twitching leg still propped on the seat.

“Daaaaamn,” Usopp whispered, poking at your twitching hand. “She’s not gonna make it,” Franky muttered. “She’ll be fine,” Robin said, placid as ever. “…Should I kiss her again?” Sanji asked.

Chopper panicked. “NO.”

-

Your consciousness returned in a wave of lavender-scented horror.

You were on the floor, Chopper gently patting your cheek with his tiny hoof, concern etched across his fuzzy face. “Come on, come on, wake up! I gave you a cotton pad and everything!”

Something burned in your nose. A sharp sting. You jolted upright with a gasp.

“I’M FINE.”

The room stared.

You blinked, pupils dilated like a startled raccoon, hair stuck to your forehead, shirt absolutely soaked in your own blood. Chopper held up a small bottle of smelling salts with an apologetic expression.

“…Okay, not the ideal wake-up scent,” you muttered, dabbing your nose with what pride you had left.

“Y/N,” Sanji started, voice smooth as buttercream, “you didn’t have to faint over me—”

“Shut up, Sanji.”

Usopp snorted.

You pointed a warning finger without looking up. “You too. Shut. Up.”

You kept your eyes locked on the floorboards. Not on Sanji’s stupid, beautiful face. Not on Usopp, who was probably pantomiming geysers behind your back. Not on anyone. Your soul was already halfway out the window. You weren’t gonna risk the rest of it with another glance.

You took the plate Sanji had gently set beside you, now cooled slightly, and just… ate. In silence. Like a haunted Victorian ghost girl. One elbow on the table, spoon shaking slightly. You were fine. This was fine.

Meanwhile, Sanji had gone oddly quiet himself. Not in embarrassment. Not in smugness. Just… quiet.

His eyes softened, watching you out of the corner of his eye as he cleaned up your mess with a towel and a fond little smile tugging at his lips.

“She reacts like that to me, huh…”

He said it under his breath. Genuinely flattered. Like someone who’d just been told a puppy fainted from excitement at seeing them.

And while you definitely heard it, you didn’t acknowledge it. You just shoved more rice in your mouth and gave the table a threatening side-eye.

-

The room was starting to settle again. Forks clinked against plates, Chopper finally relaxed, and you were almost — almost — convincing yourself that no one was ever going to bring it up again.

And then, Luffy — sweet, innocent, chaos-in-human-form Luffy — glanced up from his food mountain, pointed at you with a grin, and said:

“Hey, Y/N! Your shirt matches mine now!”

You looked down. Blood. Blood everywhere. Your once-nice, light-colored shirt looked like it had been used as a prop in a horror movie.

Luffy grinned, proudly tugging at his own red vest. “Twinsies!”

Your head turned very slowly toward him.

“Luffy.”

He blinked at you, still chewing. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to curse your children’s children.”

There was a beat of silence before Usopp howled laughing, nearly choking on a fishbone. Chopper gasped. Robin covered her mouth in amusement. Zoro wheezed into his drink.

Luffy blinked. “Huh. Can you do that?”

You shoved more food in your mouth with dead eyes. “Watch me.”

Sanji coughed behind one hand to hide his chuckle, but you could still see the way his shoulders shook — and that warm, flattered little smile hadn’t left his face since the geyser incident.

He looked at you again. “If you want, I could get you a new shirt. Preferably not red.”

You didn’t look up.

“Preferably made of Kevlar,” you muttered.

[smutcentralx]

HAII ^-^ saw your intro post tagged under invincible!! Do you have anything for the mark variants? Just headcanons or something would do fine.

Specifically viltrumite or lenseless mark but honestly any work! - 🫀

you ask and you shall receive ;)

PRETTY PLEASE | lensless! mark x gn reader

MASTERLIST

warnings: smut, smut, and more smut

a/n: i was so excited when i saw this hehe i chose lensless mark but i will gladly write one for viltrumite mark. this was supposed to be a headcanon but i got carried away :p

You stared at the tv screen in horror as a bunch of marks destroyed several cities and even countries.

You wondered how this would affect you since you knew mark. You and your mark were close friends and neighbors. You two basically grew up together and you knew all his secrets. You knew he always looked at you as a sister.

It always did bug you since your bottled up feelings weren’t really reciprocated. You never know what he’s thinking so it’s hard to tell how he really thinks of you.

All you knew was that you were very important in his life and he cared for you a lot and vice versa. The friend-zone sucks but you’d never want to mess up your friendship over something so silly. It hit you though…

An awful feeling seeped deep into your gut.

Without wasting time you stood up abruptly and shut off the tv. “Fuck fuck fuck what the fuck do i do” you whispered biting your lip as you paced back and forth.

If you were that important to your mark you realized they may know a you from their universe. However the marks you saw on tv were nothing like your mark they were evil. You decided that you had to avoid making contact with any of them.

You decided you should hop in your car and leave. You grabbed your car keys and ran swiftly towards the door trying to stay calm. Your was chest rising up and down at a fast pace as you still had that bad feeling seep even deeper into your bones.

You opened the door but before you could make one more step outside you saw a shadow figure above your head. Alarms went off in your head and you stood frozen in fear not daring to look up.

You knew that silhouette to well it be your mark but at this point better safe than sorry. Your brain immediately went into fight or flight mode.

You won’t get very far but you obviously chose flight.

Without thinking you turned around and attempted to slam the door shut.

A hand stoped you and swung the door wide open with so much force the door should’ve broke off.

“No way you’re really here! I thought i would never see you again!”

There stood a mark that looked just like your mark. However this was not the mark from you universe. The first thing you noticed was that he had no lenses. Your eyes trailed over his body. He looked identical to your mark. Maybe even better lookin- wait no what am i thinking.

He stepped closer with his arms wide open and a smug grin over his face. “Wow this just awesome, in my universe you hated me so much i had to kill you!”

Chills ran through your body and you froze in place.

“Please don’t hurt me” you whispered loud enough for him to hear. You were so scared you didn’t know what do to do. There wasn’t anything you could do.

You knew marks power and he could kill you if he wanted to in an instant.

“Babe I would never kill you?” he frowned closing in the distance as you walked backwards and hit the wall behind you.

“Please mark” you were begging at this point. This mark was oozing a dangerous persona.

He palmed himself when he heard you begging. “Forgot how good it was to hear you beg”.

“I wonder if your mark ever got a taste of you!”

“Tell me, has he? Or is he just to much of a pussy?”

He laughed holding his stomach. You glared at him starting to grow annoyed at his annoying attitude. He knew he was close to hitting a nerve.

“Aw don’t give me that look- wait you got the hots for your mark but..he doesn’t want you back!” He laughs even more falling to the ground and holding his stomach.

He was taunting you. He knew what he was doing even though he seemed like an airhead.

“S-shut up it isn’t like that we’re just friends”.

He stepped closer ignoring you til he was inches away towering over you. He tiled his head in confusion with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You sure about that? I can smell you, your arousal for me, i can hear your heartbeat. I know you want me”.

You cursed at yourself. You felt so defeated you couldn’t form a sentence due to the humiliation. Your face grew red and he saw right through you.

“There we go, this will be fun! I’ll give it to you real good since your mark won’t!”. “Wait, please!” You tried to push him back but it was like pushing a wall.

He grabbed both of your wrists and held them above your head against the wall. “Oh this is gonna be fun relax, I’ll take good care of you!”. He cooed sweetly but his tone still scared you.

He let go of your hands and began to roam your body touching every corner like he memorized it. His hands landed on your ass and he squeezed it.

Your hands flew to his shoulders and a soft moan slipped from your mouth. You bit your lip trying to conceal your soft sweet sounds. “I know you like that, we’re just getting started.” He was dripping with confidence.

He removed his head from your neck and yanked down your shorts and underwear with no warning. You gasped in surprise as he picked you up with ease.

You were now cradling him just inches away from his face. He smirked and crashed his lips into yours and you couldn’t help but kiss him back. You moaned deeply into the kiss.

You didn’t even notice you were moving at all till he threw you harshly onto your bed.

In a flash your top and bra was gone and he was in between your legs naked and my god his dick was huge. Reality and fear hit you as you saw how big he was. You scoot back trying to make a run for it.

He just ranked your legs even closer gripping your thighs hard enough to leave a bruise. “Where are you going? The fun part is about to begin!”

“Mark it’s not going to fit your to big”. He took in the sight of your body and his dick twitched slightly jumping from excitement. “Oh i’ll make it fit, you’ve taken it before and you will again”.

Before you could argue back he sunk in the fingers into your dripping wet core. You moaned at the sudden intrusion. You could hear the arousal and it turned you on way more than it should have.

Marks fingers felt amazing he took note of the way you twitched and shook trying to find that little sweet spot he knows so well.

“Fuck mark right there”. You whimpered when you felt him hitting that spongy soft spot. “Yea you like that? I found it within seconds this is awesome!” he picked up the pace continuously abusing that soft spot.

You felt your orgasm creeping up fast and your eyes rolled back due to the immense pleasure. His fingers were going at a rapid pace that you didn’t even know was possible.

“God fuck mark i’m gonna-“. You gasped and your breath hitched. “Mhm come on give it to me pretty girl”. The way he spoke to you made you snap and u fold instantly.

Your back arched “Fuck” you whimpered softy. Your body froze up and your hole tightened. Your orgasm hitting you in waves, you felt like you could pass out instantly. You never knew you could feel so good cumming off just his fingers.

He watched you unravel and he knew all it took was his fingers to break you. “Fuck those sweet sounds could put me sleep” he laughed while watching the way how you twitched under his touch.

You whined at the removal of his fingers. As you propped yourself up on your elbows. The sight alone could make you cum all over again.

Mark was softly pumping his already hard cock. While looking at your face and body. His eyes met yours. “Go on, say it tell me what you want.” He stroked it slowly with a smirk on his face waiting for you.

You bit your lip and looked away. “Ah ah eyes on me” he gripped your chin harshly and forced you to look at him.

He rubbed soft taunting circles on your clit. You moaned softly but you were also frustrated. He kept changing the pace teasing you until you had enough.

“Fuck, mark please just fuck me.”

He smiled wide in victory. “See that wasn’t so hard you just needed a push!” his eyes darkened as he planted both hands next besides your head.

His tip at your entrance just begging to come in. As you prepared for him to just shove it in. He instead slowly fucked you with the tip. “What are you-“ he finally shoved his dick into your wet hole.

You moaned his name so loud your neighbors could probably hear it. “Fuck you feel soo good i could just cum inside right now”. His brows furrowed since you were so tight for him.

He began thrusting in and out roughly and didn’t even let you adjust to his size. You screamed out in pain and pleasure. The pain of the stretch felt so good, no one could give you this feeling.

His calculated thrusts were ruthlessly pounding into you barely giving you enough time to catch your breath. He leaned down and kissed you roughly but also passionately. You moaned and whimpered into the kiss.

You screamed out when you felt him abusing that spot in your tight little hole. “Right there mark oh god”. Mark took note and moved both of his hand on your thighs and pushed you down into a mating press position.

“Yeah you like it right there don’t you? I can feel you squeezing my dick off.” His thrust were pounding into you at a relentless pace. You felt your second orgasm building up quickly.

He knew you were about to cum and he didn’t plan on stopping. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, the burn of your hips as he held you down. His thrust were getting sloppier and his breath stuttered at the sight.

“Fuck cum for me s’good i’m gonna cum inside you.” He mumbled out while drowning in his own pleasure. That was enough to break you alone.

You screamed his name as your second wave of your orgasm hit or maybe it was your third. You didn’t even know anymore. You brain was foggy and you poor hole was so overwhelmed.

You pushed against his chest as he kept going fucking you through your orgasm. You felt a third one creeping up on you fast. “Mark wait i’m-“. He ignored you and kept pounding into you his hips stuttering as he poured into you. Your orgasm washing over you at the same time.

