#like they both show AND tell and really mean it

[withlovemark]

“SORRY, HEART”

pairing: fwb! mark lee x tutor! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 29k+

synopsis -> sex helps him focus. focus he needs for your tutoring sessions. it was a win-win for mark lee when you proposed to add a stress-relief session to the schedule. the favorite fuckboy and the girl who doesn’t believe in love equals the ultimate friends with benefits set-up. it’s the perfect dream team! but uh oh…it seems like mark has been shot by cupid’s arrow. will mark survive all of your attempts at pushing him away?

warnings -> grab the tissues! (can be used for multiple reasons) pet name unlocked: kitten, so much dialogue, they’re both yappers, mentions of: periods, reader has avoidant-attachment issues, a little toxic, a lot broken, mark is so down bad it hurts me, angst, +18, crude language, fuckboys, a party, alcohol, starts off with a lot of smut! edging!!!, mark whines and whimpers and cries, oral (m+f), he loves eating pussy, nipple-play, fingering, blow-job, sex on the desk, rough sex, soft sex, unprotected sex, reader is on the pill, sensory play, overstimulation, a fake orgasm, mentions of: period sex, masturbation (m).

an -> third installment of the loverboy series is yours! i did so much research for this holy shit (shoutout to quizlet, friends with benefits, prom-pact and ariana grandes: eternal sunshine album). i don’t know anything about advanced music theory or history please i got it all off quizlet. if it’s wrong, do not come for me! important things to note -> you do not have to read stupid cupid or flying kiss to understand this story but 1) mark is the favorite fuckboy. he’s very upfront. tells you what he wants from the beginning, never leaving you doubting his actions. 2) jeno and bunny’s story is simultaneously happening 3) jaemin and his gf, angel, are happily together. have fun reading! with love, c.

“i don’t feel it,” your voice bites through the night air, cold and detached.

“i don’t love you.” you add with absolutely no remorse, just the tired truth of someone who stopped believing in happy endings a long time ago.

mark can’t help but think back to how exactly he got here — watching you walk away with the heart you shattered into a million pieces, drowning in the silence, wondering how he ever thought he could be the one to change your mind.

ᓚᘏᗢ one month ago. april 2. wednesday.

mark bursts into the study room like he was being chased, slightly out of breath and as usual, thirty minutes late to your tutoring sessions. you didn’t even bother looking up from your notes.

“you’re late. again.” you said flatly, highlighting a passage in the textbook as if his presence didn’t affect your mood at all. it did. the wasted time makes your irritation grow sharper. it was only three days of the week and he still couldn't show up on time.

“sorry, was busy,” he said, running a hand through his mess of dark hair, lipstick stain on his neck, smelling like cheap perfume and sex.

you arched your eyebrow, “that’s the third time, mark.”

he offers an apologetic smile, dropping into the chair across from you, pulling out his notebook, “i know, i know, she just…took longer to finish.”

you slammed your highlighter down, “just because i’m your friend doesn’t mean you can completely act unprofessional,” you roll your eyes, “this is my time you’re wasting too.”

he looked at you, your signature eyeliner and maroon lips making you look sharper, meaner, ready to pounce at any minute.

a mixture of guilt and fear flickers briefly across his features before he sighed and slumped forward, “y/n, i’m sorry. really. it just helps with the stress you know? clears my head so i can focus.”

“mark,” you leaned in “is your sex life really more important than your three failing classes?,” you remind him of the reason why you were here in the first place. he doesn’t respond and the silence was answer enough. you look at him, brain already calculating ways to solve this problem, until you got to one conclusion — it’s a ridiculous idea but it would be the most effective.

“fine,” you said, tapping your pen against the table, “we can have sex,” you propose.

mark whipped his head towards you like you’ve just grown two heads, “what?!”

you shrugged like it was the most normal suggestion in the world, “i can’t have you missing another session, you need to pass these classes,” you reason. “i have a 100% success rate mark, i’m not letting you ruin that because you need to get your dick wet…so show up earlier, we add a stress relief session then start tutoring right away,” you explain like you’ve been thinking about this the whole week.

mark chuckles, an eyebrow raised. sounds like a pretty great plan to him — too great…actually.

“what’s the catch?,” he asks, eyeing you suspiciously, elbow on the table as he leaned towards you.

“no catch, i just have one rule” you smirk, pointing a finger up. he nods, urging you to go on.

“you can’t sleep with anyone else,” you say simply.

this makes him laugh.

“i don’t go exclusive, y/n.”

“please,” you scoff, “i don’t want to date you mark,” you say clearly, “i just don’t want to catch a disease.”

you were very aware of mark’s title — everyone’s favorite fuckboy, leader of the dream fraternity, co-captain of the university’s basketball team and can play guitar. everyone wants a piece of him. and almost everyone has gotten a piece of him.

“i’m clean!,” he argued, looking offended.

“yeah? for how long?,” you shot back, a teasing smirk on your face.

he exhaled, raking a hand through his hair, “fine…then i get to add a rule too.”

“that’s fair, what’s your rule?,” you ask.

“you can’t fall in love with me.” a smirk on his lips.

this makes you laugh.

“well, isn’t your lucky day, mark lee,” you say with a sly smile, “i don’t believe in love.”

he studied you for a moment, confusion flickering behind his eyes, a subtle memory from freshman year playing in his mind until the smile on his face faded into something quieter, “i’m serious, y/n,” he says with conviction.

you raise a brow, “and i’m serious too mark…the day i fall in love is the day money starts raining from the sky.”

he watches you then lets out a short laugh, “okay, just wanted to be clear,” he nods, a grin creeping in, “so…friends with benefits then?”

“exactly,” you hold your hand, “deal?”

mark laughs before accepting it, sealing the deal with a firm handshake, “deal.”

without warning, you yank him towards you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that steals his breath — it’s quick, sharp, deliberate. before he can respond, before he can even think about deepening it, you’ve already pulled away, a smirk on your lips as you start packing your things in your bag.

“this room’s only reserved for an hour and you just wasted it,” you say over your shoulder.

“my apartment. friday. 6PM. if you’re late we’re going straight to studying.” you warn him before leaving him there feeling like he just won the lottery.

it was the perfect situation for him — he’ll pass his classes and get to have sex without having to do all the extra work of chatting up a girl and trying to impress them just to get in their pants. it hasn’t even started yet and he already felt like a winner.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 4. friday.

mark knocks on your door at exactly 6:00 pm on friday evening. his backpack hung on his shoulder.

“huh…so you can arrive on time,” you tease, leaning on your apartment’s door.

“what can i say? i’m stressed and i need to be relieved,” he shrugs, a childish grin on his lips.

“alright, come on,” you grab his arm, dragging him past your living room and straight to your room.

“so…how do we do this?,” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck as he steps inside, standing in your room awkwardly, backpack still on his shoulder. he looks around, noticing your bare walls and how everything seemed to be neat and organized.

“what? sex? aren’t you supposed to be the expert?,” you quip, raising an eyebrow in amusement, snapping his attention back to you.

he rolls his eyes, “well usually, i flirt with the girl first before i get in their pants,” he reasons.

“nu-uh, we don’t have time for that,” you cut in, pulling your shirt over your head, leaving you in your red lacy bra and the tiny black pajama shorts that hung low on your waist.

mark’s eyes widen slightly, glint with amusement, unabashedly checking you out, “dang dude, you’re fucking sexy.”

“is that how you talk to every girl you’re about to have sex with?,” you chuckle.

“that’s how i talk to my friends,” he smirks, earning a snort from you.

“are you gonna take off your clothes or are you just gonna keep gawking?,” you tease, lips curled into a smirk. mark rolls his eyes, finally setting his backpack down by the edge of your bed and removing both his t-shirt and sweats with ease, leaving him in his black boxers, still standing across from you — it was your turn to check him out. he’s lean, more toned than you expected, abs on display, the outline of his cock prominent through his boxers.

“nice,” you mutter, making him raise a brow in amusement. in one smooth motion, you slide down your shorts and unhook your bra, tossing it to the side somewhere as you stood proud and tall, in your red matching panties, not shying away from his gaze.

your confidence (tits) draws him in, stepping forward, closing the distance. both his hands come up immediately, cupping your breasts, thumbs grazing smoothly over your nipples with open fascination. you hitch your breath, the sensation of his fingertips making your pussy clench around nothing.

mark almost can’t believe what’s happening right now, “this is silly,” he breathes out, a light chuckle slipping past his lips, his hands still massaging your boobs.

“my boobs?,” you ask flatly, a little offended.

“no, your boobs are great, dude,” he says quickly, “i meant this situation is silly, i’ve never had sex with a friend before,” he says, still rolling your nipples in between his fingertips.

“you can always back out, we can skip this and go straight to tutoring,” you say, giving him a chance to change his mind.

he lets out a dry chuckle, eyes flicking down between you, “y/n, you’re kidding right? my dick is hard as shit and i’m playing with your boobs…we’re not going straight to fucking tutoring.”

you grin, biting back a laugh, “i’m very aware that you’re playing with my boobs and if you don’t plan on fucking the shit out of me in the next minute, i’m putting my clothes back on,” you warn him.

he doesn’t wait for a second warning. his boxers hit the floor and you follow suit, slipping your underwear to the ground. grabbing a condom out of his wallet, he rolls it on smoothly. then, with no hesitation, he makes his way back to you, lifting you off the ground. mark was a lot stronger than you thought he was, picking you up like you were as light as a feather. your back hits your mattress with a bounce as he hovers over you, eyes dark with intent, that devilish, childish grin sitting on his lips.

then his mouth crashes onto yours in an instant, messy and hungry. the kind of kiss that’s all teeth and heat and no hesitation. you tug on his hair, eliciting a groan from him, urging him closer as your tongue meets, battling for dominance. his hands are everywhere, gripping your thighs, hips, waist like he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of your skin.

“hurry up mark, you’re on the clock,” you pant, fire curling low in your belly.

“you said fuck the shit out of you right?,” he growls against your throat, voice low, barely restrained.

“if you can,” you tease, challenging him to pick up the pace.

he was tired of the mocking. mark aligns himself against your entrance and with no warning, no gentleness, he slams into you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs — the stretch was delicious, filled with pain from the lack of foreplay, groans bouncing off of each other’s mouths, “fuuck y/n, you feel insane” he grunts as he thrusts with a rhythm that makes the bed squeak.

you wrapped your legs around him, forcing him in even deeper, harder, pussy sucking him perfectly as you calculatingly start clenching impossibly tight for him, “h-holy shit,” he groans, sweat dripping from his temple, “-quit doing that,” mark warns but doesn’t relent his unforgiving pace, chasing the edge like he’s starving for it.

all the while, you just wanted him to get there – the faster he finishes, the faster you can start tutoring. your hands wander throughout his body, leaving goosebumps all throughout his skin until they land on his nipples, you rub him until he was whining and groaning against your mouth, “fuck-mm close,” he manages to say in between his heavy pants, “me too,” you lie.

the pleasure in your stomach was building but you weren’t at all close to the finish line.

“yeah?,” he hisses, thrusts getting messier and messier as he fights back the urge to cum, waiting for you. his lips latch on to your neck, licking and kissing.

you decide to end his torment, “i’m cumming,” you announce, exaggeratedly, forcing yourself to clench around him as much as you can, watching him topple over. he grunts beside your ear, his release finally taking over as he spills into the condom.

“oooh, yeahh,” you moan, faking your orgasm as you push him off of you and into the bed beside you.

mark barely has a moment to catch his breath, chest still heaving from his orgasm, when he turns sharply toward you, narrowing his eyes, “wait…did you just fake it?,” he asks, feeling betrayed.

“uhh, no,” you mutter out, focusing on the ceiling, pretending to catch your breath.

mark shuffles beside you, clearly unconvinced, “that’s not how girls cum, y/n”

“that’s how i cum!,” you argue and mark shakes his head. he wasn’t stupid. he’s been with enough ladies to know that that was a fake orgasm.

he shakes his head, frowning, “no way, i feel like i just used you,” he says, the words leave a sour taste in his mouth — mark never leaves a lady unsatisfied, which is the reason why he kept on showing up late to the past three tutoring sessions. it doesn’t matter how long it takes, he’s not leaving the bed until they are done…until you are done. it’s a point of pride. call it ego or decency but either way, he doesn’t half-ass pleasure. how else do you think he got the title of the favorite?

“it’s fine mark, we need to start our session,” you say, sitting up. but before you could get further, mark tugs you back into the pillows.

your eyes widen in slight shock, “what are you doing?”

“pretty sure friends with benefits means were both benefiting,” he smirks, “i’m not moving on until you cum,” eyes glittering with playful determination, earning an eye roll from you.

“we don’t have time for this,” you scoff, trying to push him away. but he was a lot stronger than you, grabbing your hands and pinning you down the mattress.

“give me ten minutes,” he says, voice low. you look at him amused, “you think you can make me cum in ten minutes?,” you mock, an eyebrow going up.

“just shut up and reap the benefit,” he bites back as he starts trailing kisses down your neck, leaving no room for arguments.

“no hickeys, mark,” you warn him. he ignores you but doesn’t leave a mark anyways, lips trailing lower and lower, stopping for a moment to suck on your nipples, your back arching towards him. he takes a mental note of the way your body immediately responds every time he gets near your breasts.

that familiar pleasure starts to pool in your core again, unmistakable and creeping in fast. and when your hands go lax in his grip, he knew he won this time. he looks up at you with an amused glint in his eyes, hands slowly letting go of your wrists as he let them roam all over your body, mouth still worshipping your breasts, watching your every reaction, taking note of your satisfied little hums, the softs gasps and the way your lips part unconsciously.

he travels lower and lower, tongue leaving a warm, wet path behind. then, he pauses “hmm, what’s this?,” his fingers ghost over the tiny artwork placed on the right side of your hip, just above your underwear line.

“a cat.”

“cute,” he says with a grin, kissing over your tattoo, “why a cat?”

“i don’t know, i was drunk,” you were growing impatient, the frustration was getting to you. you’re pretty sure he’s already used up half of his ten minutes. now’s not the time for small talk.

“hurry up, mark,” you say, taking matters into your own hands and pushing his head lower – exactly where you needed him.

mark chuckles, the warmth of his breath making your thighs twitch, “feisty,” he teases, “the cat is fitting.” you’re ready to fire back with a smart remark but the words get caught in your throat when he slowly licks a strip between your folds.

“mmm, you taste so fucking sweet,” he praises, kitten-licking in between your folds before finally dragging his tongue up to your clit, swirling around the sensitive bud. a moan slips from your lips, all thoughts of tutoring and snarky comebacks dissolve, letting yourself enjoy the feeling of his tongue lapping against you.

you haven’t been eaten out in so long, your last and only boyfriend absolutely hated going down on you and the other one night stands you had never seemed like they knew what they were doing – always leaving you to finish what they started.

mark settles comfortably between your thighs, his eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss as he continues sucking, licking, spitting, completely consumed with the kind of hunger that makes it feel like he’s the one being pleasured. your hips instinctively move, grinding against his face as you tried to reach the high that was slowly but surely building inside you, “fuckk mark, f-feels so good,” you whine against his touch.

you feel him smirk against your clit before he slides two fingers in, following the curve of your pussy, learning the way your body molds. his mouth doesn’t stop, still locked onto your sensitive bud, sucking with relentless precision. and as soon as he found that spot, you can't help but shut your eyes in pleasure.

“oh goddd, mark,” you cry out, your body arching off the bed, head flat against your sheets as your fingers made it’s way to his hair, lightly tugging, making sure he stays exactly where he is. he lifts your legs over his shoulders, adjusting his angle, pushing his fingers in deeper as his mouth continues its worship. he eats you out like a man starved, the noises of your juices squelching filling up the room and it felt so, so good.

you can feel the heat rising through your body. mixtures of ragged pants and high-pitched moans tumbling out of your lips helplessly as the tension coils tighter and tighter inside you. then his free hand slides up to your torso, pinching your nipple just enough to tip you over the edge, completely at his mercy, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, im cumming, im cumming,” you gasp, repeating it like a prayer, fingers digging into the sheets until you’re knuckles were white, trying to ground yourself on something. your orgasm completely washes over you, body trembling as you were left gasping for air, jaw slacked, eyes rolled back, toes curled.

mark doesn’t let up, drawing out every aftershock until you’re twitching, overstimulated. you push his head away and only then does he pull back – grinning, breathless, face decorated with your slick.

“now that’s how girl’s cum,” he says proudly, licking his fingers clean, looking smug as hell.

you roll your eyes, trying to snap out of the haze, “you said ten minutes, that was definitely longer.”

“whatever kitten, we still have twenty minutes left of the tutoring session,” he smirks.

“kitten?,” you repeat, confused.

“it’s fitting right?,” he shrugs. you shake your head, reaching for your clothes with a playful scoff, ignoring the way your legs still feel like jelly. twenty minutes was not enough time but you grabbed the flashcards you had meticulously prepared earlier anyway.

“fine…time for music theory,” you say as mark groans dramatically beside you.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 6. sunday.

mark: wyd? come to the dream fraternity party

kitten: can’t. busy.

mark: but i need to relieve stress…

kitten: mark, it’s only been two days.

mark: yeah two days too long 😩

kitten: we’re literally seeing each other tomorrow

mark: why are you blue balling me? 🤕💔

kitten: im not. you can still use your hand! 🤗

mark: it doesn’t feel as good ☹️ not warm enough ☹️

kitten: go heat up a sock and figure it out 🫶

mark: are you sure that rule of yours is final? a really hot girl just walked in and my dick is pointing towards her direction 👀🍆🥵

kitten: go ahead 🙂‍↕️

mark: bro, really???

kitten: yep! but don’t expect to get your dick anywhere near me tomorrow 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

mark: nvm 😑

kitten: see you tomorrow 😇

mark begrudgingly walks up the stairs, ignoring all the girls who were glancing his way. he can’t risk it, the deal had just started and yesterday was too fun to spoil — settling into his sheets, he pumped himself up and down until he was spilling into his hand.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 7. monday.

when mark walked into your apartment, he was ready to pounce, eyes already scanning you like you were his favorite dessert. but he stopped short, confusion flickering across his face – you were wearing layers upon layers, “uhmm, you do know it’s spring right?,” he says.

“i know,” you say, a playful smile on your lips as you lead him towards your bedroom.

“so what’s with all the extra layers?,” he trails behind you, suspicious.

“we’re gonna play a game,” you say simply.

“noo, y/n, the deal was i get here, we have mind blowing sex, then we study,” he groans.

“yeah, well that didn’t work out last time,” you point out, remembering the fact that it took the two of you almost the entire session just to finish, “so i decided, we’re gonna mix the two together,” you finish, a sly smile on your lips.

“what’s the game?,” he narrows his eyes, though he can’t deny the excitement bubbling in him.

“for every question you get right, i take off a piece of clothing,” you say, explaining the rules, “and for every question you get wrong, you remove one of yours.”

he perks up immediately, spark dancing in his eyes. mark loves a good game. loves it even more when he wins — he sits at the edge of your bed, already looking far too cocky for someone who’s about to get mentally grilled. you sat on your computer chair across from him, flashcards in hand and fully clothed.

“alright, i’ll start off easy,” you begin, flipping through the flashcards you barely used during the last session, “what’s a major key with 6 flats?”

he laughs, “please, a G flat.”

“correct,” you nod, peeling off the scarf around your neck and dropping it to the floor. mark smirks. if all of your questions were this easy, you were going to be naked in no time.

“next, what do you do to write an aeolian scale?.”

“you use the natural minor of the note given,” he says with ease, relaxed and confident.

“lucky guess,” you mutter, slowly removing your cardigan.

“i’m not that clueless,” he explains, finding it all amusing. his eyes dropping to the now visible thin tank top you were sporting.

“then why are you failing three of your classes?,” you shot back.

“because the assignments are dumb and i don’t have time to do them, i already know how to apply them in real life,” he shrugs, “why do i need to know all these terms?”

you study him for a second, “mark, you can’t expect to skip steps and magically pass all of your classes,” you say.

“yeah, i’m learning that the hard way,” he pauses, his shoulders tense, the stress catching up to him once again, “now ask the next one so i can suck on your tits,” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, asking the next question anyway, “in scale degrees, major scales, what are the augmented triads?”

“trick question,” he smirks, “there are none.”

“correct,” you smile at him, removing one sock.

“you’re taking off one sock?? that barely counts!,” he groans like a spoiled child.

you shrug innocently, “still clothing.”

he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “okay fine, give me the next one.”

you raise your eyebrow, “what’s a hemiola?”

mark frowns, racking his brain for an answer, “uhhh…”

you grin, tapping your foot.

“something about a repeating melodic phrase representing a theme?,” he asks, head turned like a curious puppy.

“wrong. thats a leitmotif,” you correct him, “shirt’s off, mark lee.” he groans but obeys, tugging it over his head. you do your best not to stare too hard at his abs but he catches you.

“define consonance and give an example,” you grin wickedly.

“seriously?” he asks. “this is cruel.”

“take off your pants if you can’t answer,” you tease him. he mutters under his breath about how unfair this was before his pants come sliding off, leaving him in his boxers.

“what is a long note divided into shorter, usually melodic, values?,” you continue, holding up the next card.

“oh! i know that one, it’s a diminution,” he says proudly. you remove your other sock.

he narrows his eyes, “you’re cheating.”

“nope. you’re just losing,” you tease.

you flash the next card, “alright, what is existing or occurring within the world of a narrative rather than as something external to that world?”

“...i hate you,” he mutters as he gives up on pretending to answer, accepting defeat and sliding off his boxers. his semi hard cock on display.

you laugh, fully dressed except for the missing cardigan and socks, “awee, look at you…all naked and we’re barely halfway.”

mark glares, though there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, “this is the most academically humiliating foreplay i’ve ever experienced.”

you laugh, “where is the tenor clef sign located?,”you give him an easy one, knowing that he needs to have motivation to keep going.

“one space above the alto clef,” he says. you hum, pleased, stripping off your leggings, showing off the white lacy underwear you wore just for him. his eyes drop instantly to the undeniable wet spot of your arousal and you part your legs slightly, inviting him, teasing.

“you sick little, kitten,” he swallows, “this is actually turning you on?,” he asks, mildly confused and little turned on.

“what can i say? i love humiliating men,” you smirk, earning an eye roll from him, “what’s a cluster?”

“a chord consisting of at least three adjacent notes of a scale,” he answers, voice low, tense. more determined now to get the answers correct.

“good boy” you purr, lifting the tank top over your head, that little praise makes his mind go absolutely crazy, his cock twitching. your sheer white bra does nothing to hide your hardened nipples and mark fights back the urge to pull you into his lap and fuck you senseless, his boner getting harder within each passing second, restraint visibly cracking.

“define neoclassicism,” you ask, voice steady, brows raised.

mark blinks, then answers slowly, “uhh a general revival or interest in classical cultures and usage of themes and styles from ancient greece and rome?”

you look up at him, impressed, “can’t believe all it takes is wanting to see my tits to get you this focused,” you grin, unclasping your bra and tossing it right into his lap. he catches it midair, eyes instantly zeroing in on your now bare-chest. you roll your chair closer to him, spreading your legs and placing them on either side of him, effectively caging him in. mark’s breath hitches – it was getting real hot in here and he was fully naked.

he reaches for your breast but you slap his hand away, “touch me and the session ends. we’re done.” you warn — having control turns you on more than you care to admit. the way his eyes darken but obeys anyway. the tension practically pulsing between your bodies. he looked so small in between your legs and it makes you want to break him even more.

“hurry up and give me the next one,” he mutters, jaw tight, trying his hardest to keep his hands to himself. it was torture. having a sexy half-naked girl right in front of him and not being able to do anything about it. your breasts were on full display, sitting prettily on your chest, your panties were practically dripping and he wanted nothing more but to taste you. wanted nothing more than to hear you moaning under him once again — you were a cruel vision of pleasure he’s not allowed to touch.

“a phrygian is which degree for the key?”

“uhh fifth?,” he guesses.

“wrong,” you say, lips curling in amusement. he groans, cock twitching.

“a mixolydian is which degree for the key?”

“third!,” he tries this time.

“wrong again,” you say, nearly laughing now. his patience was starting to blur. he’s one wrong answer away from losing his mind and you’re relishing every second of it – enjoying every grunt that passes his lips. his cock twitching so close to your core, making you clench.

“you got them mixed up,” you correct him before asking the next question, “a lydian is which degree for the key?”

he groans. he was barely holding on. he shuts his eyes, pausing, taking a minute to think about it, “...fourth?”

you lean in, voice silk and smoke, “are you asking me or are you telling me, mark lee?”