He released your thighs as you shook and trembled. He licked his lips at the sight of you growing hard again.

In a flash he was sitting against the head board legs straightened out in front of him. You were sitting on top of him with half lidded eyes. You looked him shocked.

“Oh you thought that was it? Babe like i said we’re just getting started!”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

What kind of outfit do you think Miss Raven will wear to the Coral Sea's Eternity Float event? Will she wear a pink outfit given to her by her mother-in-law? And what about her reaction to receiving an outfit, a pink dress? Based on what Floyd said about her?

I actually designed a Shore's Celebration outfit for Miss Raven a few weeks earlier (just because I was so excited for Eternity Float)! This was, of course, before the event came out and the dialogue specified that Georgina prepared outfits for everyone based on Floyd’s nicknames for them.

Yuu is given an outfit with pink accessories since Floyd calls them Shrimpy! So Yuusonas and any characters in their position would be canonically with oink accessories. Miss Raven’s not a Yuusona or meant to take that role though (she’s not a shrimp!), so I don’t necessarily see her in pink.

Here’s an earlier version/sketch of her Shore’s Celebration outfit though?? I never colored it in, but you can project pink if you want since I did base it on Ariel’s pink dinner dress.

Most of the smaller details—like the seashell locket—take inspiration from an idol anime (Mermaid Melody: Pitchi Pitchi Pitch) one of my cousins showed me! I thought it might be fun to combined elements of the pink mermaid princess, Lucia, with elements of Ariel.

Floyd’s nickname for Miss Raven is “Black Pearly” (which I know isn’t a sea creature, but this is intentional and meant to indicate that she feels she is an “out of place” character in the cast). I did whip up an alternate Shore’s Celebration outfit that fits the nickname better.

For this one, I based it on Ariel’s silver dress—especially how it forms a train that drags behind her on the water’s surface as she steps out. I also considered many of Halle Bailey’s gowns worn for promotion of The Little Mermaid live action. The overall shape of the dress, especially how the top opens, is meant to represent an oyster, from which a pearl is birthed.

I think I still like what I ended up with as the final design the best, even if it ended up not going along with how the game determined the looks. I’ll write my own version of canon in which Floyd describes Miss Raven’s as someone who’s always “getting tangled up in trouble” and “trying to pass as a fancy lady” to explain her outfit! That might be why she has the rope elements or has a dress that resembles the one the Sea Witch wore when she went to land and a human immediately fell in love with her. It’d also fit in with the idea of Miss Raven being a little “out of place” since she’d technically be the only one on the group with an outfit not explicitly inspired by Floyd’s nickname for her. She always becomes an outlier or off-kilter one way or another…

Miss Raven would react a little differently based on what clothing she receives… The pink dress she’d say reminds her of a fairy tale princess. “Just for a day, I can pretend to be one!” The silver dress is a little daring—“I-Is it really okay to wear such a thing…?” And I think she’d be flattered about the final dress. After all, it’s emulating one of the Sea Witch’s iconic looks! “Th-Thank you, ma’am!! I will wear this with dignity so as to not sully her good name.”

No matter which dress it winds up being, she’d be nervous padding around in it because the outfit seems so expensive, especially with all the pearls and delicate seashells!! Miss Raven’s also not used to walking in anything that’s not flats (she unfortunately is stuck with heels or wedges) 💦

“Fufufu. Well, isn’t she a sweet little thing.” Georgina actually purposefully picked these shoes so she could watch the girl struggle/j chuckles and then suggests that she lean on J word someone for support until she can find firmer footing. “Be a gentleman and lend her your arm,” she tuts.

Edit: I saw this post and thought the pearls and the colors made the dress look like another potential Shore’s Celebration outfit for Miss Raven! The neckline and sleeves look like Halle Bailey’s in-film blue dress. The way the top shirt scallops over the bottom also reminds me of a scalloped seashell 🐚 ahdbasdibasd So I made some alterations and doodled this variant too!

[misseligon]

I should be working.

But I don't think Kevin ever received a "Selection" ceremony.

So, remember in Chapter 3 there was the tape called "Samuel Lee's Last Day", Ms. Brooks stated:

"Well of course, they'd never miss this!"

The audio revealed to us that the children of Playcare would circle around a counselor and/or scientist as they wait to hear which child who would be chosen for what the kids thought at first would be adoption (and it's a half truth too since Playtime likes to send kids out to their new families to keep their sinister plans under wraps.) But in reality, the selected child would be turned into a toy/be put in the bigger body.

It's portrayed as like this mini big event, something the kids should praise the selected child for, to shower them in cheers and joy, and a good farewell before the child is whisked away to either adoption, or horrific reanimation paired with the worst kind of dehumanizing abuse.

But in the same chapter with the tape "1322 Report: Void", the scientist states in his log that they:

"...we've pulled him from the Home Sweet Home just before lights out to perform-"

And of course, Joseph interrupts the log and asks where Kevin went. But the way they answered his question felt... off to me.

Joseph: "Is Kevin sick? Why did you take him away?" Scientist: "I-I... Yes... Kevin is very sick. Very, very sick. But we want to make him better. But he can only get better if we take him to where we can provide proper care, and give him proper rest."

To me, it felt like Kevin was rushed out before lights out, and while I know these sorts of ceremonies are short, it still felt unusually quick. On top of it, when one of Kevin's few friends Joseph asked where they took Kevin, they lie to him.

Shouldn't selected kids get this big hurrah? Why is it much quieter for Kevin so suddenly? And why lie about his condition?

The answer is plain and simple. The scientists and counselor's view Kevin as someone lesser despite excelling in both grades and the tests.

Because Kevin is a neurodivergent child with behavioral issues that went untreated, and they did nothing to help him regulate and understand his feelings and emotions better, and given this is the 90's, they label him as a problem child and a trouble maker.

So they assume because Kevin has a hard time getting along with others with how aggressive he can be, and what few friends Kevin has, they assume this selection ceremony is not worth the time, and they just rush him out just so they can throw him into the clay soup with two other kids and be done with it.

Why bother if they assume no one is going to miss him? Who would miss the problem child?

If i'm missing smthing, lemme know!

[edamameimei]

always love you (megan skiendiel x reader)

"still, i'll always be there for you, how i do. i let go of my claim on you, it's a free world."

synopsis: the five times you wish megan would choose you + the one time megan finally does. tags: angst. hurt, no comfort! idol!megan x dream academy!reader au. an: just want to put out there that this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only. CW: suggestive themes MDNI! kissing, substance use. swearing. megan is kind of a meanie head in this ): wc: 8109

⏯ now playing: godspeed - frank ocean

When you first met her, you called it fate. 

To you, it was fate and everything in between because auditioning for Dream Academy seemed like a lost cause. When you first saw the announcement, you thought it would be too good to be true. And the fact that it was global? There was no possible way for someone like you to receive good news, let alone be sent a rejection. You almost convinced yourself that your audition tape would become lost amongst the thousands that would be submitted. 

But there was an urge to do it— an urge so strong you couldn’t possibly say no to the grip the Hybe x Geffen ad had on you. Also, at that point, anything would have been better than going to college. So, you took fate up on its offer. 

And surprisingly, fate allowed you to hear back months later. Not only get a response, but also earn a spot with the project. 

Moving to Los Angeles was something you never considered before Dream Academy. You were so used to your small town that the idea of packing your bags and going somewhere so daunting almost made you drop out of the project completely. But there was a reason you were chosen, and you were determined to see it through. 

Once you arrive at the dorms, your anxiety begins to creep up on you. Most of the other girls met during training and development virtually, so you felt relieved to hear you would be sharing a space with two other girls who were also new to the line-up. From what you were told, one is named Daniela and the other is Manon. You hope and pray they are decent people to be around. 

When you enter the room, you realize you’re the last one to set up your space. You walk over to the open bed, smoothing out the sheets in front of you. Your eyes begin to twitch when you hear loud voices out in the hallway, suddenly feeling trapped despite being the only one inside the dorm. The thought of being stuck with 19 other girls makes you feel self-conscious. You flinch when you hear a girl’s voice booming from the other side of the door. 

None of it feels real; the experience still feels fresh, as if you read that email just yesterday. 

There’s a desire to run and hide, but you aren’t sure where you would even go. You decide to sit down on the floor, crossing your legs. Your hands shake as you rub your face, trying to control the panic that begins to settle in your throat. You’re supposed to be getting ready for your first big meeting with the other girls, yet the negative thoughts in your head run wild, the synapses in your brain misfiring at a millisecond. 

You grip your knees when you hear the door open. 

The person murmurs, “Oh shit,” upon walking in and it causes you to look up with wide eyes. 

Your eyes meet a pair of soft brown hues that makes your mouth go dry. You feel your heart beat faster as you see a smile form on her lips and hear her giggle nervously. “Fuck– Oh my god. I’m so sorry, I thought this was Sophia’s room…”

You don’t know who Sophia is, but you really wish, in this moment, you were the girl she was looking for. The stranger looks around the room, and you can tell she’s feeling a bit panicked. Her awkwardness causes you to laugh. You wipe your eyes as the nauseating feeling in the pit of your stomach disappears with just her presence. 

You stand to your feet, shaking your head. “A Sophia isn’t assigned to this room, sorry…” Your voice is a bit shaky as you speak, and you can’t help but feel relieved when she doesn’t comment. She simply nods, stepping out of the room with a quick wave. “I’d say more, but I really need to find her. I’ll see you later?” You laugh again, and it makes her laugh as well, both of you finding the situation amusing. You wave her goodbye and watch as she quickly closes the door shut. 

Your heart feels full as you turn back toward your luggage, a new feeling of motivation resonating throughout your body. 

Her name is Megan, and it’s fate that brought you two here together. 

You walk outside of the Geffen building and find Megan sitting on the grass with her headphones in. She had her eyes closed, trying to find some sort of peace after another exhausting day of practice. You slowly walk toward her, feeling a gravitational pull toward the black-haired girl.

You sit yourself next to her, deciding to lie down when the exhaustion begins to catch up to you as well. You put your arms underneath your head and glance at her, watching as she opens her eyes. Megan slowly takes her headphones off, raising an eyebrow. She opens her mouth to say something, but you beat her to it.

The words come out quickly and slightly jumbled. “You’re really talented.” You can tell your sudden compliment throws Megan off guard as she chuckles nervously. She looks away, her eyes crinkling. “Thank you…” You sit up and give her a soft smile.

There is a calming energy to Megan that provides you with a weird sense of security, and as you two sit in a comfortable silence, you wonder if she feels the same way about you. 

The rest is history. 

Wherever Megan would go, you would follow in tow. There wasn’t a moment when the other Dream Academy contestants wouldn’t see Megan without you, and vice versa. You often relished in your alone time when you had the chance, but now with Megan in your life, you don’t mind the younger girl tagging along with you to an activity that was meant to be solo or coming with her on a late-night drive. 

You have grown fond of Megan’s personality. She could light up any room she walked into, her bright smile immediately putting everyone in a better mood, despite the rising tension amongst the girls most days. She’s carefree yet so passionate about her dreams. Her ambitions motivated you to work hard, to solidify a spot in the group so you can continue being by her side. 

But unfortunately, there were more days than not when you can’t seem to see the finish line. 

You sit criss-crossed on your bed, staring down at your hands in your lap. Today, you will be filming the first teaser for Dream Academy, and the thought of the project going public makes you feel sick. Your roommates have already gotten ready– their gray uniforms on and their hair and make-up done so well that you can’t help but berate yourself for not being like them. You think about how you will never be like them. Hot tears brim your eyes, causing you to click your tongue in frustration. Your throat feels tight, and the room begins to feel smaller than before. 