“i-i’m telling you,” he says, voice shaking with the amount of restraint he was trying to hold on to. you were so close now, heat practically radiating off of you. you smirk up at him, tossing the flashcards to the side and smashing your lips on his. he responds immediately. lips chasing yours, urgently and needy.

“correct,” you whisper in between the kiss. his hands immediately latch under your thighs as he pulls you into his lap. you feel the hot, hard press of his cock against your soaked underwear.

“take these damn panties off,” you murmur against his ear. he grunts as his fingers slide beneath the lace, pulling down the last barrier between you.

“fuuckk, you’re dripping for me,” he praises, dragging his fingers through your slick, rubbing up and down your folds before sliding two deep inside of you, making you moan against his lips. this time, his fingers immediately find that spot that makes your toes curl.

“r-right there, mark…d-don’t stop,” you whine, the tension between you rising as your hips start riding his digits, matching the rhythm of his fingers curling inside you. each thrust sends sparks through your belly, pressure building fast. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast but precise circles that have your head falling back, the grip on his shoulders tightening as you continue to bounce on his fingers. his lips close around your nipples, tongue flicking, sucking furiously, drawing out the high you can’t hold back — your orgasm came crashing down embarrasingly fast, leaving you breathless.

“can’t believe humiliating me got you this fucking soaked,” he smirks, breath hot against your skin, “you’re such a dirty girl, kitten,” he teases, licking his fingers clean. before you can recover, he flips you over with practiced ease, ass up and back arched just the way he likes it. you hear the familiar crinkle of foil as he tears open the condom wrapper, then feel the thick heat of him pressing against your entrance before he slides in, deep, the stretch making your teeth clench — the wait was worth it. you were so wet for him…so warm he almost busted as soon as he entered.

“you’re cumming on my cock this time,” he growls, determined, as he adjusts his member, searching for the angle that makes you scream. as soon as he found it, his fingers dig into your hips, thrusting into you from behind, sharp and relentless, your face pressing down on the sheets as the slap of skin echoes throughout the room.

this new angle hits you perfectly, “f-feels so good,” you manage to gasp, voice shaking with every snap of his hips as your hands continue to grip the sheets for stability, moans growing louder with each movement.

he growls in response as he leans over your back, lips brushing your ear, “this what you wanted, kitten?, to tease me until i snapped?” you can barely form words, nodding helplessly, body jolting forward with the force of each thrust. his hand snakes around to press against your lower belly, holding you still as he drives deeper, harder, making sure that you can’t fake anything this time.

“cum,” he demands, his breath hot against your neck as he starts sucking on your shoulder, “cum all over my cock.”

“fuck mark–i’m so close!,” you cry out, voice cracking under the pleasure, building fast and unforgiving. your knees feel weak beneath you but his grip keeps you grounded, keeps you exactly where he wants you. sweat sticks to both of your bodies now, the heat almost unbearable. then, without warning, he pulls you up, your spine arching as he pressed you against his chest. one arm wraps around you tightly, holding you in place while the other dips between your thighs, fingers finding your swollen clit, circling in perfect sync with the relentless thrust of his hips.

“c’mon, kitten” he breathes against your neck, voice low and rough, “give me another one,” he grunts. you cry out, whimpering, overwhelmed — your release finally taking over as breathless whines of his name slip from your lips.

you came all over his cock, body jerking in his arms, head falling back against his shoulder. mark holds you through it, grinding deep inside, chasing his own release with a sharp muffled groan against your skin. for a moment the room is nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and the faint creak of the mattress, savoring your shared orgasms until he finally pulls out, flopping backwards onto the bed with a satisfied sigh, arm draped over his eyes. you let yourself melt into the pillows, limbs heavy and boneless, chest still rising and falling in the aftermath. he lies beside you, chest glistening with sweat, rising with each breath.

“well,” mark pants, breaking the silence, “if we keep studying like this, i’m definitely passing all of my classes with an A+”

you laugh breathlessly, turning your head to the sound of his voice, “A+ huh? that’s bold of you.”

“please,” he says, cracking one eye open to look at you, “you saw me, I was focused, determined…inspirational,” he exaggerates, a playful smile on his lips.

“you got half of the questions wrong,” you point out, “we’re far away from an A+,” you tease.

he smirks, “fine by me, that just means more tutoring sessions,” he throws you a wink and you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

you kick him out of your apartment as soon you both calm down, mark leaving completely satisfied. this is, by far, the greatest deal he has ever had to make.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 9. wednesday.

you sat cross-legged on the bed, flashcards in hand, watching mark settle into your desk chair with boyish excitement written all over his face. he leaned back, arms draped lazily over the armrests. you weren’t wearing a ridiculous amount of layers today, which meant he was going to be able to fuck you faster than last time.

“so,” you begin, flipping through the stack, “today’s game is a little different.”

his brows lift in curiosity, an eager smile playing at his lips. of course it was. he should’ve known you always came with surprises. always keeping him on his toes.

“for every question you get right,” you say, pausing just for dramatic effect, “i suck your dick.”

mark’s eyes widen a little too fast, the thought of your mouth around his cock so appealing. this was going to be too easy, “you’re joking?,” he breaks into a smug grin.

“i’m not,” you smirk, making your way over to him and sinking to your knees in front of him. you look up, expression all wide eyes and faux innocence. he knows better by now. “but don’t get cocky,” you warn, smirking as you settle between his legs, “i’m not moving if the answer is wrong.”

that wipes the grin off his face, just a little, “i’m not getting any of them wrong.” he came prepared this time, actually paying attention in class and reviewing his notes in order to be able to be rewarded by you.

you chuckle as you tug his sweats down, revealing his already semi hard cock, “no underwear?,” you asked, an amused smile on your face.

“why bother?,” he shrugs, a chuckle leaving his lips. with no warning, your fingers wrap around his member, stroking slowly, giving him a preview of what’s to come — mark immediately groans at your touch, head tipping back slightly at the sensation of your warm hands, cock already twitching in your hand. you looked so tiny around him and he’s already struggling to keep his composure. then your tongue glides along the side of his shaft, slow and deliberate, before swirling around the tip, collecting his leaking precum. the taste lingers on your tongue as you look up at him through your eyelashes. he was too relaxed, too comfortable, eyes focused on you with a smug on his lips. without breaking eye contact, you take the tip of his now fully hard cock into your mouth, sucking gently. it earns a low grunt from deep in his chest, his thighs tensing beneath your hands, but just when he leans into the sensation, you pull away completely, lips slipping off him with a soft pop.

frustration flashes across his face as you casually reach over and grab the stack of flashcards beside you and he’s reminded that this was the game. perhaps, this is not as easy as he thought it was going to be. he sighs in defeat and all you do is wave the flashcard lazily in your hand, eyes glinting with mischief. mark sits up straighter, his dick incredibly hard and throbbing in front of you, twitching with every passing second.

“alright,” you begin, voice sweet, innocent and absolutely lethal, “what is existing within the world of a narrative rather than as something external to that world?,” you repeat the question he got wrong last time.

mark squints, trying to focus, despite the way your fingers are slowly tracing circles on his inner thigh, not quite touching him. “diegetic or source music,” he answers. you raise an eyebrow, impressed, a hum of approval slipping past your lips.

“correct.” before he can smirk, you lean forward again, lips wrapping around him once more, this time a little deeper. his head falls back instantly, a low grown escaping. you suck him in slow and warm, letting the reward sink in and just as he starts to melt, you pull away again with a soft gasp of air, reaching for the next card like nothing happened.

he looks down at you, flustered, chest rising faster, “kitten, you’re insane.”

you flash him a dangerous smile, “define mickey-mousing.”

he doesn’t answer right away, jaw tight, trying to stay focused while his cock stands there, glistening and so so hard. “a film technique that syncs the accompanying music with the actions on screen,” he says, breathing hard.

“look at you, actually paying attention,” you tease before leaning in again, placing a kiss to his tip, taking him once again, just a little deeper, a little wetter. his whole body shudders and he mutters something that sounds like a prayer. you were only three flashcards in. he doesn’t know how much of this edging he could take. he hopes, god, he hopes he knew all the answers. when you let go again, you smile sweetly, tapping the next card against his thigh, making him clench slightly.

“what are the notes of a D major triad?” — “D, F, A,” he manages to say.

“hmm, wrong, those are the notes of D minor triad,” you correct him, leaving his cock neglected as you sit back on your heels, folding your hands in your lap. “no mouth for wrong answers,” you tease as he groans, head falling back dramatically.

“you’re actually evil, kitten.”

you only smile, reaching for another card. he glares at you like a man on the verge of a breakdown, “hurry up, i'm going to die.”

you ignore him, “list all major intervals,” you ask, resting your elbow on his knee like this is the most casual game of flashcards in the world. like his dick wasn’t right in front of your tits — the image has his cock twitching extra hard. he had to get this one correct. he racks his brain for the answers, recalling what he learned in class.

“it’s major second, major third, major sixth and major seventh,” he answers shakily.

your hand curls around the base of his cock again, making him suck in a sharp breath “correct,” you take him in all over again. he exhales hard, threading his fingers into your hair, grounding himself. you’re slower this time, deliberate and precise, letting the praise build in your mouth just like the tension between you. he did give you four correct answers. when his hand tighten a little too hard, you pull off again.

“fucckk, i hate this,” he whines shakily.

“scale the degrees in order,” you smirk.

“tonic, supertonic, mediant, subdominant, dominant, submediant, leading tone,” he answers quickly, determined, voice breathless with need.

“wow…all correct,” you say, a light shock in your tone and a proud smile tugging at your lips. he doesn’t even get a second to bask in it before your mouth is on him again, wet, warm, perfect. he moans, hips twitching up slightly and you let him, just for a second. the reward is intoxicating. and you have half the mind to continue sucking him until he was writhing under your touch. but you pull away once more, wiping your lips with a devilish smile.

“alright, next one,” you say cheerily, like this is all just a friendly trivia night.

mark looks like he might cry.

“why are you doing this to me?,” he gasps.

“don’t act like you don’t like it,” you say, “besides it’s working, you’ve only missed one question so far,” you say proudly.

“yeah, because i’ll literally die if i miss another,” he whines — this went on for a good thirty minutes more. mark only getting a couple wrong, until you were down to your last flashcards and he was teetering at the edge. ready to bust every single time you put your mouth on him but not quite getting there.

his cock is so red, throbbing, leaking to the point it hurts. a couple drops messily on his thigh, a couple on his stomach but never enough to reach his full release. there were tears streaking down his cheeks, his lips quivering. he was absolutely gutted. absolutely vulnerable.

“what’s the natural minor scale pattern?” — “minor diminished major minor minor major major,” he answers, getting the words out as quickly as possible.

this time, instead of wrapping your mouth around him, you reached for the condom you had ready, sitting pretty on your desk, anticipating this moment. his breath hitches as you tear the wrapper open with your teeth, wrapping it on his hard cock, mark practically growling under your touch. you smile sweetly, removing your shorts and crawling into his lap, knees pressing into either side of his hips. the heat of your soaked underwear brushing against his cock makes him hiss through his teeth.

he can’t take it anymore.

“what are the chromatic intervals?” — “minor, diminished and augmented intervals,” he whispers, barely hanging on.

“good boy,” you praise him as he breathes heavily under you. pushing your panties to the side, you lined him against your entrance. his breath catches, fingers finding your hips as you start to sink down onto him, inch by inch, teasing slowness, warm and tight until he’s fully buried inside you. his cock stretched you just right. a strangled moan escapes both of your lips.

“holy shit,” a low, wrecked sound escapes his throat, as he grips your hips tightly, trying his best not to unload right there, “thank you,” he trembles, breathing shakily.

he was obviously not going to last long. and it was so extremely hot. you discard the flashcards as you rolled your hips once, slow and deep, each movement designed to drive him out of his mind. mark’s hands are everywhere now, on your back, thighs, gripping your ass as he helps guide your motion, pushing up into you with desperate need. everytime you drop your hips, he lets out another choked curse, eyes glued to the way your body moves against his. you feel his cock twitch inside you, a telltale sign that he was incredibly close to coming undone.

“you gonna cum for me?,” you whisper against his ear, teeth gently grazing the lobe. he nods frantically, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes. he’s never felt this kind of pleasure before, the kind that makes him lose absolutely all sense of logic, just nodding like he was some sort of yes-man.

“-fuucck kitten, yes, d-don’t stop, p-pleasee,” his whines encourage you, dragging your hips in a deep circle that has you both gasping. it doesn’t take long. the tension you’ve built the entire session finally snaps as he groans your name, hands clutching you, hips buckling up hard, coming with a gasp buried into your neck.

you don’t stop bouncing. continuing to fuck yourself into his cock, rubbing your own clit.

“k-kitten, it hurts,” he whines. you block all of his pleas of stops, all of his whimpers, the way he’s fully crying out, fingers gripping his own hair, until your thighs are shaking, orgasm taking over, a loud moan slipping from your lips as you cling to him, both of you gasping, bodies slick and trembling.

you absolutely wrecked him — mark’s vision blacks out for a minute too long. his arms loosely wrapped around you as he tried to catch his breath. hair sticking to his skin. that was the best fucking orgasm he’s ever had and he’s had a lot.

and just like the past two tutoring sessions, mark was out the door as soon as he got dressed and it doesn’t get any better than this.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 11. friday.

mark enters the university’s basketball court, searching for your frame. you’d texted him to meet you here, a lot earlier than the usual tutoring session. the court was empty, echoing slightly and he spots you instantly, sitting on the bleachers with a book in your hand — he wonders what today’s game is, a little worried about the public location you chose.

“hey dude,” he redirects your attention to him, “are we about to indulge in exhibitionism?,” he teases, an eyebrow going up.

you laugh, closing your book. “no mark, we can’t have sex today,” offering him a sheepish smile.

he looks at you like you just delivered the worst news he could ever hear, “is everything okay?,” he asks, taking a seat next to you.

you nod, “everything’s fine, i’m just on my period,” you say casually, turning toward him.

his eyes widen slightly in acknowledgment before a grin breaks out of his face, “you know…,” he leans in, whispering, like you weren’t the only two people in this room right now, “a period only stops a sentence,” he teases.

you roll your eyes, lightly shoving his face away, “nu-uh mark lee, no way,” you say crashing all his dreams of period sex down the drain, a light smile on your lips.

“why not?, i heard somewhere, it helps with all the cramps and stuff,” he continued, still trying to convince you.

“i’m on my second day, everything’s too messy,” you say flatly, dismissing the idea with a wave of your hand. “—anyways that’s not why we’re here,” you rise from the bleachers, grabbing one of the basketballs on the side and tossing it to him.

mark catches it easily, “we’re gonna play basketball?”, he asks, a brow raising.

“yup, i read somewhere that physical activity helps with memory retention, so we’re gonna play a game while i tutor you,” you explain, standing a little below the hoop.

“you can play basketball?,” he asks, clearly amused, as he starts dribbling the ball in front of you.

“i’m no co-captain of the basketball team or anything but i’ve got a few moves,” you reply, stealing the ball from him with a cheeky grin, “and…if you win, you get to choose what we do during the next session.”

his brow raises, a smirk on his face, mind already racing of things he wanted to do to you. he could have you in his lap as he fingers you until you cry for him. he could have you bent over your desk as he fucks into you. he could spend the whole day eating you out. the possibilities were endless.

“alright,” he says, already feeling competitive, “game on.”

mark dribbles lazily as he awaits your question. you narrow your eyes, “the classical era dates are?”

mark answers quickly, “1750-1820,” like it was a piece of cake. he really is getting better at paying attention in class.

“correct. take the shot.” he does and it bounces off the rim, a curse slipping from his lips. you catch the ball with a grin.

“the romantic era dates are?,” you ask, already dribbling towards the other side. mark gets the answers correct again as you ducked under his arm, tossing the ball into the net.

“okay, showoff,” he mutters playfully, jogging to grab the ball. the game goes on for a solid fifteen minutes. the two of you jogging back and forth. you call out questions, dates, composers, and mark fires back with surprisingly accurate answers. it was a good game between friends, a good session between a tutor and her student.

mark was winning now with several points ahead of you. he hasn’t missed a single shot since the first one, while you were just getting lucky every time you made the ball in your net. he can’t help but find it adorable though – the way your face would light up every time you made a shot. the way you would do a mini celebration, a happy little dance. it was so different from your usual serious, focused, studious side. this side of you is loose, giddy, warm and he’s having way more fun than he expected to.

“alright,” you say breathless but still trying to keep up with him, “dates of the modern–”

you don’t get to finish your question. a sudden wave of pain crashes through your abdomen, so sharp it knocks the air right out of you. you double over mid-step, the ball slipping from your hands and bouncing off to the side, a yelp coming slipping from your lips.

“w-what’s wrong?!,” mark practically bolts to your side as you inhale, trying to catch your breath.

“sorry, just a really bad cramp,” you say, shutting your eyes as the pain traveled all throughout your body. he watches you for a second or two, eyes scanning your figure, registering the pain before he closes the distance, crouching in front of you. he has no idea what to do. he’s never dealt with a girl on her period before. his hands hover for a moment before resting gently at your sides, fingertips against your lower abdomen in slow circles.

you flinch, surprised at his touch, “what are you doing?”

“don’t massages help?,” he asks softly, big brown eyes filled with worry. his touch is careful, like he’s afraid of making it worse. you don’t have the heart to tell him it doesn’t really help, not with cramps this intense. still, the gesture alone tugs something warm in your chest. so for a moment you just let yourself sink into it, leaning against his chest for support like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your head rests there, tentative at first, then heavier. it’s a moment of vulnerability you haven’t shown anyone for a long time – not since your ex made you feel like needing comfort was a flaw, like softness was a burden.

mark stills when you rest against him, almost like he’s holding his breath. then, slowly, hesitantly, his arms come around you, careful and steady, not sure if any of this is okay. he doesn’t say anything, just holds you, warm and solid, his chin brushing the top of your head as you breathe through the pain. no teasing, no jokes, no snide remarks – just quiet presence.

eventually, you gently pull back, and he feels himself straighten as if waking from a trance. “i think i have to cut the tutoring session short today,” you say apologetically.

“kitten, don’t even worry about that,” he says immediately. the nickname — usually tossed around with a grin, lands softer now. you don’t think too much about it, brushing off the feeling as soon as it came.

slowly, you got up from the floor, pushing through the lingering pain, “i’m gonna go home and die now,” you say with a weak laugh. he chuckles quietly, standing with you.

“i’ll walk you home,” he offers and you turn it down immediately.

“it’s okay, mark,” you make your way back to the bleachers, gathering your things. “i’m a big girl,” you add, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “i can take care of myself,” you shoot him a smile as he follows you out the court.

“you sure?,” he asks, eyes scanning your face like he’s still not convinced.

“yeah,” you say gently, “thank you, though. i'll see you on monday,” you lean up and press a light kiss to his cheek, quick, grateful. then you turn to leave, not waiting for his response.

behind you, he stays still on the court, watching your figure walk away like he’s not quite ready to let the moment end. the kiss on the cheek lingering on his skin.

once he got back to the dream house, mark still can’t help but wonder if you were okay. he’d showered, changed, even tried zoning out to whatever song was playing through his speakers but his thoughts kept circling back to you. the image of you doubling over in pain, your face twisting as you tried to play it off, like it was nothing, kept replaying in his head like a song stuck on loop.

and he hated it – hated seeing you hurt. hated the way you pretended it wasn’t a big deal. hated the way you apologized for needing a break and absolutely hated the way you waved him off, like his concern was too much.

he told himself it was normal. this was normal. he is your friend. it’s normal to be worried about your friends. that’s allowed.

when he walked into the living room and found jaemin sprawled across the couch, glued to his phone and jeno halfway through a protein bar, he didn’t stop to think before blurting out, “what do you do when angel and bunny are on their periods?”

the question dropped like a brick. jaemin blinked, his gaze dropping from his phone to mark, “uhh why?,” he asks, a curious grin on his face.

mark shrugs, flopping down onto the couch “nothing, just curious.”

there was a beat of silence, then jaemin replied, “well, angel’s gonna murder me for saying this but she gets needy…wants me glued to her side the whole time with extra cuddles and kisses…heating pads are a must,” jaemin chuckles, “oh and sex helps too,” he says with a wink.

mark huffed a quiet laugh, “what about bunny?,” he turns to jeno.

jeno choked on his water, “uh–what? bunny and i don’t have sex,” he says flustered.

mark eyes him suspiciously, “yeah, i know. that’s not what i meant,” he says slowly, “i mean she’s your best friend and you’ve known her since forever right, you should know what she’s like on her period?,” he asks, a playful grin on his lips.

“oh..right,” jeno mutters, “uhm she’s the complete opposite, she locks herself in her room like she’s going into hibernation mode, she just texts me with a list of snacks she wants and i leave those at her door and leave,” he explains.

mark chuckled, but it faded quickly. his mind was racing with a million thoughts of how he could make you feel better. what were you like? did you want to be left alone? did you want snacks? cuddles?...is cuddling even allowed?

jaemin tilted his head, studying him. “wait…is this about your girl?”

mark blinked, “she’s not my girl.”

jeno gave him a long, skeptical look.

“she’s really not!,” mark repeated, more defensively this time, “we’re just friends and i care about my friends well being, okay? that’s all,” he convinces himself more than he does them. before they could say anything else, mark stood up, headed for the door.

⟢

when your phone buzzed, you squinted at the notification from your cocoon of blankets, blinking away the throb of cramps that hadn’t quite given up yet.

mark: hi friend

mark: i’m outside

mark: just want to make sure you’re okay lol

you hesitated, considering pretending to be asleep but something in you tugged toward the door. that soft, stubborn part that wanted not to feel alone tonight. curse these hormones. you cracked it open to find him there, hoodie half zipped, a plastic grocery bag in hand.

“hi,” he said, a little breathless, “i brought you some things.”

you opened the door wider, letting him in, “i told you i was okay.”

“i know but as your friend i had to make sure,” he practically shoves the bag in your hand as you inspect what’s inside. the bag was filled with different kinds of snacks, chocolates, candies, and three boxes of heat patches.

you took the heat patches out and raised a brow, “three?”

“listen,” he said, flopping lightly on your couch, “jaemin said they were ‘a must’ and i panicked,” he says casually and you couldn’t stop the small smile that crept up. it’s been a while since the last time you’ve let anyone do anything for you.

“thank you,” you breathe, the words soft and sincere, stripped of your usual teasing edge. the smile you give him isn’t your usual sly smirk either, it’s quieter, gentler and it makes something in mark’s chest flutter unexpectedly. he looks at you a second too long, heartbeat catching like it’s suddenly forgotten how to work properly.

minutes later, the snacks were spread out on your coffee table, a heating patch working its magic under your hoodie and to all the boy’s i've loved before playing on your t.v. mark sits beside you, a careful few inches of space between your bodies. he didn’t try to fill the silence, didn’t try to cheer you up with jokes or distractions. he was just there – steady and warm and quiet.

when the credits roll, he finally speaks, voice low, “you know,” he says, glancing over at you with a soft smile, “for someone who doesn’t believe in love, i wasn’t expecting you to put on a romcom,” he turns his body towards you as you sat end to end on the couch.

you laugh, shifting slightly under the shared blanket, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a tired smile, “please, your favorite movie is spiderman…do you believe he’s real?”

“how do you know spiderman’s my favorite movie?,” he asks, a light smirk on his face.

“sophomore year, film elective class, you were totally geeking, practically bouncing up and down next to me,” you remind him, exaggerating the detail a tiny bit.

mark huffs a laugh and nudges your knee with his, “ok but it’s different…spiderman is a fantasy character.”

“exactly,” you say, your voice softening, “so is love.”

the words aren’t bitter. just…matter-of-fact. like something long accepted and carefully folded away.

mark turns his head toward you, studying your face in the dim glow of the screen. shadows play across your features, softening the hard lines you've spent building — he thinks back to the first time you met during freshman year orientation. you were the first person he’d ever talked to, bouncing up to him in a soft blue sundress and a smile too big for the room. you introduced yourself with sparkles in your eyes, asking him if he believed in soulmates, like that was a completely normal ice breaker. you were glowing then, all wide-eyed and wonder. all heart. spilling stories about your high school boyfriend like love was the most natural thing in the world. he hadn't even told you his name yet, and there you were, already peeling yourself open for him, talks of forever from your pink lips. you were all blush-colored hope and reckless honesty. he remembered thinking you were kind of intense. too trusting. overly romantic. he hadn’t understood the way your whole world seemed to spin on the axis of love.

now, years later, that sparkle has been replaced by a colder fire, a guarded kind of strength he’s grown used to. the kind that keeps everyone at arm’s length. the kind that never let’s anyone close enough to see where it hurts. your smile — once easy and disarming, has taken a brittle edge, still beautiful, but sharpened by something heavy and unspoken. you don't talk about soulmates anymore. you don't talk about love at all, not unless you're tearing it down.

he noticed the change during the last semester of freshman year. people whispered about your breakup, but no one knew the details. just that it ended and something in you shifted. like someone had quietly reached inside and flipped a switch — it became more evident when even the way you dress has changed. your light, gentle dresses were replaced by blacks and deep reds, structured silhouettes that made you look untouchable. strong. sharp. sometimes he wonders if you’re hiding behind those clothes or they just mirror what’s left…he wonders when exactly the world taught you to stop believing in forever.