In the midst of your silent breakdown, you don’t notice when someone enters the room. You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you feel a hand on your shoulder, and your bed dips slightly behind you. The person scoots closer to you, and the comforting scent of lavender and the ocean becomes more apparent. 

It’s Megan. It’s always Megan. 

You let out a breath of relief at the realization, instinctively leaning into the girl’s touch, to which the girl snakes her arms around you, pulling you close. You close your eyes and hum in content, the anxiety suddenly washing away when you feel Megan hold you in her arms. 

“I can let them know you aren’t feeling well…” Megan’s voice is soft and filled with concern. You close your eyes as you feel Megan run her fingers through your hair. She places a soft kiss on the top of your head, the warmth radiating from her body comforting you. You can’t help the flush in your cheeks when you realize how close she is to you. You clear your throat, finding your voice again. You bury your face into Megan’s neck and murmur, “No, I can do it. Just give me a few minutes…” 

She rubs your back in response and nods. She says, “Let me help you with your uniform…” You roll your eyes at the mention of the gray uniform you are all forced to wear. You sigh, pulling yourself away from Megan, pouting at the loss of warmth. However, the moment you scoot away, Megan is already reaching towards you to grab your hand and lace your fingers together. 

It’s as if you’ve done this a million times already. You’re convinced you have. 

Megan gives your hand one last squeeze before standing up, walking towards the closet with a little bounce in her step. You giggle at her slight excitement and sniffle as you watch her sift through your clothes for the uniform. Megan pulls it out and carefully carries it to your bed. She places it down in front of you with a soft smile. Her eyes stay on you, and it causes you to look away from her with a blush on your cheeks. 

“What are you looking at?” Megan shrugs at your question, sitting back down on your bed. “You have updog on your face.” She deadpans, and you snort, looking up at the Chinese girl who grins widely at you. You swat at her arm playfully. “You’re so stupid.” You say, and Megan giggles loudly, her eyes turning into crescents and her whiskers evident on her cheeks. She sticks her tongue out at you. 

“Well, you’re stupider.” She says in a child-like tone. You roll your eyes, grabbing the uniform before getting up from your bed. You take a deep breath. 

Fate brought you here. Fate put this uniform in front of you. 

 Not only is Megan your safe space, but it seems as though you’re exactly that for her as well. 

You would watch the coaches tear Megan to shreds, pointing out her every flaw and every mistake. The coaching has become harsher, much more intense, and Megan has been on the short end of it. After their tirade finally ends for the day, the Chinese girl would turn her head towards you, a pleading look in her eyes. And you would only nod in understanding. 

You’d meet at Megan’s car and go to the spot you two claimed on the beach or the pier. The drive would be spent in silence, the only thing that could be heard is either Megan or your playlist playing while the windows are down. Once you get to the shore, you both take a seat in front of the thrashing waves, and you wait for her to tell you what was going through her head. 

But more often than not, she doesn’t tell you. She simply rests her head against your shoulder and tells you something more lighthearted. Something you’ve learned about your best friend is how hard she tries to avoid expressing how she truly feels.

You never push her in fear of crossing her boundaries, but you wish you could read her mind. You wish she confided in you the same way she confides in Emily or Adela. But being alone with her on those nights felt like enough. It should be enough. 

But this time was different. 

The drive to the beach felt more tense than usual. When you get to the shore, Megan immediately sits next to you, her legs pulled up to her chest with her chin resting on top of her knees. She doesn’t hesitate to tell you about the pain she has been feeling in her ankle. Your eyes widen slightly in surprise when she brings it up, having tried in the past to get her to understand the severity, but she always told you that everything was fine. 

But every time you saw her face contort into discomfort during practice, how she often collapsed to the ground once the routine ended, you knew that everything wasn’t fine at all. 

You adore how hardworking she is. However, it worries you how much she pushes herself. 

After listening to her speak, you place a hand on her back and rub it gently. You whisper, “You have to tell someone tomorrow, okay?” She only sighs in response and closes her eyes tightly. You watch a lone tear escape her eye. “I just… I just wanna be good, you know?” She admits, and you feel your chest begin to sting. You frown, scooting closer to her. You wrap an arm around her and pull her close, leaning your head against hers. 

“You’re already good. You’re so good.” You say quietly, and for a brief moment, Megan smiles. 

Her voice is soft as she responds, “Sometimes I wonder if this is actually worth it.” She wraps her arms around you and pulls you closer as she continues, her voice trembling, “Sometimes I wonder if this is actually gonna be everything I’d ever want.”  You sit there for a moment, letting her words sink in. This is the first time she has ever been so vulnerable with you, and you aren’t sure how to react. 

Your voice is quiet, but you hope it’s loud enough to show Megan that at least something has come out of the chaos. “I think… I mean. At least we have each other.” You look up at the sky as if you were making wishes on the stars. You continue with a whisper, “That means something, right?” 

It’s quiet. You begin to panic slightly, and you wonder if you said the wrong thing. You’re about to pull away, to ask her if everything was okay, but she only grabs your hand. She holds it tightly. It’s as if she let go, even for a moment, you would disappear. 

But you wouldn’t. You would never. 

She whispers back, “You’re my best friend, Y/n.”

A couple of weeks later, you sit in a conference room with the other girls, awaiting the results from voting and the judges. 

Your breath catches in your throat when you see you’ve earned immunity for the week. You glance at Megan, who avoids your gaze, and you feel your heart aching in your chest, scared of the events that will unfold right before everyone’s eyes. 

Soon after, it is Adela and Hinari who are eliminated first in the competition. 

You walk into the dorm with the others, the tension heavy and thick in the air. There’s a deafening silence amongst everyone, and you watch as all the girls flock to their groups, whispering. Some go into their rooms, wanting to keep their conversations private.

Before today, everyone was dedicated to each other. Now, with eliminations, it has become the real deal. There really is something worth losing in the end of all of this. 

You look around to try and find Megan, but she is nowhere to be found. You know Adela’s elimination would hit her the hardest– their friendship is close and tight-knit. So, it didn’t surprise you when you found her sitting outside the dorm, alone.

You approach her cautiously, your brows immediately furrowing when you notice she has been crying. You reach out to her to grab her hand, but Megan quickly gets up. She doesn’t meet your eyes as she hoarsely whispers, “I need to be alone, Y/n.” She crosses her arms and walks back inside, leaving you behind.

You stand there, confused by your best friend’s actions. You look around for a moment, and your lip begins to tremble, that familiar lump in your throat present. Your hands turn into fists as you finally release the sob you’ve been holding in since voting began. You want to run inside and find Megan, to find comfort. But she can’t even be around you right now. 

You wonder if this was all a mistake. 

Unbeknownst to you, this is only the beginning of what could be the end. However, you still believe in fate. You wished upon it. 

I. 

You walk up to Megan after practice one day, a small frown on your lips as you watch her pack her things. Her movements seem agitated as if she were to stay longer in the practice room, she would lose control completely. You reach out to her and gently place a hand on her shoulder.

Despite her distance from you, you know the other girl is going through so much mentally. You desperately want to show Megan that you’re there. That, just because Adela is gone, you are still in the competition. And you aren’t leaving her for anything. 

However, she tenses up at your touch, shrugging your hand off to continue her task. You pull away as if you had accidentally burned her. You fidget with your fingers in silence, unsure of what to do next. Megan zips up her bag and stands to her feet, swinging the bag over her shoulder.

When she turns around, she immediately widens her eyes, not expecting you to still be there behind her. “Y/n, what do you want?” She asks, a bit exasperated by your presence. The aching in your chest only grows tenfold at the pinch in her tone. You know she’s upset, but you also know you don’t deserve to be pushed away like this. 

You bite your lip to try and hide your hurt expression. You bite back what you want to say to her, what you want to confront her about, because you know Megan. And you know she’s hurting just as much as you are. Your eyes dart around the room to avoid her gaze and take a deep breath. “I just. I’m here for you.” You say with tears pooling in your eyes.

You shrug, suddenly feeling ridiculous for even trying. Your voice shakes as you speak again,  “I’m here for you, that’s all.” You look down at the ground and turn away from your best friend, knowing it’s best to give her the space she desires. As you walk away, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, tugging you back forcefully. 

When you turn back around, you feel Megan place her hands on your cheeks, pressing her lips hard against yours. Your brain short-circuits at the unexpected turn of events. In the back of your mind, you know you should push her away. You know that this wasn’t what you both needed, especially this far into Dream Academy. But when she pulls away and looks up at you, desperate and breathless, nothing could stop you from pulling her into another kiss. 

It was deeper this time, your lips moving against hers messily. You feel her run her hands through your hair, and if this is what Megan needed, you were more than okay to oblige. 

The other girls were relieved to see you and Megan back to your normal dynamic.

The moment they saw you two enter the practice room together the next day, pinkies linked and smiles on your faces, they couldn’t help but feel as though everything was finally going to be okay. But this time around, it felt different, more charged.

They notice the secret glances across the room, the subtle touches during evaluations, and they try not to bat an eye when one of you leaves the room with the other following suit moments later. For everyone’s sake, they keep their questions to themselves. 

But after Mission 3, when you didn’t receive an invitation to move forward in the competition, they all held their breath. Everyone’s eyes land on Megan as if bracing for the impact that would soon follow. But she stayed where she was, not even taking a glance at you as your hands turned into tight fists. They all wondered if that was worse. 

You manage to keep yourself together when you get back to the dorms to pack your things. Once you finish, you throw yourself onto your now stripped bed. You couldn’t believe that your time in Dream Academy has come to an end. You stare up at your ceiling as a million thoughts run through your mind.

Megan, at some point, joins you and lies next to you. She reaches over you to place a hand on your cheek, turning your head so you can face her, and your heart breaks when you see the sadness in her eyes. You close the space between you two, kissing her softly. 

You don’t know what this is with her. But you hope it won’t change once you’re gone. 

Megan pulls away and rests her forehead against yours. She looks at you with her brown, puppy-dog eyes, and you can’t help but melt under her gaze. “Will you still text me when you’re gone?” She whispers, and the question makes you chuckle. You nod and place a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” Megan bites her lip in response, and you can tell she’s trying to contain her tears. You sigh, removing your hand from her shoulder to cup her cheeks with both hands. “I’ll call you all the time. You’ll be so sick of me.” She giggles, and it’s music to your ears. She raises her pinky in front of you, her expression becoming serious. 

“Promise you’ll call, Y/n L/n. I’m in your walls.” It’s your turn to laugh as you connect your pinky with hers, a sincere look in your eyes. You whisper, “I promise, weirdo.” Megan sticks her tongue out at you before raising your pinky to her lips, placing a soft kiss against your skin. 

She murmurs against your hand, “You’re my best friend, Y/n.” 

You have the urge to ask her if that’s all you are to her. If you two really are just best friends. But you didn’t want to risk the way she looks at you as if you were everything she had ever dreamed of. You opt for blissful ignorance despite how much it hurts to do so. 

“You’re my best friend, Megan.” 

II. 

You two sit on your spot at the pier together, looking up at the stars. Your shoulders are touching, and the proximity makes you feel lightheaded. The scent of her shampoo overwhelms your senses, and her perfume makes it a million times worse.

Usually, you welcome her company like this. But as she talks about the absolute most horrid date she ever went on, you can’t help but feel detached from her. She waves her hands animatedly as she complains about the boy she saw and how their time together just kept getting worse. You nod passively at every other word, only speaking when it feels right to do so. 

Megan notices the shift in your demeanor and rests her chin on your shoulder, looking at you with concern. “Sorry… I’ve said a lot…” You shake your head quickly, turning toward her with a small smile. “No, you’re okay. I’m just… Thinking.” She furrows her brows at your words and sits up.