“what made you say that?,” he asks finally, voice low, careful not to press too hard but needing to understand.

you hesitate, eyes not meeting his just yet. debating whether its safe to give this piece of yourself away. and maybe it was the vulnerability of the night. maybe it was your hormones messing with your brain, like you’ll tell yourself later. but right now, you find yourself answering him.

“it’s just…” you exhale, like the words are caught in your chest, “love doesn’t last. people swear it’s forever and then suddenly, it’s not. one day you’re holding hands and dreaming together, you have a ring on your finger and the next they’re telling you that you’re too much. too needy,” you blink slowly, memories flickering behind your eyes, “that he only loved me because it was easy. and the second it got hard, he left.”

mark stiffens beside you, “you were engaged?,” he asks, surprise threading through his voice.

“shocking, right?,” you force out a dry laugh, bitter around the edges, “i almost fell for the scam.” your voice is steady, each word carefully measured, telling the story without letting it touch you. but your eyes betray you, they've gone distant, unfocused, like you’re watching a memory you wish you could turn off. there’s a smile on your lips but it’s all muscle memory. empty. the kind of smile people put on when they’re used to pretending they're fine.

mark’s jaw tightens. there’s a sharp flare of protectiveness in his chest, something hot and furious aimed at the ghost of a man he’s never met.

you continue, voice barely above a whisper, “so yeah, spider-man, love, same category…fiction.”

the silence that follows is thick, heavy, but mark doesn’t rush to fill it. he sits in it with you, lets it stretch out between the two of you without trying to clean it up. the pain in your voice isn’t loud, but it’s there – woven through your words like thread through fabric. he doesn’t throw some cliche about how the right person will come along. does not insult you with hollow optimism that people usually responded with. he doesn't try to talk you out of your truth or tape over a wound he can't even see the full shape of.

instead he nudges your knee again, gentler this time. a small touch, reassuring.

“i don’t think you’re too much,” he says quietly, the words careful and real, “not even a little.”

you look at him then. you don’t say anything for a while, neither does mark. and he’s not sure if that was something he was even allowed to say. you’ve built so many walls that even kindness feels like trespassing…then, in true fashion, you break the weight with a teasing smile, “who’s your favorite spiderman anyway?,” you ask.

the shift it so perfectly timed, so you, that it makes mark huff a laugh. he knows its your way of giving you both room to breathe again and he's grateful for the shift.

“tobey,” mark says with zero hesitation.

you groan dramatically, hands flying to your face, “no way, everyone who says they’re favorite spiderman is tobey is blinded by nostalgia! his spiderman was a creepy stalker!,” you argue passionately.

you lower your hands just in time to see mark laugh…really laugh. the kind that crinkles his eyes and pulls a genuine sound from his chest and it makes something bloom in yours.

“okay well, who’s yours then?,” he asks playfully. “andrew.”

he scoffs, “nope, his peter parker was great but his spiderman was not ‘spidermanning’ at all!,” he argues back, the made-up word slipping out so confidently it makes your brows lift.

you roll your eyes, a smile on your lips, “i didn’t say i liked him for the spiderman of it all.”

“oh?” he says, eyes gleaming with curiosity, “then what?”

you shrug, slow and teasing, “he’s the prettiest one…and,” you lean in a little closer, mark watching you, “i like looking at pretty things.”

his smile falters for a split second, eyes flicking to your lips.

“do you now?,” he murmured, voice lower now, the space between your faces shrinking by the second.

“mhm,” you mutter and then, without overthinking it, you close the space and kiss him softly, slowly, carefully, like testing the weight of something fragile, unsure if it’s meant to be held at all. his hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. it’s not like any of the others you’ve shared before – not playful, not messy, not reckless. this one feels like stepping into something unknown.

it doesn’t last long. just a few seconds. just lingers enough to feel real.

when you finally break apart, neither of you speaks right away, just looking in each other’s eyes like you unlocked something dangerous. the stillness lingers, dense and a little too loud.

you're the one to break it, typical you, peeling the weight away with a crooked smile, “i’m still not down for period sex” you tease. he forces himself to laugh, trying to push away the tension that lingered in the air.

“fair enough,” mark says, standing slowly, “you should rest anyway and maybe lay off the tobey slander,” he says.

you laugh softly, leaning your head against the couch cushions as you watch him move around your apartment like he belongs here, “i’m right about him.”

he chuckles, grabbing his phone and keys, “text me if you need anything, seriously. even if it’s just to complain about life,” he says warmly, a small smile visible on his features.

“thanks for tonight, mark,” you say as you get up, stretching your limbs and walking him to your door.

he pauses in the doorway, like he wants to say something else, but instead he just nods, “of course, that’s what friends do.”

and then he leans in again, placing a soft kiss on your temple. his voice is quieter this time, almost tender, “goodnight, kitten.”

you freeze, just for a second, but your response comes automatically, “goodnight, mark”

and with that, he’s gone, the door closing with a soft click. you’re left in the quiet and for the first time in a long time, your apartment doesn’t feel quite so lonely. and still, despite the warmth lingering on your lips, despite the comfort of knowing someone cares, there it is, crawling up your spine and tightening in your chest — fear.

⟢

the walk back to the dream house was quiet. mark’s hoodie sleeves are pushed halfway up his arms but the cool night air doesn’t do much to ease the heat still lingering in his chest. the night loops in his head like an endless record.

the kiss. he’s never been kissed like that. like it was more than two lips touching, chasing the lust.

that kiss was cautious. it had weight. like it had been carved out of something deeper, something neither of you knew how to name. he was sure of it. it’s the way you looked at him, like you completely trusted him, even for just a second. and maybe it didn’t last. maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow and bury it under sarcasm and boundaries. but that look…that look is stuck under his skin now.

he exhales slowly, staring down at the sidewalk. his footsteps echoing in the quiet — you were vulnerable tonight. he knows that. he could feel it in the way you curled in on yourself when the cramps got bad, the cracks between your jokes, that look in your eyes when you talked about your ex. mark noticed it all. that’s the problem. because he doesn’t know what the kiss meant or if it even meant anything at all. maybe it was just comfort. a soft, fleeting thing you reached for in the moment. maybe you’ll wake up and decide it wasn’t real. if that’s the case, he’ll happily play along, laugh it off, bury it.

but his chest still feels tight. he can’t wrap his head around the fact that you said love was a fantasy. and you still kissed him that way. like he mattered. like he was more than just your friend, more than just a body in your bed.

his mind is all over the place. thoughts going back and forth. he swallows hard, jaw tightening. all this thinking wasn’t supposed to happen. you were never supposed to mean anything. for god’s sake, he was the one who said that you couldn’t fall in love with him with. he meant it, too. back then, it felt like the safest thing to say. a wall, not just for you but for him, too.

he doesn’t do love. he’s always been good at lines. at keeping things in neat boxes. clean. uncomplicated. no drama. bodies, not hearts. moments with no meaning, only pleasure. he knows how to care just enough to make it feel good and not enough for it to matter. he’s practiced, efficient, detached.

but something about tonight is cracking through that. and he’s not sure he’s ready to face it.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 14. monday.

when mark entered your apartment, he hadn’t known what to expect. he’d spent the entire weekend mentally pacing, replaying friday night over and over, dissecting every word, every glance, every breath between you. and then he’d forced himself to stop. to push any thoughts of you away, telling himself it didn’t mean anything.

but still, when you opened the door, his heart thudded in his chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

then you smiled, that same guarded expression, the one that never quite reached your eyes. you looked the same you had last week, composed, cool and out of his reach. he knew right then, that he was right. that moment was fleeting and completely over. erased.

“hey, earth to mark lee, you there?,” you wave your hand in front of him, snapping him out of his daydream.

“yeah, sorry, what was the question?,” he asked, blinking.

“dang dude, you weren’t lying when you said sex helps you focus,” you tease him. today was another no sex session, seeing as you were still on your period.

he chuckles, letting out a groan and burying his face in your pillows, “i can’t belive god gave you periods, this has been the longest week of my life.”

you sat cross-legged on your bed, mark sprawled out beside you, “i told you i can always give you a blowjob.”

his nose scrunches up, peeking at you from the pillow, “no. not after your last blowjob session.”

“it wasn’t that bad,” you feigned innocence.

“kitten,” he deadpanned, lifting his head to glare at you, “you edged me so hard, i cried.”

“and?” you grinned, shameless, “didn’t it make the orgasm like 10x better?”

“at what cost, though?,” he asked dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart, “i saw my soul leave my body.”

you laughed, reaching over to poke his side, “but you survived.”

“barely,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, sitting up, facing you now, “you really enjoy tormenting me, don’t you?”

“only when you make it so easy,” you said sweetly, “besides, you didn’t complain that much.”

mark let out a long exaggerated sigh, head tilted towards you, “you’re lucky i like you.”

it slipped out carelessly. there was a beat of silence. the two of you holding your breaths at the words he uttered out.

for a second, neither of you moved. mark cursed himself internally. really? now? after a weekend of telling himself it meant nothing…he says that? out of all the things he could’ve said? he really needed to get better at thinking things out before saying them.

the memory of friday night replays in your mind. the slow kiss, the quiet way you looked at each other, the parts of yourself you weren’t supposed to show. you didn’t know why you let it happen but you did. what you do know is that you crossed a line and you had to make things clear.

you shifted slightly, voice coming out softer than before, “listen, mark…about friday night,” you bring up and you feel him freeze slightly.

“i really am grateful for the snacks and having a friend there but…,” you hesitated, searching for the right words, “i was all up in my period feelings and did some stuff i usually wouldn’t...”

you glanced at him, “if that makes sense?”

“no, i get it,” he said quickly, too quickly. “don’t worry i didn’t read too much into it,” he lies.

“cool,” you said, giving him a sheepish smile, “so…we’ll just forget about it?”

he ignores the way you can’t say the word kiss. he ignores the way he can’t bring himself to say that word either. both of you dancing around the “stuff” that happened.

he looked at you for a beat, then cracked a grin, “forget about what?”

you chuckle, shoving his shoulder and reaching out for your notes, resuming the session like nothing happened. like your heart hadn’t skipped a beat. like his hadn’t just cracked a little more under the pressure of pretending.

before the silence could settle over you, you change the topic, “you know, you kinda remind me of peter parker.”

mark raises an eyebrow, amused, “oh yeah? how?”

you lean back, teasing, “you’re always acting like the weight of the world is on your shoulders but somehow manage to crack a joke when it counts.”

this surprises him a little bit. he hadn’t realized how much you could actually see through him during these past tutoring sessions. how close you’d been paying attention. he doesn’t dwell on it, afraid of what other feelings it may unlock.

“i didn’t know i was that dramatic,” he finally says, playing it off with a small laugh.

“you’re not,” you say, meeting his eyes for a brief moment, “but you carry more than you let on.”

mark looks away, lips pressing into a faint line. he wants to keep the mood light, to make another dumb spiderman joke but your words hit a little too close. and that unsettles him more than he cares to admit. he clears his throat, “well, does that make you mj or gwen?,” he flirts.

you smirk, “neither. i'm your guy in the chair.”

mark laughs, eyes crinkling, “you mean like ned?”

“exactly. reliable. sarcastic. smarter than you and absolutely not dying in anyone’s tragic love arc.”

“bold of you to assume,” he says with a grin, shaking his head. you grin back, flipping a page in your notebook. you go back to explaining the notes in front of you and he listens, nodding at the right times.

on the surface, everything settles back into easy rhythm — banter and bullet points. but under all the teasing and laughter, one thing stayed unspoken. neither of you had really forgotten. not even a little.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 16. wednesday.

to say mark was excited was a complete understatement. clearing things up with you absolutely helped, he wasn’t left wondering the maybe’s. he blamed the momentary feeling on that night and it was done. explained. buried deep in a box somewhere.

today was all about his reward and he was absolutely ecstatic. he’d been counting down to this ever since your little basketball game ended in his favor. he knew exactly what he wanted as soon as the proposition was brought up. this was his moment – his perfect payback for that blowjob that ended in tears and torment.

so when you asked him what he wanted and he replied with, “i want to cut tutoring short today and have my way with you,” you had no other option but to oblige.

which is how you ended up here now, seated between his legs, thighs parted, panties long gone. your slick glistened in the warm light of your bedroom, a blindfold wrapped securely around your head – completely open, completely at his mercy. the cloth stays firm over your eyes, heightening every sense. you feel everything. his breath on your shoulder, the heat of his thighs beneath yours, the stillness between touches. you sat there, waiting…then you felt it.

something cool and slender lightly tracing along the inside of your thigh. your breath catches, legs twitching at the unexpected contact, “what is that?”

mark hums thoughtfully, as if considering the question, “just something i found lying around.”

it moves again, gliding upward, skimming where you needed him most. he circles the object around your clit without pressure, ghosting enough to make you clench. you shift your hips, trying to chase the feeling, but he’s already pulling it away.

“mark,” you grit out, jaw tightening.

“shh,” he murmurs, nibbling on your ear, “let me enjoy my reward.” you swallow hard, heat pooling in your stomach. you were sure this torture was going to last forever and you knew he was doing this on purpose. teasing you to the edge, just like you did to him.

the thing, whatever it is, drags lightly over your folds now, collecting wetness as it goes, “so fucking wet and i haven’t even touched you yet,” he whispers beside you, making goosebumps rise throughout your neck. you’re about to snap a snarky remark when his fingers suddenly replace the object, two of them sliding through your slick folds with infuriating slowness, pressing just enough to build pressure but not nearly enough to satisfy.

“fuck,” you gasp, fingers clutching his thigh as your hips jerked. he lets you have his digits, inserting two of his fingers and curling them just where you need him the most but before you can even enjoy it, he pulls back.

you whine as he withdraws, leaving you empty and throbbing, “we’re just starting, kitten,” you hear the smirk in his voice and it’s absolutely annoying — to be vulnerable this way and have no control.

mark brings the mystery object back, the cool tip sliding up your folds again, this time more deliberately. you squirm, desperate for friction. the blindfold has turned your entire body into a nerve – every inch sensitive, every second unbearable. then you feel his hands again, large and warm, settling on your thigh, the other slipping into your shirt and gliding up your torso, fingers leaving a blaze of fire until he reaches your breast.

you inhale sharply when his fingertips ghost over one nipple, already peaked and begging for attention, “you’re always so sensitive here,” his voice cuts through the silence, your breathing becoming heavier and heavier. his thumb brushes over the bud, a whine slipping from your lips. he has you memorized by now. the little ticks that turn you on. which was a lot for mark, considering most of his past sexual partners had only been for one night.

something brushes over your nipple – cool, round, smooth. you’re not sure if its the same object and it’s driving you insane, “what the hell is that?,” you ask, your voice breathless. mark doesn’t answer this time, just littering kisses along your neck, letting the object speak for him. it circles your nipple slowly, deliberately, then he flicks it lightly, sharp enough to make you gasp and arch forward, your head resting against that space between his neck. his free arm comes up to your waist, keeping you locked against him.

“you’re not allowed to squirm yet,” he murmurs near your ear, voice thick with satisfaction. he switched to your other breast, teasing it with that same cold precision. the contrast between your flushed skin and the chill of the object is enough to make your toes curl. you needed more.

you writhe, frustrated, “mark, please,” you beg for something…anything.

“shhh kitten,” he soothes, mouth brushing the shell of your ear, “be patient.”

his mouth returned to your neck, warm and wet, while the mystery object rolled lazily across your breast. your aching cunt left throbbing and dripping. you feel the hard press of his cock through his sweats and still he makes no move to satisfy either of you. he trails lower, teeth grazing your shoulder and just when you think the cold object might return to your nipple, it doesn’t.

instead, his fingers return, sliding down your slick folds. two strokes. three. then gone again.

“mark,” you gasp, body twitching under the restraint of his arm. you can’t think of any other word but his name — so caught up in the thrill of it all.

“you keep saying my name like i’m gonna feel bad,” he says with a chuckle, “i’m just repaying you.” then he brings the cold object down again, dragging it teasingly along your inner thigh before brushing it just over your clit, making you shudder in his hold, as he smirks behind you.

“kitten, you wanna know what i’ve been using?,” he whispers, smug and quiet. you nod quickly, barely able to breathe. he brought it up in front of your face, knowing full well you couldn’t see it and said, clearly amused, “your pen.”

you groan, “there’s no way it feels that good,” you managed to say. he just laughed quietly, brushing your hair back from your face, “the power of a blindfold,” he whispers. you barely had time to process his words before he was shifting behind you, leaving you sitting on your bed alone. a mixture of confusion, excitement and slight fear at the thought of what he has planned.

mark makes his way around, standing at the foot of your bed as he watches, loving the way you had no idea what’s coming to you. his hand makes contact with your shoulder, making you jump slightly as he pushes you down to your sheets, your back making contact with your soft pillows. you sucked in a shaky breath, wonder traveling throughout your body. then he hovers over you, kissing the hollow of your throat as he carefully pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere, exposing your tits to the cool air. he lets his tongue graze, tracing a path down the center of your chest until his lips find your nipple again. you gasped as his mouth closed around it, sucking, warm and wet. the suction paired with the flick of his tongue in a rhythm that made your spine arch.

“fucking perfect,” he muttered against your skin, teeth grazing before he soothed the sting with another kiss. his hand moved to the other breast, thumb circling lazily around the peak, squeezing just enough to make your hips buck.

but he didnt move lower, “you like being edged, don’t you?,” he whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction.

you whimpered, nodding, desperate, frustrated.

“use your words, kitten,” mark demands.

“yes,” you gasped, “please, mark, just–,” your plea broke off into a cry when his mouth trailed lower, down your stomach, leaving goosebumps behind. he stopped just above your mound, breathing you in like you were the only thing in the world.

“you smell like heaven,” he praises. then his hands gripped your thighs, firm and possessive, pulling you open further – his mouth on you in a second, hot, wet and needy. his tongue dragged through your folds slowly, deliberately. one long, teasing lick. then another, circling your clit, keeping you on the edge. you moaned, loud and desperate, your hand flying to his hair instinctively. he groaned at the contact, encouraged. finally, he gave your clit the attention it had been begging for, flicking, sucking, licking until your thighs were trembling.

and just when your stomach starts to clench — he pulls back.

“no–,” you gasped, “don’t stop, please—”

but he had already moved his mouth, licking the inside of your thigh, soothing and tortuous all at once.

“not yet,” he said, voice dark and patient, “you don’t get to come until i say so.”

you could cry from how badly you needed him. he was relentless, bending your body to his rhythm, his pace. his tongue returned, more insistent now, fingers slipping inside you this time, curling just right and every time that heat started to spiral, his mouth would pull away, his rhythm would slow and the wave would slip just out of reach.

it was torture – delicious, devastasting torture.

your breath came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling rapidly. the blindfold making it worse. every sound, every touch, every breath he took, every swipe of his tongue felt magnified. and mark was loving every second of it. the way he had all control under his fingertips.

“you keep sucking in my fingers,” he murmured, voice thick with arousal. “you wanna cum that badly, kitten?”

you nod furiously, broken whimpers slipping past your lips, your pride long gone. then you felt it again. that same, cool rounded object from earlier. your pen.

he dragged the tip of it along your folds, now slick and pulsing from his touch, watching the way your legs twitched with each pass, “bet you’ll never look at this thing the same again,” he whispered near your hip. the pen collects your dripping arousal, “such a mess,” he breathes out, tongue surprisingly latching onto your folds again, sucking your juices. you whimpered as he slides a finger inside you again, slower, deeper, making you feel every second of it.

“you feel how close you are?,” he asked, voice gravelly, dangerous. you nodded frantically, choking on a breath only for him to pull back again.

“mark, please, i’m sorry,” you cry out desperately. wanting so bad to finally be relieved. the edging was too much. your clit was throbbing so painfully and you needed him so badly. he leaves you untouched for a second too long, watching you squirm for him.

then with absolutely no warning, mark slaps his hard cock against your cunt, making you moan out in pleasure. he slides his member up and down your wet folds, teasing your entrance and for a moment you don’t even care that he’s not wearing a condom. his skin felt so fucking good againts yours. you just wanted him inside you. you felt the tip of him nudge against you again. but he didn’t push in. he just stayed there, teasing.

you whined, toes curling into the sheets, body arching up, “please….”

he chuckled, low, quiet, “i love hearing you beg,” he said, his tip brushing over your clit, solid and hot against your slick, “makes it real tempting to give in.”

“i could take you right now, kitten,” he whispered, voice wrecked with restraint, “you’d be so good for me, so ready,” he hums against your skin.

you gasped, barely holding onto your sanity, practically sobbing, “please do it, mark, please i need you,” you were soaked, throbbing, voice breaking with utter desperation — that was all he needed to hear. mark wraps his member and not even a second later he finally thrusts into you, sliding into your hole with ease. your body was so prepared for him, walls completely squeezing around his cock so perfectly, so warm.

he yanks off the blindfold from your face and for a moment the room spins with light and clarity until his brown eyes come into view. your tear-filled eyes meet his and the heat in his steals your breath. he was breathing just as hard as you are. just as worked up. he brings your legs up to your shoulders, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer, holding on to him like he was your lifeline. he was in so deeply, his cock hitting that spot over and over again. you were trembling, panting hard, jaw clenching as you fought to keep your eyes open. mark hovered above you, his thrusts unrelenting, his own breath ragged, the heat between you unbearable. you moaned his name like it was the only word you’ve ever learned, your voice dissolving into desperate, broken sounds.

“i’m gonna—mark, i’m gonna…,” your grip on his shoulder tightens, nails digging into his skin.

“—go on kitten,” he growled in your ear, voice thick with hunger, “cum for me.”

that was it. the pleasure tore through you like a wave, your whole body arching as your orgasm finally hit you. hard. jaw going slack, vision blurring, eyes rolling back as you practically saw stars. the way your pussy pulsed around him sent mark over the edge, “fuck kitten, such a good girl,” he managed to say in between breaths, before he was groaning in your neck, spilling into the condom. his movements slowed as he rode it out, then he collapsed gently on top of you, both of you shaking, skin slick and flushed.

you stay there for a moment or two, trying to even your ragged breathing. then…laughter bubbled from your lips. light, uncontrollable, like something cracked open inside you and it sounds like music to his ears.

“what?” his head lifted slightly, brows drawn, cock still inside you.

you giggled again, still catching your breath, “h-holy shit, mark” you gasped, eyes glassy with aftershocks, “i don’t think i’ve ever came that hard before.”

he gave you that crooked, self-satisfied boyish smirk and you almost regret complimenting him. then slowly, he pulled out of you, making your body ache with the sudden absence.

carefully, he brushed the tears from the corner of your eyes, “you okay though? i wasn’t too much?”

your heart tripped in your chest. you hated that it did.

you nodded, keeping it casual, ignoring the way his concern made something twist painfully inside you, “yeah. i’m good.”

he nods, settling beside you as you laid there, still catching your breath, your limbs buzzing, body sore in a satisfying way. mark hadn’t moved much either, his arm casually draped over your thigh, chest rising and falling steadily with you. neither of you spoke, but the silence wasn’t awkward. it was warm. settled. easy in a way it probably shouldn’t have been. it was too dangerous. you needed to break it.

“i’m hungry,” you said, voice still scratchy.

mark glanced over at you, a brow raised, “i just gave you an orgasm of a lifetime and the first thing on your mind is food?”

you gave him a lazy grin, “we burned a lot of calories from that, we deserve carbs”

he didn’t comment on your use of we. or the way that there was a we now makes his heart skip a beat. but the fact that he liked the sound of a we was far worse. that box he buried somewhere deep inside, suddenly popping up.