She tilts her head and reaches out to you, putting her hand in yours. Megan squeezes gently. “Thinking about what?” She asks quietly. The question lingers in the air with only the sounds of the crashing waves being heard. You look away from the girl, your attention drawn to the rising tide. 

“You’re gonna be a popstar…” You hear yourself saying. What you actually want to tell her is that there has not been a day when you haven’t thought about what you two could be if given the chance. You want to tell her how your heart sinks every time she brings up a new date she went on.

There are so many things you wish you could tell Megan, but you trust that fate would make its rounds– that this is all according to plan. 

But, you do admit, the thought of your best friend becoming a celebrity runs through your mind every once in a while. After leaving Dream Academy, Megan tried her best to keep in contact with you despite always being busy doing one thing or the other. It led to many of your texts going unanswered, but she was always good about calling you after a long day, ranting about the latest thing that happened at the dorms or practice. 

But now, since officially earning her spot in the group, Megan has become busier than ever. She no longer calls you as often, and every few days, you’d receive a text from the girl, apologizing for not answering you sooner. 

It bothers you more than you like to admit, but this is everything she has ever wanted, so you’ve pushed your true feelings aside. 

She looks at you tiredly. You notice the bags underneath her eyes and how her smile doesn’t have its usual brightness. Her voice is hoarse as she speaks, “I’m gonna be a popstar… How fucking crazy.” She says the last part with a laugh, looking up at the sky. You stare at her with a worried expression. 

“Are you… Okay?” You find yourself asking, and Megan faces you again, forcing a smile. She nods, but you see right through her facade. You clasp a hand over hers, squeezing gently as if to tell her, “I’m here. I’ve always been here.” And you hope she hears every word. You sit there in silence, the sound of the breeze and waves is the only background noise. You decide not to say anything more, hoping your existence would be enough. 

God, you hope more than anything that your existence means something to Megan.

Suddenly, Megan pulls you into a tight embrace. Her hands grip the back of your sweater, and she buries her face into the crook of your neck. You respond immediately, wrapping your arms around her. You feel her tears against your neck, and you hold her even tighter, your head against her shoulder. You sit silently, allowing her to release the emotions she has had pent up for God knows how long. 

After a few minutes, Megan’s sobs have subsided, and you stay there in each other’s arms, not daring to let go. She keeps her grasp on your shirt as if afraid you might disappear again. Finally, she takes a deep breath, pulling away slightly to look at you with red and swollen eyes. You look back at her, helpless, unsure of how to make her pain go away. 

You don’t even think when you bring your hand up to her face, cupping her cheek gently. You use the pad of your thumb to wipe away the tears that are left. Megan leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering close. “Y/n?” She whispers. You notice how she closes her eyes tighter and her lips trembles as she continues, “I just– I– Fuck.” She struggles to get her words out. You hold your breath, your free hand resting on her knee as you wait patiently for her to finish her thought.

She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. “I just wish Adela or Emily were here.” 

You retract your hand from her knee. Something about her words knocks the wind out of you. She doesn’t notice your pained expression and giggles, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I have to get a boyfriend or something so I don’t keep bothering you with my bullshit.” 

You force a smile and stand up, ignoring the way your heart twists and thrashes in your chest. “Shut up and take me back home.” You say, trying to compose yourself. You stretch your arms before offering Megan your hands, to which the Chinese girl accepts gratefully. You pull her up to her feet quickly, causing Megan to slip slightly on the pier beneath you. 

She grabs onto your shoulders tightly to regain her balance. Your eyes widen, and you wrap your arms securely around her waist, pulling her close. Your breath hitches slightly when Megan looks up at you, her brown eyes twinkling. She giggles, mumbling a quiet, “Sorry.” You shake your head in response, still looking into her eyes. Megan keeps your gaze, the smile on her face falling slightly as she realizes how close you two are.

Megan’s eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips for a split second, but you notice. 

It’s been months without her lips on yours, and it has been driving you crazy. 

You lean in slowly, your heart beating faster. Your eyes flutter close when Megan leans in as well, your noses brush against each other, and you can feel Megan’s breath become shallow. 

She tastes like cherries, not like the strawberry chapstick she always puts on. 

Her hands messily thread through your hair and pulls you closer. She sighs into the kiss, and it only spurs you on even more, grabbing her hips. You lose yourself in the way her lips move against yours, and you hope, in this moment, she forgets about everyone else. You deepen the kiss in an attempt to make sure she is only thinking about you. 

After a few moments, you pull away, breathless, and your cheeks flush. Megan looks at you, biting her lip. You look into each other’s eyes, and it frustrates you when you can’t read her expression. You just want, for once, for Megan to choose you. To look at you and realize you were right there, right in front of her, choosing her. 

But she turns away, skipping towards her car as if the events that just transpired didn’t happen. You take a sharp breath, feeling slightly betrayed by fate and its games. 

III. 

You find yourself being dragged to Emily’s birthday party. 

You weren’t too sure of going in the first place. After months of dwelling on a decision, you decided to enroll in a college in Los Angeles to stay close to the friends you made during Dream Academy. Now that you were a full-time student, you struggled to find a balance in your life. If you felt lost before, you were now deep in the trenches, trying to juggle school work with a social life. And to make things worse, you couldn’t help but feel as though your best friend was once again slipping through your fingertips. 

After their song blew up all over social media, it has become much harder to contact the now ginger girl. You couldn’t even remember the last time you saw Megan, despite living in the same city. With Katseye’s growing success, you knew it would bring change to your dynamic with the girl. But as the months began to pass, you started to see yourself as an afterthought to Megan. She wasn’t even the one who asked you if you were going to the party– it was Lara.

But against all odds, you decide to go. The night ends up being a bit of a blur. You decided to take an edible right before to calm your nerves, and now you lazily sit on one of the lawn chairs in front of a fire pit while everyone is lost in their own conversations. Karlee sits next to you, smoking a blunt you helped roll for her. 

You and the Japanese girl catch up with each other, giving updates on what has been missed since your last interaction. You can’t help but wonder why you never reached out to Karlee after Dream Academy. You remember her being a great friend to you, always sticking up for you when something distasteful would be said about you. 

At some point during the conversation, Karlee’s hand finds yours. She plays with your fingers absentmindedly as she complains about recent drama in her life. You listen in and out, becoming distracted every once in a while by Megan. 

You watch as she dances with Lara, Manon, and Emily. At some point, Daniela joins them, and so does Adela. But your eyes remain on the Chinese girl. You watch as the girl moves her hips to the song, getting lost in the rhythm. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch your best friend throw her head back, smiling. Her features are lit up by the fire, her ginger hair swaying along with her. You shift uncomfortably in your seat. You can’t believe how attractive Megan is, and you can’t believe how much it still affects you. 

You force yourself to look away, not wanting Karlee to pick up on your blatant staring. You’re relieved when you look back at the Japanese girl, and she’s still talking, unaware of your internal battle. You look at the blunt in Karlee’s hand and point at it. You smile lazily, your eyes slightly glazed over as you speak, “Can I take a hit?” Karlee looks at the blunt and nods, laughing softly. She is about to pass it over, but she takes it back with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She speaks up, her voice teasing, “Have you ever done a blowback?” 

The question throws you off guard, and it makes you think for a moment. You look at Karlee, tilting your head with a curious look in your eyes. You decide to play into the game, however. You shrug and say, “Once… Are you asking to do one?” The statement makes Karlee look away, surprised by your question. She scoots her chair closer to you and looks back to see a smirk on your lips, still waiting for Karlee to answer the question. 

For some reason, you feel bold in your interaction with Karlee. It’s a way for you to forget Megan and her avoidance of you, but you don’t want to admit that. You want the reason to be because Karlee is attractive, and she is giving you her undivided attention. 

You watch the Japanese girl nod her head in response and suddenly, your confidence begins to falter at the realization of the many people around you. The other Dream Academy girls were only a few feet away. But Karlee moves the chair so she is now sitting in front of you. She looks at you to see if you had any hesitation in your eyes, but she only sees the lazy look in them, a playful smile on your lips. 

It causes Karlee to giggle, and you raise a brow in response. You whisper, “What’s so funny?” Karlee shakes her head, responding just as quietly, “Nothing. Just… Look at me…” You do as you are told, and you look at Karlee, swallowing when you realize what’s going to happen. You watch as Karlee takes a long hit from the blunt and immediately looks into your eyes as she places her hands on your cheeks, her fingertips warm. 

Instinctively, you part your lips and watch as Karlee leans in closer, your noses brushing against each other. Your eyes don’t leave each other once Karlee begins to exhale while you inhale slowly. There’s a tension between you two, and you aren’t sure how to feel about it. You’re sure Karlee has finished, but neither of you pulls away. You watch Karlee’s eyes flutter close, and against all rational thoughts, you close yours as well, leaning in closer. 

However, before the moment can develop even further, you feel a weight in your lap and a pair of arms looping around your neck. You open your eyes, widening them when you see Megan with her puppy eyes staring down at you. You open and close your mouth, a bit at a loss for words. 

You watch Megan look over at Karlee, who doesn’t look very happy that the moment between you two was interrupted. There’s a playful glint in Megan’s eyes as she holds you tighter. She speaks up, a giggle in her voice, “Sorry… I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just needed to tell Y/n something…” Your cheeks redden when you feel the Chinese girl grip the back of your shirt. You wrap your arms around the girl’s waist, securing her in your lap. The action makes Megan look down at you with a soft smile and she begins to tell you about something she heard from Adela and Emily. 

You feel Megan run her fingers through your hair and you listen to every word she says. As if she is the only girl that exists. 

As if you didn’t almost kiss Karlee.

She pushes you up against the bathroom door, her lips finding yours in a heated kiss. 

Your hands instinctively grab her hips, pulling her closer as she desperately grips your shirt with her fists. Her lips move against yours in a rhythm that makes you feel lightheaded. The quiet noises she makes as you grip her hips tighter fill you with the need for more. 

Suddenly, she pulls away and looks at you with flushed cheeks and desire in her eyes. “I didn’t realize you and Karlee were that close.” Her words cause you to let out a breathy chuckle. 

“We’re talking about Karlee right now?” You ask, leaning down to press feather-light kisses against her neck. She sighs, and you feel her grip on your shirt loosen. Her fingers thread into your hair as she cranes her neck slightly to give you more access. “You guys just seemed really cozy, you know?” You hum against her neck, pulling away to look at her with an amused expression. 

You tilt your head and smile at her playfully. “Does it matter?” You challenge, suddenly feeling brave due to the rising tension between you two. Megan bites her lip and shakes her head. “I was just wondering…” She trails off, leaning up to kiss you again, but you don’t give her the chance, tilting your head away from her. Megan looks at you questioningly and places her hands on your shoulders. “What’s wrong?” 

You furrow your brows at her. You can’t help but think everything about this was wrong. The way she tries to avoid situations, the way she thinks she can kiss you and pretend it doesn’t mean anything. You begin to feel bitter when you remember how, before your almost-kiss with Karlee, Megan barely acknowledged your existence. And suddenly, none of this seems fair to you. 

“Admit it…” You say shakily. She looks at you with confusion written on her face. She opens her mouth to respond, but you quickly continue, finding your voice, “You’re jealous.” Megan immediately jumps away from you once she hears your words. She glares at you and whispers, “What the hell are you talking about?” You narrow your eyes.

“You’re jealous of Karlee because this means something to you.”

You stare at each other in silence. It’s as if you two were daring the other to say another word. 

“I gotta go.” You hear her say. She avoids your eyes, stepping forward and attempting to push you away from the door, but you keep your feet planted where they are. You can’t help the scoff that leaves your lips as you cross your arms over your chest, looking at her incredulously. “Why can’t we have a real conversation about this?” 