“you’re ridiculous,” he says, forcing out another laugh.

you reached for your phone on the nightstand, “pizza okay with you?,” and he realizes you’re inviting him to stay. you’re not kicking him out like you usually do after a session.

he pushes it a bit further, wanting to see how far this invitation goes “as long as i get to pick the movie this time.”

you narrowed your eyes at him like he’d stepped on thin ice and he’s afraid he pushed it a little too far, misread the moment, until you say, “and what movie are you picking?”

a smile curved his lips as he grabbed his shirt and sweats off the ground, putting it on, “spiderman. obviously,” he says, already making his way to your living room couch.

you blinked at him then grabbed the first clothes within reach, your shorts from the far corner and his hoodie slung over your desk chair, “which one?,” you called through your room, putting the clothes on.

“there’s only one right answer!”

“andrew’s?,” you teased, walking out of your bedroom. he froze for a second. you, in his hoodie, smiling like that. that same smile from freshman year. his brain short-circuited. you were making this whole forgetting thing really hard.

“hope you don’t mind,” you said with a small laugh, “i have no idea where you threw my shirt,” you chuckle.

“that’s fine,” he replied, maybe a little too fast, “and no not andrew’s”

you snorted, “fine, i’ll order pepperoni and you can fangirl over your web-slinging childhood hero,” you smirk, calling papa john’s.

mark grinned as he turned on the t.v. and started searching for the movie, “hey, that’s spiderman, protector of new york, thank you very much.”

you settled beside him a few minutes later, pizza box on the coffee table, movie playing, quiet jokes exchanged through bites of crust and cheese. somewhere between tobey maguire’s awkward charm and halfway through the pizza box, the space between you disappeared. this time, there was no gap. no careful leaning away. your thighs brushed his and neither of you moved. neither of you said anything. but maybe, just maybe, you both felt it — that same quiet something that had been growing since that friday night. still unspoken. still unnamed.

and mark realizes that he could get used to this.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 18. friday.

the door barely clicked shut before mark had his hands on you – rough, needy, all control. he didn’t waste a second. not a single hello, not a single warning. his mouth crashed into yours, all hunger and heat, urgent and commanding, steering you straight to the bedroom with the kind of focus only frustration could fuel.

“m-mark, what’s wrong?,” you managed to ask, concern laced in your voice.

“need you. now,” he growled, voice low, flat with no room for playfulness. you didn’t even make it to the bed. he spun you, yanked your shorts down, shoved you onto your desk chair. one hand ripping open a condom, the other dragging your panties aside and in one swift motion, he was inside you.

you gasped at the intrusion, fingers gripping your desk table, not at all prepared for him. there was no easing in, no pause. just raw, relentless need. and he didn’t care. he couldn’t care. he had too much to burn off. he thrusted in and out of your hole with a desperate rhythm that had you gasping his name between moans. the sound of skin slapping echoing through your bedroom walls.

“fuuuck, kitten, just what i needed,” he groaned, fingers digging into your hips like he was holding on for life. you were sure his fingerprints would mark your skin. he pulls you back onto him with every snap of his hips, like he couldn’t get deep enough, couldn’t get close enough.

“mark, fuck,” you gasped, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. but he didn’t slow down. he was absolutely locked in, chest heaving, only focused on reaching that high.

“everything’s fucked,” he muttered between gritted teeth, slamming into you hard, “i just needed this…needed you.”

you felt him twitch inside you, pace stuttering for half a second, just enough to send that familiar heat spiraling through your core. the roughness, the force, the way he clung to you like you were the only thing that mattered – it pushed you straight to the edge. your body tensed, a cry spilling from your lips as your orgasm washed over you. you clenched incredibly tight around him and that’s all it took.

“shit, i’m cumming,” he groaned, choking on the sound as he slammed in one last time, hips jerking, fingers still digging into your flesh like he’d break without the contact.

for a moment, all that filled the room was the sound of your breathing – heavy, wrecked, uneven. he stayed there, buried deep, his forehead resting against your back, arms still wrapped around your waist like letting go would make the world crash in again. his breath fanned hot across your skin, heavy and uneven but slowly starting to settle.

you blinked through the haze, heart still racing, legs barely steady beneath you. you turned your head slightly, voice hoarse but gentle, “mark, what was that?”

he didn’t answer at first. just exhaled, slow and ragged. then he pulled out with care, discarding the used condom and pulling his sweatpants back up. his hands steady you as he gently placed your panties back in place. he turned you to face him, guiding you to sit, and then leaned in to press a kiss to your lips – soft, slow and achingly tender. the complete opposite of everything that had come before.

“are you okay?,” you asked, reaching out to cup the side of his face, searching for the answers in his eyes. he allowed himself to lean into your touch. almost like he needed it to breathe, eyes fluttering close for a second.

“jeno got in a fight,” he sighs heavily, voice low, almost defeated.

he sank into his knees in front of you, resting his head in your lap. without thinking, your fingers immediately thread through his hair like they belonged there, like this was normal. his arms wrapped around your waist with quiet desperation, “it got recorded, reached the dean in seconds and i had to go clean it up, make sure we don’t get shut down,” he says tiredly.

you just listen to him, letting him unravel.

“and finals are on monday, i think i’m ready…we’ve been studying really well, my quizzes went okay but it’s also my last chance…if i don’t pass these classes, i'm off the basketball team.”

his arms tightened around your waist like he was bracing himself.

“it’s just been…a lot, everyone thinks i’ve got it all together. they don’t even know i’ve managed to screw it all up…i’m failing my classes, the team…everyone,” his voice broke on the last word, barely more than a whisper.

his eyes shut again, like he couldn’t bear to have anyone see him like this — mark, who was everyone’s favorite. mark, who always made confidence look effortless. mark, who everyone admired, who never looked tired. mark, who was here, on your bedroom floor, falling apart.

and you realized now just how much he’d been carrying and how alone he must have felt doing it. he was a mirror of your own reflection. so you ask him the one question you wished people asked you.

“do you want to talk about it?,” you whispered, thumb softly brushing along his cheek.

his jaw tensed beneath your touch and you thought he might pull away. shove the vulnerability back down and wrap himself in that playful charm he wore so easily when you were sitting across from him at study session or tangled up in the sheets. but instead, his shoulders slumped. he starts, voice low and rough, “i thought i could fix it, just grind harder, push through like i’ve always been able to…but things just kept stacking up. practices, papers and now this thing with the fraternity.”

you’d seen the cracks, of course. you weren’t oblivious. him being late, the bags under his eyes, the way his shoulders stay tense no matter how relaxed he tried to seem. but he always played it off and you never pushed.

“i couldn’t tell anyone,” he continued, softer now, “i’m the leader, the co-captain…i'm supposed to know what to do. everyone leans on me, if i fall apart what happens to the rest of them?.” he lets out a bitter, humorless laugh.

“and i couldn’t tell you. you’re already helping me so much with tutoring and the sex and i didn’t want to drag you into my shit. especially since…this thing between is isnt supposed to include this, right?”

you didn’t respond right away because he was right — there were walls between you that needed to stay up. this was supposed to be easy. you were supposed to be each other’s safe option. the ones who didn't come with emotional trauma. the ones who wouldn’t ask for more. the ones who never pried, just notes, flashcards and casual sex without the weight of feelings or expectations.

“we’re still friends mark,” you said gently, “and friends don't let you go through the hard stuff alone.”

your voice was soft, but steady. you offered a small, honest smile and he finally looks up, meeting your eyes, letting himself be seen. he didn’t say anything after that, just looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.

you didn’t break the gaze, didn’t try to fill the silence. you just stayed there, fingers still gently curling in his hair. letting him be here. letting him breathe. and he did – his head rested in your lap, arms still loosely wrapped around your waist like he didn’t quite know how to let go. didn’t want to let go. you could feel the weight of him, every little thing he’s been holding in, slowly settling.

no one rushed to define what this moment meant. no one tried to make a joke to cut the lingering tension — it was just quiet. stretching between you full of things unsaid. of a certain kind of understanding that didn’t need to be spoken out loud. and for now, this was enough.

just two people, sitting in their own wreckage, breathing together, pretending they weren’t crossing a line.

eventually, you felt the need to offer him something more than quiet comfort. something normal. something safe.

“what do you say, we skip tutoring session for the day and watch spiderman 2, i can order chinese this time?,” you say, finally breaking the quiet.

his eyes flicked up to yours. there was a pause, like the suggestion took a second to land. then slowly, the tension in his face bagan to ease, a smile tugging on his lips, “and what about finals week?”

“mark you know it, you’ve gotten every single question right our last two sessions,” you reassure him, “there’s not a single doubt in my mind you’re going to pass,” you smirked, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

that pulled a real breath of relief from him, a soft laugh, muffled against your lap, “we’re watching tobey’s spiderman 2, right?”

for the rest of the night, there was no tutoring, no expectations, no pressure. just honey walnut shrimp, fried rice, spider-man swinging through new york city and two people, curled up on the couch, who weren’t quite sure what they were but certain that this comfort, this closeness, was something they wanted.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 20. sunday.

mark: dude

mark: [1 image]

mark: saw this and thought of you

kitten: ???

kitten: mark. that’s just a cat.

mark: she has your eyes!!

kitten: bro 😭😭

kitten: she looks like she’s ready to attack u

mark: exactly

mark: just like you! 😼

kitten: seek help

kitten: and good luck on your finals markkk

kitten: you're gonna kill it

mark: what’s my reward if i pass? 🫣

kitten: freedom from me 🙂‍↕️

kitten: sex with anyone you want! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

kitten: any day you want!! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

mark stared at your texts, thumbs hovering over the screen, his grin being wiped off — it was exactly the kind of thing you’d say. playful, detached, safe. like he hasn’t seen the most vulnerable parts of you. like you haven’t seen the worst parts of him.

his stomach churns in a funny way. it didn’t hit him until now that passing his classes also meant your tutoring sessions were over. no more flashcards, no more learning each other’s bodies, no more movie nights and greasy take out foods. no more you.

he set his phone down beside him, letting his head fall back against the pillow. suddenly, the finish line didn’t feel like a victory lap. it felt like a goodbye. and sure, you would still be around, he would still see you in passing, on campus, in random parties – you would still be his friend.

the word leaves a sour taste in his mouth. if he was being completely honest, he didn’t want to stop seeing you. he didn’t want this to end just because the excuse to stay had run out. he wanted to be on your couch, watching spiderman. you still had six of them to go. he wanted the greasy takeout, the shared silence, the casual way your leg would brush against his like it didn’t mean everything.

he wanted to keep learning you. your favorite color, your favorite songs, your favorite everything until there was nothing left to learn. and even then, when all the learning is done, he just wanted to be there.

he wanted to be allowed to stay. to be able to wrap his arms around you and not wonder if he’s crossing a line. to show up with all your favorite snacks, and this time he knows what they are. to kiss you and not feel that sick, sinking guilt in his stomach when it meant more to him than it ever should have.

he started typing: what if i don’t want freedom from you?

he stared at it for a second. then deleted it.

typed again: sooo i still get to bother you after finals, right?

he deleted that one too.

mark: haha, nice 👍

he sighed, tossing his phone face-down onto the bed like that would somehow quiet the tightness in his chest.

your phone buzzed again. his response felt off or maybe it was just all in your head. you shook the thoughts away and turned back to your laptop, reviewing for your own classes.

you weren’t going there. you couldn't.

you refuse to be too much again. too needy.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 21. monday.

when mark stepped out of his last class of the day, he found you immediately, leaning against the wall, a drink in your hand, smiling at him.

before he could even think about it, his feet were already moving, carrying him, each step closing in towards you as he pulled you into a hug. his face nestles in the crook of your neck, a quiet sigh of relief slipping past his lips. he just wanted to stay here for a while. wrapped in the calm only you seemed to bring.

you froze, just for a moment. the hug catches you off guard. you’ve never been this touchy in public. you could feel the eyes on you, see a few raised brows in your peripheral vision. still, after a beat or two, you gave in, arms looping around his waist, one hand still gripping the cup of milk tea you got for him.

“it wasn’t that bad, was it?,” you murmured near his ear. he chuckles against your neck, the breath of air tickling before leaning back just enough to look at you, his hands still lingering on your hips like he’d forgotten to let go.