Megan’s cheeks turn red as she responds, her voice raised, “About what?” 

“You know what!” You yell, throwing your hands up in the air in agitation. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Megan!” 

You feel hot tears spill from your eyes as you look at her, pleading for her to love you back. Megan bites her lip and looks down at the ground. She murmurs, “I can’t do this.” Your lips form a thin line as your hand reaches behind you, grabbing the handle to the door. You whisper, your voice breaking, “Tell me to stay. Please.” You shake your head frantically when Megan keeps her eyes on the ground. You take a deep breath, your grip on the handle tightening. “Megan… Tell me I’m not a second choice to you, please.” 

You look at Megan, a pleading look in your eyes. You don’t care how pathetic you look,  you just need to know if Megan still cares. You desperately want to know if this really wasn’t in your head the entire time, and that fate was still on your side. 

Her silence makes you slump your shoulders. Your eyes soften, and whatever fight you had left goes away. Your grip on the handle loosens, stepping away from the door so she can make her exit. She looks up at you with glistening eyes, and you simply force a smile. “I can’t leave. So, you can.” 

With no hesitation, Megan goes without another word. 

IV. 

You don’t hear from Megan after Emily’s party. You watch her life unfold through Instagram pictures and updates given by her other members. They don’t ask you about what happened, and you’re grateful. 

You felt as though you were grieving. She’s alive and happy and has everything she could ever want, and she was able to do it all without your help. 

A photo of her surfaces on your timeline, and it’s of her at a party with other influential people in Los Angeles. You stare at the photo of her mid-laugh with a drink in her hand. She seemed as though she was in her element, and you realized how far apart you were from the girl you fell in love with. 

Your phone buzzes with a notification, and you see it’s a message from Karlee. She asks if you are free to get coffee sometime. 

You tell her that you’re always free. That coffee sounds lovely. And that you’ll see her next Thursday. 

Fate sits in a locked box beneath your bed. It thrashes and screams and begs for another chance. But you have coffee with Karlee next Thursday, and that is how it will be. 

V. 

“Y/n, is it true you’re going to Hawaii to meet Karlee’s family?” 

It’s been a year since you last spoke to Megan, and she now sits across from you with Lara, her legs crossed, and her hair is now black with pink dyed bangs and tips. You can’t help, as you look at her, that she resembles the Megan you knew from Dream Academy. The one who struggled with her confidence and didn’t feel good enough for anything. Despite everything, you hope she feels differently. 

You hope she knows how beautiful she looks. 

Karlee rests her head against your shoulder and hugs your arm tightly. She leans up and kisses your cheek softly, causing you to smile. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes, but the Japanese girl chose you, and that’s what matters the most to you. 

You nod at Lara’s question, taking a sip from your drink. You feel Megan’s eyes on you, but you ignore her as you respond. “Yeah, we’re leaving in a few days…” You hear Karlee squeal excitedly next to you. She looks at the two girls with a wide smile on her face. “I’m gonna show them everything. They’ve never been, so it’ll be fun.” Lara smiles at Karlee, then looks at you. There’s a glint in her eyes that you can’t quite decipher. 

“Honestly, I always thought it would be Megan who would take Y/n.” You know it’s a joke, but you can’t help but wince at her words. You glance at the Chinese girl who seems to be deep in thought. You fight the urge to ask her if she’s okay. But you know it isn’t your place to ask– she made that clear to you. Karlee laughs at Lara’s words and takes a sip from her drink. You feel her tug at your sleeve, and you look at your girlfriend, who looks back at you with adoration, with so much love that you can’t help but feel guilty for wanting to check on Megan. 

She inches her face closer to yours and says, “Come with me to get another drink?” You nod, smiling when she gets up from the couch and holds her hand out to you. You take one more look at Lara, then at Megan. “It’s nice seeing you guys again.” Megan looks at you with an expression you’ve never seen on her face before. It almost looks like longing, but you know better than to overanalyze. You take Karlee’s hand and allow her to pull you to your feet. She kisses you softly before pulling you away from the girls. From Megan. 

A few minutes have passed since the conversation with you and Karlee, but Megan stays where she is on the couch. She leans her back against it, her mind running chaotically. She glances over at you standing with Karlee and Adela and notices a subtle sullen look in your eyes. The usual twinkle in them seems dim, and Megan wants more than anything to go up to you and ignite that light. But she knows it isn’t her place anymore. Megan made her choice, she made her decisions. 

Megan looks down at the drink in her lap, biting her lip. She thinks about how she accidentally walked into your dorm on that first day. She remembers how there was a time when it would be you and her against the world. No one saw you two separated because you were always right there with her every step of the way. You never left her, even when she pushed you away. 

She looks up again, and her breath hitches when her eyes meet yours. You stare at her for a moment before smiling softly. There’s a twinkle in your eyes, and it reminds her of the day you walked up to her outside the Geffen building. 

The voices of everyone else, the loud conversations, are all tuned out in this moment. Megan only sees you. 

And suddenly, it all starts to click. 

That day, and everything else after, was fate. 

I. 

You: cant believe u left this place wtf

You: it’s so beautiful!!!!

Megan stares at the messages from you, a small smile on her face. She can’t help but feel a bitterness starting to fester in the pit of her stomach. 

Megan: had to chase my dreams :) 

Megan: im glad ur having fun!

After Karlee’s party, she decided to reach out to you, not expecting a response. However, you welcomed the message with open arms. It was as if she hadn’t done anything wrong. But Megan knew something was different. She knew this time around, it wouldn’t be how it used to be. 

You: so much fun!! 

Megan: go surfing for me? 

When Megan first met you, she knew deep down you’d change her life somehow. But you wove yourself so deep into it that it scared Megan. She was scared of something so real and raw, something that would force her to show the sides of herself that she tries so hard to hide. 

But she would have dropped everything she had ever worked for in a heartbeat for you. And maybe that’s why she pushed you away. 

Megan: also take pics of everything bc i miss it sm

Megan: only if u can ofc

Because why does a person like that exist? A person you’d give everything up for? Why would someone do something so stupid? Especially when they’re just so close? 

Megan: can i ask u something?

Megan: it’s a weird question LOL

But no one told her she could have chosen you and have everything in between. Fate hadn’t caught up to her yet, and she could only blame herself for being a coward. 

You: yeah what’s up?

Megan: r we still like… friends? 

Megan lies in her bed that night wearing an old hoodie of yours that no longer holds your scent. She feels tears brim in her eyes as she thinks about you being with Karlee. Her heart breaks at the thought of you being in Hawaii with Karlee and not her. 

You: ur my best friend, meg. always. 

Megan: ur mine always too, y/n 

She stares at her ceiling and thinks about your hand in hers, your soft smile, the way you stay every single time. 

She wonders if fate will ever come back. She’d take it back and never leave again. 

Megan: can you call? 

You: cant rn. gonna hang out w karlee’s fam :) 

You: talk to you later? 

Megan sends a response that makes her heart ache in her chest. 

Megan: yeah, i’ll wait for you <3

a/n: im back n im making it everyone's problem >:) this was my attempt at megan angst oops i hope u all enjoyed....... i promise megan fluff soon!! <3

requests are open

[lyrenminth]

Release

Adults only; mature content.

Summary: After having a stressful day, Justin decides to seek relaxation and you are there for him.

You could tell Justin wasn't having it. He told you about an earlier meeting he had with the Spanos about hiring A-level players, and for how he was grumpy all day, the results weren't on his way. When he was in such mood you didn't say anything at all. He would come to you when he was ready, so you just went with your routine anyway.

Justin would soften eventually, his short answers would get longer, and his frown would ease hearing you talk with your mom or watching your shows on T.V.

By night, you were reading on the bed waiting for him to come out of the shower. You were giggling at some character when he came out wearing a towel around his hips, the V lines disappearing under the black towel. You took a moment to appreciate how big and masculine he was.

Also, you noticed he was tired.

Instead of heading to the changing room, he went straight to you and uncovered your body, pushing the sheets aside. "What...?" you asked, a little confused. When he grabbed your legs to spread them, you felt a throb in your core. "Justin...?" he has never done such a thing and you were equally confused and turned on. He dive in between your legs, opening them to fit his wide shoulders, inhaling your scent. "Fuck yes" he groaned, his voice sending shivers down your spine. He rubbed his face there and you couldn't stop a giggle, still holding the book in your hands. He smiled at you for a few seconds before going back to his rubbing. " After a shitty day, I wanted to do this" he confessed. His hands caressed your legs, and reached for the waistband of your panties. "Keep reading your book, honey" he ordered, putting your panties down your ankles. "Don't mind me" your felt his breath there, warming your senses. You tried to close your legs, but he held your legs apart. "Justin..." you whispered.

"Keep reading" he kissed your lips, and you jolted. Your eyes tried to focus on the reading and the letters were there, but you couldn't understand so much about it. When it's hot tongue opened your folds and he groaned in pleasure, you felt yourself clenching around nothing. He started licking your vulva in long lazy strokes, his stubble prickling your sensitive skin. His long fingers opened your folds, to have a better view of your clit, the tip of his tongue was making circles around it, and you moaned, forgetting completely about the book. The tingles were all over your skin, and your hips started moving looking for the perfect angle.

He growled and you felt one thick finger in your entrance. His tongue was merciless, and your couldn't stop trashing, wanting to stay away but at the same time, wanting to get closer. It was maddening. His finger was inside you, creating a hook and touching a spot inside your vagina that was too much.

"Mmm it feels so good" you said, feeling the orgasm coiling on your belly. "Like that, yes, yes" he pleasure you, following the same rhythm. "Oh, Justin yess"

You grabbed his hair, pulling him closer. He became more enthusiastic at your eagerness, and the sight of him thrusting involuntarily to the mattress sent you over the edge. You felt so livid and feather-like, a wave of relaxation crushed you so hard you forgot how to breath for a few seconds. You went limp, trying to gather your brains.

He was kissing you neck, lips and jaw before nesting himself between your legs. He rested his weight on his muscular arms. You felt his erection on your legs, and gaining strength you reached between your bodies to touch him, he was hard and hot, gorgeous as always. He was yours and yours only.

You guided him to your entrance, his blue eyes never leaving yours as he pushed inside you, you received him easily, loving how full he made you feel. Both moaned, and smiled like two horny teenagers. When he started moving, deep and slow thrusts, your wrapped your legs around his hips, matching his rhythm. He hid in face in the curved of your neck, you heard him pant and groan. You ran your hands through his back, feeling the muscles moving and rippling with each thrust.

"Ooh, baby" you called, clenching your walls around him. He picked up his pace, harder and faster as he reached his orgasm, his breathing heavy. You hugged him, wanting to melt with him. He smelled so good, and the sounds he made made you wetter.

He rolled over to avoid crushing you, his arm looked for you, bringing you closer to his side. He kissed your forehead, still panting a little.

"Well, what's was that?" you asked, running your hand over his chest in a soothing motion.

"I had a bad day" he said, simply.

"Hum...you should have more of those" you joked. He pressed his lips and pinch your ribs, knowing you were ticklish. "No!" you laughed, trying to get away.

"I keep thinking about coming home and eat your sweet pussy" he confessed, and somehow, the tip of his ear were red. Justin, everyone. "I'm satisfied to say the least"

"At least you forgot about your problems for a little" you said, getting sleepy. You could feel his heartbeat under your hand.

"You make it easier" he murmured. "Go to sleep"

"Don't tell me twice" you yawned. "Best oral ever" you said without thinking. He laughed and you felt it.

"I love you" he said, so low you almost didn't hear it. You could just looked at him through your heavy eye-lids smiling lazily until you felt asleep.

[namelessprayers]

"i'm not in love with you." till says unprompted, a clarification out of the blue on the steps outside their school's decrepit gym. it's warm.

ivan's heart clenches, but not unexpectedly, maybe just in some customary relinquishment of hope; resigned, like the sentence has been a long time coming either way the cards decided to fall.

he knew they were never really in his hands anyways. till holds every winning play and will receive the pay off of any gamble in relation to ivan, as is the nature of their friendship, of their subtly predestined magnitude marked in the stars.

"alright. why should i care about that?" responds ivan, in a way that sounds practiced in its indifference, not a hint of sullen defeat to it. the shaky sincerity of till's statement (confession?) dissipates in an instant, a wisp in the wind of their many bittersweet memories.

for a second, ivan thinks that this'll be one of those stained days, wherein his emotions become a little too intense to keep the events unclouded in his mind. then, he looks at till's indignant face as his cheeks flush an embarrassed red, and the possibility of such a fog is vanquished by his overwhelmingly pitiful fondness.

"what's wrong? did you think i didn't know that?" ivan inquires teasingly, though almost genuinely wondering over till's answer.

"no, asshole, you just don't get it." when till barely splutters out his bold summation, ivan feels a bit like he's missing something, but nothing clicks into place immediately.

in lieu of what to do, ivan idly hooks his ankle around till's leg. their sides press together and the concentrated scowl in till's eyes lightens. the magnetic frequency that always draws ivan to till seems to preen at this course of action, heightening at some invisible wavelength correspondence this proves.

"yeah," says ivan, suddenly slipping into a state of enough confidence to lean his head on till's shoulder, "i don't get it at all." it's warm.

======

there's no obsessive nature in ivan besides the one exception of till. if it weren't for ivan anchoring himself at the other's side, drifting through life and school and work and into death would be as simple as just that, drifting.

yet, ivan does get a bit caught up in the semantics and debatable dichotomy of the admission found in 'i'm not in love with you'.

when someone says that, especially pertaining to till, it seems direct and clear cut and like setting a boundary. or it should (but ivan might be severely overthinking it). still, the way till voiced it so abruptly, offered like a branch extending to the root of something deeper; ivan is nearly delusional enough to trick himself into thinking that till might've been coaxing him into confessing a feeling of his own.

too bad that it would only be plausible if it were any pair besides them.

so, decidedly, ivan reaches the end of the week by walking till to the bus stop and telling himself that he is not obsessed because he never has been and never will be.

======

"he said that? really!?" squeaks mizi, her eyes welling up with tears under her lashes, looking more disconcerted than ivan felt when he first heard it himself. "i don't understand... it's just wrong! how is it even fair? why would he say it randomly like that? how could he!?"

sensing the imminent breakdown of distress, sua glares from behind mizi, pointedly indicating that ivan fix this at the threat of a beating if otherwise. sua doesn't pull her punches, so ivan tries his best, beginning with placing a placating hand on top of mizi's head which is an attempt that fails spectacularly as soon as it starts.

when mizi full on wails, ivan realizes his mistake and quickly mutters about having to pick up till from band practice (an excuse that sua glares at because she's the only one that recalls them all being in the same band).

however, regardless of sua's skepticism, ivan truly does have a scheduled meeting time with till. it makes him feel a little better to have told that much of the truth after inadvertently making mizi cry.

======

it's been two weeks since the 'i'm not in love with you' incident, as hyuna has taken to referring to it. somehow, the whole band has caught wind of it despite till being none the wiser, if not a bit confused by mizi's sorrowful looks between him and ivan whenever they're standing next to each other (which is more often than not).

at first, ivan took to the technique of waking up every morning and going to see till with the mentality of 'i'm over it already' as a halfhearted mantra for manifestation. unfortunately, it fell through pretty quickly after a couple of days where ivan came to remember that 'i'm never getting over you' is a phrase that exists primarily in his vocabulary and readily within his skillset.

luka, the smug bastard, uses the opportunity of ivan's momentary lapse in normalcy to get under till's skin constantly. in turn, this gets on mizi's nerves, who tells luka not to let the not-so-secret secret be revealed to till who already knows but doesn't know that everyone else also knows. it's quite confusing, but not really that confusing when sua hops in to defend mizi (as typical). then, followed by hyuna using herself as a human scale to balance the forces of the band's intermittent chaos (as is also typical).

all the while, ivan moves on to stage two of what might be grief or consolation. he adjusts, because technically, he's been doing this since forever. meaning, he repeats 'i'm used to this' whenever he gets the urge to say he actually loves till or express it in various other horrifyingly excruciating displays.

ivan only falters once in this process of acclimation, when till deftly wipes a smear of dirt off his face in a second that has the world stopping and gawking and ivan's poor body weak to a violent bout of close to collapsing syndrome. the casual manner of till's frown and adorably wrinkled nose in confusion at ivan's dramatics just serving to make his pulse thrum that much more irregular through his veins.

somewhere, seated behind the drumkit (at hyuna's benevolence), luka stifles an obnoxious laugh at ivan's simultaneously paling and colouring skin as he feels an inch away from an early demise of affection overload induced heart attack.

======

"sounds like you got a predicament, loverboy." announces hyuna from the rim of her drink at the bar, her snarkiness showing how much luka has unwarrantedly made an influence. "i mean, it's weird, because he still doesn't look at you far off from how sua looks at mizi."

"what's that supposed to mean?" ivan asks, ineloquently, since he's slightly drunk and will probably puke if he thinks too long about the way sua stares at mizi. "it's not the same."

"yeah, it totally is." hyuna nods after taking a generous swig from her overflowing cup. it won't be long before she has to go find luka in the bar's crowd to cut him off. they drink at the same rate, but luka gets smashed significantly faster than anyone else.

"is it?" parrots ivan, totally unconvinced by her drunken state of conviction. his inkling of hope flickers.

"mhm. possessive, i'd say. sure, sua loves mizi, but she's also a possessive girlfriend if i ever saw one!" the aforementioned 'possessive girlfriend' whips her attention around to hyuna who suddenly seems very sober. ivan sighs as hyuna dashes to fetch luka, slumping forward over the wooden counter, resolving that the issue needs to be confronted as soon as possible given a few more lenient business days to breathe.

======

"are you not even a little bit in love with me?" ivan dares to bring up out of the blue when they're sitting on the same steps in front of their school's old gym. it's cold today.

it goes so silent that ivan almost thinks till didn't hear him, but that would be too nice a fate for the universe to afford him, so they're forced to seep in a terse quiet for an uneasy moment too long.

though eventually, ivan relents, turning his head to till who's surprisingly already glaring at him with a cutting focus. he resembles somewhere between a disgruntled stray cat and a snake about to kill ivan in one bite. part of ivan wishes it's the latter.

"well," till says, parsed out through gritted teeth, "are you in love with me?" he finishes the question sounding more like a demand, intently staring at the ground where their shoes are mismatched but aligned.

ivan blinks. he thinks about the current chill in the air and the ghost of sunlight on their skin about a month ago. he thinks about till pursing his lips as he spoke the dreaded sentence, dropping the statement like a prompt. he thinks of his own gaze, wilting a tad, reflected by till's own. apparently, ivan has one card.

"is that what you wanted to hear?" the politeness might as well strangle the both of them, but ivan is being honest about this, achingly direct. he wants to hear the truth and only the truth in return.

"that's what i thought you would say." responds till, like clockwork, before his expression screws up as if it was just a slip of the tongue to comment such a sentiment. "if you meant it, anyways." he amends, trying to brush it off. "i guess it doesn't matter now."

the accusation is pretty clear, 'you didn't say it then, so you won't mean it if you say it now; you're too late'. ivan thinks of gambling and the stars shining bright across world, listening in, as if he ever had something worth betting. it feels divined, anticipated, when it finally falls. his heart clenches and it hurts in the right way.

"i am in love with you." ivan whispers, softly, like it's a phrase the world will remember for him and reinvigorate if given enough time to flourish. "you don't have to say it back."

"okay. okay." murmurs till with equal softness in his tone. his head leans against ivan's shoulder, conceding or admitting to a gap in the lines. "i'm sorry." uncharacteristically, till sounds sincerely remorseful. for once, ivan doesn't need to steel himself against looking and allows himself to linger on a single glance. "you get it, don't you?"

ivan nearly asks 'how did you know', but they had both always known. maybe that was always the point. if it was anyone else, ivan isn't sure they would've stayed all this time. and till is right here, close enough to touch, perhaps even to keep.

"i get it." says ivan, because he does. "i know." he smiles into till's hair. it's not that cold anymore.

[sylusjinxedpaw]

One coin, two faces

tags: young!Caleb love and deepspace, angst with no comfort, mentions of trauma, slight mentions of bullying, young!mc love and deepspace, mentions of mental health struggles, mention of C-PTSD symptoms on an early age.

notes: this is my first fic, so pleasee don't be harsh on me, my anxiety does it for me don't worry. It's funny how the first one ended up being around Caleb when he's my least favorite, maybe is because I did a Spotify playlist about him because I kept bumping around songs that made me think "this is so Caleb coded..." lol. Anyways, my first language isn't english, so if you see mistakes that's why. Also I apologize if I made Caleb ooc, I tried to keep it as close as the game as I could, but also diving into how I imagine he would act as a kid being taken care of from his abuser. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Edit: This is now on ao3, if someone prefers to read it there.

word count: 1,775

—🍎—

Caleb always knew how a two-faced person looked like. After all, he was one of those. In order to survive and maintain peace for their household — and for mc, mostly — he had learned how to facade a mask of endearment and politeness around their "grandma" . He didn't really like it, but for the sake of the love and protection he held for his "pip-squeak" he would do anything it takes to see her happy.

But for some reason, his mind and brain didn't quite comprehend that their caretaker was also a two-faced kind of person. For Caleb, the person who took his beloved's life without thinking it twice many times in a cold-blooded manner, just to see her come back to be exploited again on their shared tests of their experiments wasn't the same as the person in his life.

How could someone do that to them since they have memory — since he had memory, because mc didn't remember anything that happened in their early ages, for better or for worse — treat them now as if they were part of a warm, kind-hearted family without a dark past? That torned him inside, almost making him feel like his organs twisted between each other in a nauseating way.

What made it even worse was the moments of tenderness started by Josephine herself. That was the most surprising thing that he has experienced from her; the warmest meals that she prepared for lunch, the hugs she gave both of them before sending them to school, the adoration in her eyes when she brushed mc's hair every day. Even how she tidied up their beds.

A bold contrast compared with the cold environment that they lived in that old laboratory, surrounded by researchers that gave them the cold shoulder even when they were distressed after the rough examinations they received, or when his love cried, pained and tired after long scheduled researches — more like torture, but they never named the practice as such, despite its gruesome practices and procedures.

Because for them, it was for the sake of mankind. Something that was worth crossing the lines of morality, even with kids — or laboratory rats, there was no difference and they were no different from them in terms of life expectancy and quality.

Until the non-expected consecuenses caught their tormentors, and everything went downhill for them, leading to the events of today's doubts.

Even if he remembered everything, Josephine didn't act on it like he expected her to do. At least not in front of mc. When she was around there were no difference between them and how she cared for every single one. When for some reason mc wasn't around but Caleb was, things changed in a weird way.

She started to act like she was walking on eggshells around him, her act was more distant but she still tried to care — on a certain way — for the oldest kid on her care.

When he wasn't really around her on those moments of uncertainty, he could feel her gaze over him, when she passed through the hallway and the door of his bedroom was slightly open. She would watch him through the gap between the doorframe and the door, with a look of caution and a serious expression, like she was expecting something from him.

Caleb thought, in one of those days, that she saw him as a tickling bomb that could explode at any moment and destroy everything. He wondered if she saw him as a threat to the stability she was trying to build around their lives after everything she did in the past. After all, he still held the memories, as opposite of the girl that wasn't around at that moment. He knew and remembered the real face that hid behind that tender and caring old lady that had put a roof above their heads, and tried to act like nothing has happened.

He also felt like he was about to explode at any moment; his body was always tense, jaw clenched, and he was always keeping an eye over her when she was spending time with mc. Part of him wanted to rest and leave the memories behind, and wanted to feel hope around having a stable life with his beloved, but another part, sometimes a voice in his head — aggressive, resentful and insecure, like a harmed dog on a defensive pose — told him that those were foolish thoughts, and that he should be alert of any changes around mc. He was the only one that still carried the heavy burden of what Josephine did to them, so he had the role of protecting her no matter what.

Even if that meant sacrificing any type of peace or slight happiness for him.

It was like that before, in that cruel and nightmare fuel place, and it wasn't going to change any time soon. That's a vow that he made to himself, and to that voice that kept him alert when he dared to daydream of a simple life with no worries. When for a single second he made the mistake of lowering his guard around them, and started seeing her in a different light, thinking she had changed.

Truth is that old habits die hard, and he could feel that she hadn't changed when she had half her mask on when it was just both of them present on that house.

Josephine couldn't maintain her full disguise when it was just the two of them — not that she didn't try — but she stopped trying soon enough she saw that her treatment wasn't well received or reciprocated.

How stupid of her thinking that he would do the same, acting like nothing happened and that it didn't mark his mind, body and soul for the rest of his life.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Caleb approached mc, watching his surroundings to verify that they were alone.

"Uh, sure? What's wrong? You kinda have a long face..." said the girl with the two ponytails on both sides of her head, looking at him with those big eyes full of worry.

"Do you sometimes feel... Like all of this, our lives and peace, will crumble down at any second?" Caleb fidgeted with his own hands, nervous about daring to say those words aloud instead of keep it to himself like he always did.

Mc looked at him with confusion on her face, not knowing where those fears came from. Everything was alright, and even if she had difficulties at school because of some bullies, he always took care of it without difficulty. But even then, that kind of problems didn't mean that the world would fall apart at any second, therefore she couldn't understand the source of his fears.

"What do you mean? Caleb... Have you been having those nightmares that you won't tell me about again?"

"No. It's nothing. Forget what I said." Caleb ended the conversation there. She didn't try to budge for more context, when Caleb didn't want to talk or share some of his thoughts with her, there was nothing that could make him do it. It was like trying to open a safe without knowing the combination of it.

She was right in one part: It was half related to his nightmares. He used to have recurring ones with different scenarios but every single one shared one similarity, that he was abandoned, left behind. Either in a crowded place, when he let go of mc's hand and got lost, and they didn't come back to look for him; or Josephine left him on an unknown place on purpose, to get rid of him.

Sometimes it was just him trying to find them both by walking long distances in what he thought was the path they took before they disappeared of his sight, or just him on distress, trying to navigate on a obscured laboratory after he woke up with no one around.

And that made him fear that one day he would be left behind, that for some reason Josephine would snap out of fear and would manage to get rid of him just like she tried when they had to leave in a hurry from that place, but couldn't do it because of his efforts of not letting go of mc's unconscious body. The fear that he felt at that moment never left him.

But it also had something to do with a creeping anxiousness that came of out nowhere, when everything was nice and quiet. Peace never felt like it should have been enjoyed. His body was even more rigid and alert on those moments than when he was under pressure, he preferred to have to fix mc's problems, deal with her bullies and keep an eye on Josephine than do nothing. Doing and resting felt like a forbidden thing to do, and he always expected to be punished for it eventually.

And Josephine existence in the present — and her contradictory behavior — didn't make it any easy. Caleb felt like he needed to keep an eye on her at all times, just to prevent a catastrophe of her going to her old ways, dragging mc back. In case some of the cables in her head that made her run away disappeared and she decided that what she was doing wasn't worth the time.

But then the interactions with mc happened, and she reciprocated them back with so much eagerness...

And she looked so happy, almost like she have had a change of heart or was replaced with someone who looked like her, but was so different than the old laboratory researcher that did almost took their lives for good many times...

Caleb knew how a two-faced person looked like very well. And there was nothing that he abhorred more than having to deal with one, who tried to amend what she did by trying to act like a caring parent now.

But what he hated the most was himself, and his two faces, how they fought with each other. One being disgustingly hopeful that let him believe that act, and the other, who had so much resentment that he couldn't let go of the past and couldn't rest, working non stop on looking for any kind of signal that meant he had to flee away with his most precious person.

And he hated so much how he was just a kid, oh how much he did hate to have to depend on his past — and present, if he had to be honest — martyr.

Caleb always dreamed of being and adult finally, fulfilling his duty of becoming a pilot, and taking mc out of that place to never to come back and for once, being safe and sound.

Because in his world, it could only exist one two-faced person, even if being one made him even more disgusted with himself.

—🍎—

ay dioh so with this, I did a big jump into doing something that I was postponing for a long time haha. Might write more in the future, but it might past a long time until I publish something again and have the inspiration that possessed me yesterday. Be kind to me please and my chicken heart. I know it's not the usual Caleb x mc everyone does, but I had to put it out of my chest since I started to feel so bad for this man recently and everything he went through.

It makes me laugh how I did end up writing angst with no comfort when I avoid reading about it.

[deangirlsstuff67]

Out Of His League

Boaz Priestly x Reader

Summary: You make him a deal, he shows you his secret and you show him yours.

Warnings: clit piercing, language, fluffy Boaz, oral (female receiving), making out, feeling up, nipple piercings

Authors Note: I love Jensen and his family. This is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only.

—————————————————————————

“Did it hurt?” Tish asked as you were rolling silverware in napkins together. Priestly was behind you both talking with Piper while half ass ease dropping on your conversation.

“Well duh Trish, you’re getting a needle stabbed in a sensitive area, it didn’t feel great.” You both giggle, “but it was so worth it.”

This got Priestley’s attention, “what are you two girls talking about?”

Trish shot him a glare over her shoulder, “nosy much?”

“Wow… okay Trish.” He turned back to his conversation with Piper.

You felt bad. You know he’s always kind of had. Thing for Trish and she won’t give him a second glance with the crazy hair and all the piercings he has. Trish likes pretty boys. She also enjoys using them and proving they are as dumb as they are pretty.

Some days you wonder if your friend is ever going to settle down and find herself a nice guy.

Priestly is sweet, kind, funny, and original. Is he a little out there? Sure, but at least he’s himself. You find that attractive in his own sort of way. If you’re being honest, he’s probably the perfect boyfriend.

—————————————————————————

Tonight you and Priestly are locking up. He’s wiping down tables and you count the till and close down the register.

Curiosity is getting the better of him though. He has to know if he was right about what you and Tosh were talking about earlier.

“So what hurt to get done y/n?”

Looking up from your count you are shocked he even still remembers the earlier conversation.

Smirking at him you figure why not flirt a little, “wouldn’t you like to know big guy.”

“Yes… yes I would. I think I know but I want to hear you say it.”

“Whys that?”

He struts over to the counter, leaning against it. Cleaning tables forgotten at the moment, “because I don’t peg you as the type of girl who would do something so daring.”

Laughing you go back to your counting, “oh I’m full of surprises Priestly.”

“There’s no way.”

“No way what?” You look at him through your lashes adding the charm a little thick.

He looks like he half believes you and half thinks you’re screwing with him. A girl like you getting that pierced, there’s no way that would happen.

“Tell you what Priestly, you tell me your first name and I’ll tell you what I got that hurt, deal?”

Groaning he turns back to his previous task, “nope, no way in hell.”

For some reason he refuses to tell us his first name. You have no idea why but you do know that it would curb his curiosity for a minute or two.

—————————————————————————

Three weeks go by and Priestly has been staring at you every chance he can, like he’s studying you. Trying to get a read on you and what you could have done. He hasn’t asked you again but he knows the price he has to pay to get the answers he wants.

You’re closing with him again that night and finally he can’t take not knowing anymore. You’re in the back room tidying up when he walks up behind you scaring the shit out of you, “Boaz. My first name is Boaz.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t do that!” You smack his arm as you walk past to put stuff in the garbage.

You take a deep breath before turning around. A deals a deal, “I got my clit pierced.”

His mouth drops open and you can’t help but giggle. Besides your ears you don’t have any visible piercings and you don’t talk about the ones you do have. Beside past boyfriends, no one knows about them.

“If it helps I also have had my nipples pierced for a few years now.” You shrug as you continue moving around the room. Boaz is rooted in place, trying to process what you’ve just told him.

His brain is misfiring though and all the blood has started pumping to his cock as he thinks about the image you placed in his mind.

You’re walking past him again, enjoying the look on his face when he reaches out and grabs your arm pulling you towards him.

“What are you doi-,” he cuts you off with a heated kiss. You can’t help but moan as his tongue licks into your mouth fighting for dominance with yours. His hands grab your waist and pull you flush to his hard body.

When you make contact with his hard dick he groans and leans his forehead against yours, “that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard y/n.”

You don’t respond, head dizzy from the kiss you just shared. Instead you take his lips again and kiss him hard.

He spins you around and lifts you up onto the table behind you without breaking your kiss.

Hands explore your body as you make out in the break room. When he softly rubs his thumb o er your nipples you throw your head back with a moan.

The piercings make them extra sensitive.

Smiling he does it again just to watch your pleasure from such a simple touch, “has anyone played with your clit since you got it pierced.”

“No.”

Rubbing your nipples again, “think it’s as sensitive as these ones?”

Looking into those list blown eyes you smirk as you respond, “only one way to find out Boaz.”

—————————————————————————

“Mmm… fuck Boaz…” he wasn’t wrong that piercing was the best investment I made. Either that or Boaz is a sex god no one ever knew about. The way his tongue is twisting and rubbing your piercing just right has you dripping for him.

This is orgasm number three he is pulling from your trembling, wrecked body and he doesn’t seem to be stopping any time soon.

Once he’s worked you through the last of it, he comes up for air. Kissing you so you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

There is something that turns you on about tasting yourself on the lips of a man. Maybe it's the fact that he enjoyed every minute of getting you off numberous times, or maybe it's just the fact that you have claimed him in a way and made him yours, at least for a moment.

Boaz Priestly was a sweet, funny, slightly out there kind of guy. He always had a knack for macking you feel better on those shitty days. You never thought you'd hook up with him though.

"I never heard my first name sound so good than when you're moaning it for me to hear."

You straighten up and fix your clothes. Giving him another kiss, you wink as you speak, "you know my secret and I know yours now. Promise I won't tell a soul."

You go to walk away but he stops you, "where do you think you're going?"

"Home."

"Awe that's cute sweetheart, I am far from finished with my girl."

You give him a puzzling look, "you're girl? Not that I'm not flattered but I kinda always thought you wanted Tish."

"Don't get me wrong, Tish is cute but you're the real prize y/n. You've never judged me. Always there for me when I need a friend. Hell you're beautful as fuck and you make me laugh. Knowing now that you have a kinky side and piercings of your own means that maybe I stand a slight chance with a girl like you." He's staring at the ground as he talks, gone is the cocky guy who was just making you scream his name repeatedly in the back room of your workplace, it's now replaced with a guy who seems to nervous for the man you have grown to love.

"Boaz, did you think you were out of my league or something?"

All he does is nod his head.

"You silly boy. I don't care about looks. If I'm being honest I love your style. You are 100% confident in who you are and express yourself through your style. You are funny, charming, and yes a little wild, but you were never out of my league."

Green eyes meet you y/e/c ones as he processes what you just confessed to him. You can't help but softly smile at the man in front of you.

God he's adorable.

Leaning in you kiss his lips gentle and take his hand, "come on, my man has more fun in store exploring what this piercing can do to me." You send him a wink as you lead him to the back door and into the night.

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

The next day you and Priestly walk into work hand in hand. You're both holding your breath as your coworkers look at you both. Within minutes hoots and hollers can be heard as they all congratulate you.

"About damn time you two." Tish says with a smile on her face as she wraps you up into a hug.

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

Taglist:

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @lessons-of-red @spnaquakindgdom @yvonneeeee @syrma-sensei @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @deansimpalababy @nancymcl @tspmoff @idontwannabehere78 @foxyjwls007 @senjoritanana @leigh70 @neii3n @maggiegirl17 @jamerlynn @mostlymarvelgirl @kimxwinchester @multiversefanfics

[ragnarockz]

can we please have some needy desperate maybe jealous top agatha

Tip Jar 💰

Oh we can most definitely do that, anon 👀😈

something something make sure your phone is off when you're around Agnes becauuuuuseeeee 👀👀👀😈😈😈

Agnes' fingers dug into the side of Vidal's hips as she helped guide her downwards; small slams as Vidal filed herself up with Agnes' cock. The detective heard the agent moan above her; something deep and from the bottom of her throat. She sounded like she was struggling to breathe as her moans changed pitch and became whiny. Agnes could feel her insides clenching in desperation as she wished it was Vidal filling her up; filling the desperate desire that was growing every quicker now that Vidal was getting close to orgasm.

Ding

Ding

Ding

Vidal's phone on the night table chirped as three messages were received all in a row. It threw Agnes off a little even though Vidal was still rocking to her rhythm as she rode out maybe even a little deeper. Agnes blew out a semi-frustrated breath through her nose and pulled her eyebrows close in concentration. She used her strong calves and feet to push upwards and pound into Vidal; slamming right up into her cervix which made the agent cry out in another loud whine that was borderline pornographic. Agnes smiled, all teeth as she gritted them and did the same exact move.

Ding

Ding

"Vidal...I swear to fucking god right now..."

Agnes barked through her teeth as her fingers dug deeper and turned Vidal's hips a darker shade; blood pooling as her skin became a deep red under Agnes' fingertips.

Vidal merely tossed her hair behind her head again; trying to get the sweaty strands out of her face so she could stare at Agnes through half-lidded eyes. She was mesmerized whenever Agnes was fully naked; tried to soak in as much as she could. She watched hungrily the way Agnes' breasts bounced against her chest with each pump. Vidal hadn't noticed the hard look on her partners face.

Ding

"If you don't fucking-"

But Agnes was cut off by the phone again as this time, it started to ring with Vidal's ringtone she had set for colleges at work.

Agnes stopped fully as her fingers dug in deeper until they met bone and Vidal winced against the sensation. She caught Agnes' eyes as the two of them stayed still to see what would happen next.

The phone kept ringing. Once, twice, a third time until it went silent and then the phone call went through again.

"So help me fucking god..."

Agnes used her fingers to push Vidal off of her; feeling the sudden release of pressure on her body as Vidal was tossed off of her cock. Agnes flipped herself over onto her stomach so she had better reach of the phone on the bed side table. She grabbed it with a shaky hand and brought it up to her face; squinting at the overly bright screen in the darkened bedroom.

"Who the fuck is Victoria?!"

Vidal blew out a snort through her nose as she cleared her throat and grabbed her hair to move it out of her face again. She rolled her eyes before pointing to her phone in Agnes' hand.

"You met her yesterday, what do you mean who is she?"

"I didn't meet anyone yesterday?"

"Agnes..."

"...the new girl?"

"The new girl with a name. Yes. Victoria. The new girl."

Agnes glanced back at the phone before she moved her thumb up ever so slightly to hold down the side button to turn the phone completely off. She could feel Vidal's gaze on her and then another loud pass of air through the agent's mouth. Agnes grinned something devious as she threw the phone back onto the bed side table and heard it bang against the surface as it landed.

"You got a problem, O'Connor?"

Agnes flipped herself around and got up onto her knees as she faced Vidal now. It was like a stand off of sorts; a bypass between potentially ending it now and pushing whatever this was further.

"I got a problem with the new girl texting and calling my wife at...I..."

"Wife?"

Agnes felt her face instantly start to warm up and knew she was beet red. She knew Vidal couldn't see it in the low lighting of their room but she felt it on her skin; prickling and bubbling. She clenched her fists and looked down and saw the ever erect purple cock between her legs waiting; still slick with Vidal's arousal.

"Wife?"

"Look that...slipped right out and I-"

"Just like your cock did at the thought of some other woman texting and calling me."

Agnes puffed up; nostrils flaring and cheeks puffing out as she bit her bottom lip. Her hands came down to rest on her hips; elbows out wide. Vidal could see something brewing behind her eyes as she tried to play it off cool, tried not to let those words creep into her mind. But Vidal, knew the effect they had on Agnes and, she was hoping the detective would do something productive about it now.

"You're a little shit Vidal, you know that? Think you can get under my skin and make me feel jealous?"

"I do, actually..."

Another puff out from Agnes and Vidal had to bite her own lip to try and stop herself from laughing. She was being ridiculous and she knew Agnes knew it; knew that there was nothing or no one that would ever come between them. It was all for fun; in jest. Vidal just liked getting under Agnes' skin because Agnes, let her.

"Bad boys get punished for that you know? For getting me jealous over some young thing trying to get into your pants while I'm in the picture..."

Vidal's eyebrows shot up as Agnes' words fell from her mouth. She watched the detective move towards her and ever so gently, reach out to grab Vidal's wrists. Vidal went along with it; always did because she trusted Agnes and her judgement.

Agnes used her upper body as she pushed Vidal down onto the bed; making her land on her stomach with a soft thud. Vidal squealed in delight; a little in faux-fear.

"Is the big bad coming to punish me because...why? I've been...what Agnes? Going around your back? Acting like a what? A who-"

But before Vidal could finish her sentence, she felt the sudden jab at her lower back as Agnes' knee pressed down into her. She let the air press out from her lungs and whatever was left, she moaned loudly. Fingers scrambling to grab the bed sheets around her, Vidal readied herself for whatever the hell Agnes was about to unleash.

Those strong and hard hands found Vidal's waist again as they lifted her up and pulled her back. Vidal allowed Agnes to use her body in whichever way she saw fit; allowing Agnes to be in control. She was happy however, Vidal thought to herself as she clutched the sheets a little harder, that she was on her stomach and Agnes couldn't see the huge grin on her face.

Vidal felt that silicone tease at her still wet folds before pushing in past them once again; easily stretching her out once more. She mewled in pressure and tried to wiggle her hips back onto Agnes' cock but the detective was still holding her hips tightly.

"Please..."

"You don't get to beg."

"But..."

"No."

It was Agnes who pushed herself into Vidal instead of pulling Vidal back onto her. Another loud moan and tripped Agnes to allow herself to do the same; face scrunching as she let the scenario run around her mind. This random newbie thought she could steal Vidal's attention away? Whenever she felt like it? Off of work hours?"

"You think Victoria is at home right now...thinking about fucking you?"

Vidal choked back a moan and failed; pushed her face down into the pillow and tried to breathe. She felt like Agnes was going to rip her right down the middle; each thrust picking up speed and force. She couldn't even answer her back.

"You think she's thinking about me fucking you? About this, right now...how I'm fucking you from behind with my cock between my legs, hmmm?"

Vidal felt her eyes roll back into her head and her mouth open to gently bite down onto the pillow underneath her. The words that were falling out of Agnes' mouth were another level Vidal had never seen or heard come from Agnes. Perhaps it was a streak of jealousy or fear; the possibility now that other women were a threat. It turned Vidal on immensely and she didn't even have the energy to speak up and tell Agnes how fucking hot she thought it all was.

Vidal knew, however, as her body moved backwards and filled each time. Knew that when she could feel her own hot cum drip down her legs and thighs and cover Agnes' toy that that alone was enough of a testament of just how hot she thought this all was. Her body was telling on her; throwing her to the wolf that was Agnes.

[lagooneah]

Hype for Trigun Stargaze got me thinking of my sweetheart, who does no wrong, Vash The Stampede.

Relationship headcanons because I want to and because he is VERY different from the original Trigun Vash and I lowkey love those differences.

He is extremely hesitant to give AND receive touch.

No way bro is a player. He can barely play the game of life himself. There's no way he's playing people.

Like, hugging him is even a lot to take in.

Keep in mind- he is an over a century old alien who has treated himself and let himself be treated as some kind of monster and NOT someone to coddle and love.

So OBVIOUSLY the relationship wouldn't be conventional in the beginning.

It'd be based mostly on trust at first, he isn't convinced that you truly like him, especially in that way, so it'd take a LOT to get him to feel like you're serious.

"I'm sorry- w- what?" Is something like his reaction when you tell him how you feel (yes, it'd have to be you first. We all know this man would never- EVER- voice a crush or love he had for someone out of fear of being selfish)

He'd accept your words, yes, but he wouldn't know how to verbally respond or return them. Does he like you? Probably, but he likes everyone.

He'd need to self reflect (which he hates doing) to see if he truly cares for you that way.

Since he allows it, you usually keep near him.

Maybe not touching him, but sitting close to him, making sure he rests and eats (even if he doesn't really need it) and best of all...

"Are you ok?"

Being asked that hits DIFFERENT for Vash.

He usually just brushes everything off, saying "He's fine, he's fine"- but you get to him at some point.

The first time he WILLINGLY let you touch him was after a particular mission in an abandoned windmill town.

He was obviously not himself- not eating, drinking, just sort of staring out the window and occasionally sleeping.

Everyone was concerned, you especially, and it took until a quiet night in the back of the van, you holding him as he remained glued to you for the next few hours. Maybe cried a bit, but who's keeping track?

After that? Hoo boy he's in trouble.

It was becoming INCREASINGLY more difficult to NOT let you touch him.

He doesn't want your connection, only because he fears how much he can hurt you unintentionally.

Well, that's nearly out the window, because now he can't stop thinking about how comforting your presence was- leading him to pretty much let you touch anywhere on his body.

Hand on his shoulder? Ok. Holding his arm? Go ahead. Hand on his thigh? That's cool. Randomly playing with his hair while the group is on the road? He'll lean his head down to give you better access.

He is, unfortunately, putty in your hands.

However, he will almost NEVER reach for you, you have to initiate the touch in the beginning, and maybe still initiate some to most of it within the future of the relationship.

One thing that CAN be confirmed is the fact that he is unbelievably loyal to you. I mean this man bends to your every whim.

Which ends up being a little self sacrificial, but thats what you signed up for with him.

It takes him a bit, but soon he grows to be able to voice whatever he wants to you, whether it be venting or just tell you the things he likes.

Which is a LOT for a man who has isolated himself or otherwise been ostracized for a century.

He's totally a little spoon the most often- though having you in his protective hold isn't bad either.

He's a blushy mess for ANY kind of intimacy, you can simply turn his head with your hand on his cheek and he melts.

Super loving and gets really touchy when you're alone mostly, and much later in the relationship.

Speaks to you in the softest, cloudlike voice. You hardly hear him raise his voice to you, hell, even if you're just across the room and he's talking to someone else he somehow gets even MORE docile in tone and body language.

You make him comfortable, which makes him EXTREMELY uncomfortable in the beginning- but he grows to adore the comforting energy you bring.

Once again, a man of praise. He MALFUNCTIONS every time you genuinely praise him for something. He only knows how to fills the cups of others, not his own, so you filling his cup is uncomfortable almost, but not unwelcome.

His love languages would be Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, and Physical touch for suuurrreeee.

Ok, ok. That's it for now- but I always have more so we'll see. I giveth this to the Vash enjoyers in hopes that it is well received!