“i’m pretty sure i aced it,” he said, all confidence and charm.

you raise a brow, “so why did you just hug me like the world was ending?”

his smirk flickered, replaced by something quieter, heavier “you said once i passed, this would be over.”

he tried to keep it light, but the words tasted bitter, “figured, i should take what i can while i still can.”

you push away the feeling rising in your throat, glancing down at the drink in your hand, shoving the emotion aside “here, i got this for you, a mini reward.”

he takes it with a soft laugh, fingers brushing against yours, just a moment too long. his eyes stayed on you as he took a sip and something about the way he looks at you makes your chest twist — it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. not in daylight. not out here, in the open, where it could be mistaken for something real.

“people are staring at us,” you murmured, gaze dropping.

he doesn’t even glance around them, “let them.”

you tried to deflect, lips tugging into a smirk “what? and ruin your chances with all your girls?”

but he didn’t laugh. he didn’t play along. didn’t take the out this time.

“maybe i only want one girl.”

the breath caught in your throat. your heart stuttered. you looked up at him, eyes searching, desperate to find some hint of irony, some trace of a grin. anything that would let you write it off.

“hmm,” you force out a chuckle, thin and cracked, “you? mr. i don’t go exclusive,” you teased, your voice barely holding steady.

he smiled, but he didn’t deny it. that was when the panic set in.

“i have to go, i still have a class to get to,” and before he could respond, you were already walking away. you didn’t look back. you couldnt.

mark stayed where he was for a while, just watching your figure get smaller and smaller, drink in his hand, feeling the warmth of your body still clinging to his skin. people moved around him in chatter, footsteps on concrete, but it all blurred.

he meant it — he didn’t just let those words slip for no reason. he’d thought about it all night, maybe longer, and when the words came out, they didn’t surprise him. and it didn’t surprise him either how quiet you went, how fast you looked away, how quickly you pivoted back to safe ground, barely entertaining the thought.

you were the girl who didn’t believe in love. he knew that. and you could continue pretending that this was nothing. you could continue to shove it down with a joke, whatever you needed to do to keep him at arm’s length.

but he was done playing along. he wasn’t going to pretend anymore.

he wanted you to have all his mondays, wednesdays and fridays. even the tuesdays and thursdays. and every last goddamn saturdays and sundays. if you’d let him.

⟢

mark’s words echoes in your ears, clear and sharp and impossible to shake as you lay in your bed, wide awake.

you replay the moment in your head, over and over. the way he held you like you were something to hold onto. the way his fingers didn’t let go right away.

the way your heart betrayed you.

you hated how easy it would be to believe him. to want more. to hope. again.

but love had already burned you. already ruined you. it hollowed you out, left you scattered in pieces you barely recognized. you gave and gave until there was nothing left to give and even then, you still tried to be enough. you made yourself smaller, more manageable, easier to love. and you hated it. hated who you became when love took over – clingy, dependent, pathetic, insecure.

the kind of person who lost herself in someone else’s orbit and called it devotion. the kind of person who mistook being needed for being desired. the kind of person who became the version they needed until the real you felt like a distant memory.

it took everything to rebuild yourself from the wreckage love left behind. you had to learn how to be alone again. how to stop apologizing for needing anything at all. you had to teach yourself to exist without someone else’s hands holding you together.

you swore to yourself you’d never be that girl again.

but here you are, heart stuttering at a single sentence from a boy who was never supposed to matter this much. all your careful walls cracking, your breath catching, body already leaning toward him like muscle memory.

and even after all the warning signs going off in your head, every scar whispering don’t, you can’t help but want him.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 23. wednesday.

there was a knock on your door. you didn’t have to look through the peephole to know who it was.

you consider not opening it. pretend you weren’t home. an internal conflict going on between your mind and your heart. one half of you aching for him, the other half gripping onto the remaining boundary you had left.

you sigh, dragging your feet across the door, fingers hesitating on the knob.

“kitten, i know you’re there, the light is on,” mark’s voice announces through the other door. the nickname didn’t feel harmless anymore. it felt like a hand reaching through a door you were trying desperately to seal shut. a reminder of the closeness you’d let happen. the thing you swore wouldn’t need again.

“i brought food,” he added, tone lighter this time. like this could be another normal night of movies and food and silence where feelings should go.

you hated how much you wanted it. hated how you unlocked the door and pulled it open, meeting the brown warm eyes that was so dangerous. he was in one of his hoodies that always looked too comfortable, takeout in his arms with an expression that you couldn’t quite read. or maybe you didn’t want to.

“i thought we could watch spider-man 3, it’s the last tobey one,” he said, raising the food like it was some sort of offering.

you stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in and he walked in like he always did. like he belonged here, in your space. he removed his shoes, placed everything on the coffee table, sat on his side of the couch like everything was normal. like nothing happened. like those words didn’t leave his mouth and had you stuck on him ever since. like he hadn’t said something too big for this setup you had.

and you let him. you followed the script too. you dimmed the lights, grabbed the blanket from the side of the couch and pulled it over both of your legs, hit play on the movie.

for a while, neither of you said a word. until the movie reached a lull and you realized not a single joke has been said between you. you sneak a look at him only to find he was already looking at you.

“why are you looking at me like that?,” you whisper into the night air.

“like what?,” he deflected, smile barely there.

you raise a brow, giving him a pointed look, but your heart is already thudding, “like that,” you murmur.

mark’s smile fades into something quieter. something real. his eyes didn’t leave yours, “maybe i’m just trying to memorize you,” he said softly, like the words had been sitting on his tongue for days. it was quiet and honest. and it wrecked you.

your chest tightened. heat crept up your neck, blooming beneath your skin, but it wasn’t the good kind. it was panic, nostalgia, longing, everything you’d spent years trying to outrun. you blinked fast, trying to swallow the ache, the confusion, the hope. you couldn’t hold his gaze.

then his hand moved, gentle, almost afraid, thumb brushing over your thigh, “does this really have to end after finals?,” he asked. his voice wasn’t playful. there was something almost broken in it. something that wanted more.

you look down at his hand. it’s warm. steady.

you forced your voice into something light, something distant, “what do you mean mark?,” you play dumb, “you can still come over, we can still hang out and watch movies.”

“you know that’s not what i mean, y/n,” his voice cut clean through you. he looked at you like you held the whole world and you hated it. because you’ve seen that look in someone else’s eyes before and you remember how that story ended.

“i want you.” he said. he’s always been upfront, the kind of guy who goes for exactly what he wants. honest. no confusion. he wasn’t going to stop that just because what he wanted now was a little different than usual.

“—not just the movie nights. i want to be able to kiss you without wondering if i’m crossing the line. i want to hold your hand. i don’t want to have to leave.”

you could hear it in his voice, that he meant every word. that he was laying himself bare. your lungs were full of things you’ve never said. fears you never voiced.

“do you want me because you want me,” you whispered, “or because you need me?”

the room went still. mark blinked, caught off guard. his face twisted in confusion. he didn’t understand the question. “what’s the difference?”

you nodded once, slowly, even though he didn’t get it. especially because he didn’t get it. that was all the confirmation you needed. the quiet confirmation of every fear you've been carrying. your thoughts spiraled, fast and breathless – he saw you as the person who kept him from falling apart, not the person who could be loved on her own terms. you didn’t want to be a need. you wanted to be a choice. wanted to be loved for your fire, your flaws, your silence, your mess. all of it.

you pulled the blanket off, stood up, walked toward the kitchen under the disguise of grabbing water but you really just needed the distance, needed to breathe.

behind you, mark didn’t move. the space where you’d just been now empty and echoing. the movie played on, some forgotten scene washing the walls in flickering color, fading into the background. all he could hear was the question that you’d asked. the silence that followed after he said the wrong thing. the way you walked away like you were holding yourself together with a string.

he stood slowly, following you into the kitchen, footsteps soft like he was afraid he’d scare you off if he made too much noise. you were standing there, back to him.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice low, careful.

when you didn’t respond, he continued, “i don’t need you like a fix,” he stepped closer, gently, slowly. and then, he lets his confessions stumble into the night air. all of the words he’d been dying to tell you.

“i want you like—,” his voice broke slightly, “like i want to wake up with you next to me, i want to know your favorite things, i want your sarcasm, your bad jokes, i want to be the one you call when your day’s gone to shit or when someone tells you a funny story and you just have to share it with someone, i want all the parts you hide. that’s what i meant.”

he was so close now. you closed your eyes and it terrifies you how much you wanted that too.

“i’ve been through this before, mark,” you said, barely above a whisper, “i gave someone everything and he only loved me because he needed me, because it was easy at first. not the real me. not the mess. not the scared, guarded, overthinking, too-much me.”

mark stepped closer until there was barely space between you.

“y/n, i’m not him,” he says, voice full of conviction, “let me prove it. if it takes time, i’ll wait. if you need space, i’ll give it. but please stop acting like none of this is real, stop acting like this was all just tutoring and sex. don’t shut me out because someone else couldn’t handle you. because i can. i want to.”

you stared at the floor. every wall you’d built over the years was trembling in your chest, all of them threatening to collapse and you were desperately trying to keep them together. he was saying everything you’d ever needed someone to say. yet you can’t find it in yourself to believe him.

your fear was louder than your hope.

“i need space,” you breathed. it was all you could manage. your voice almost gave out on the last word.

mark stilled, his throat bobbed as he swallowed. then he stepped back. just once. and said, gently, “okay.”

he didn’t try to kiss you or hold you or close the space between you with anything physical. and that, more than anything, told you this wasn’t about need.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 25. friday.

the knock came again. you hadn’t expected it, your heart climbing straight into your throat.

you hadn’t spoken since that night. you told him you needed space and to his credit, he gave it. though as soon as he left you wanted him back. you couldn’t even understand your own emotions anymore.

he didn’t call. didn't text and even though it’s only been two days — the silence had been deafening.

your hand hovered near the doorknob again, just like it had before. like you were caught in a loop.

“y/n?,” his voice was softer this time. not playful, not teasing, just quiet and raw, “i…i got my results.”

you closed your eyes, just listening to his voice and the way he was able to shut down all the other voices in your head.

“i haven’t checked it yet,” he added after a beat, “i didn’t want to do it alone.”

something in you cracked and you opened the door. mark stood there, phone in hand, eyes tired and bloodshot like he hadn’t slept well in days. he didn’t step in this time. he just looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. you didn’t say anything. just stepped aside, letting him in. he walked in slowly, like he was afraid he might wake something fragile in the room. you followed him to the couch, sat next to him, close enough to touch but not touching.

he sat with his phone in his palm, screen still black, staring at it.

“just open it,” you said quietly, finally breaking the silence.

he turned to you, eyes searching, “i can’t do it,” he says, handing you the phone “you open it for me.”

you grab it from him, clicking the school’s app and reloading the screen, waiting for the results. the second felt too long, mark’s legs anxiously bouncing, you looked up at him with an expression he couldn’t read and his throat catches.

then in one second, your grin grew wider, “you passed!,” you cheered, laughter bubbling from your lips. he hasn’t realized how much he missed that sound until now. the past few days have definitely been an emotional turmoil.

mark blinked, “i..i did?,”

you nodded, laughing again, eyes shining, “you did, mark! look,” you say, shoving the phone in his face.

for a beat, he just stared at you, like he didn’t quite believe it. then it all hit him at once, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding finally exhaled. relief, pride, disbelief all crashing into his chest in one wave.

and before he could stop himself he pulled you into his lap in a mini victory, both of you laughing, excited, happy. his arms wrapped around you tight, burying his face into your shoulder like this was the only place he ever wanted to be. you hug him just as tight, now straddling him, arms curled around him as you both bask in his victory, your laughter’s harmonizing in the air.

after a few seconds, your body relaxed into his and for the first time in days, it felt easy again, natural. like muscle memory. like this was where you both belonged.

“i knew you could do it,” you murmured near his ear, voice soft. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still holding onto your side like didn’t want to let go yet.

and maybe it was the adrenaline in your system. maybe it was the look on his face. or maybe it was the way his hands lingered on your waist. but you didn’t think.

you leaned in and kissed him.

it was gentle, like asking a question you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to. he kissed you back with no hesitation, no second guessing. just the feeling of your lips in his, warm and certain.

mark’s hand cup your jaw like you were something breakable and important all at once. there was a slight tremble in his touch, like he couldn’t believe you were letting him this close. terrified that one wrong move would send you running.

the kiss wasn’t desperate, it wasn’t rushed. it was everything that hadn’t been said, missing each other in a way neither of you had admitted.

your hand curled into the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you steady. your body swayed forward without permission, knowing what it wanted before your mind could catch up. his forehead dropped to yours and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

“i missed you,” you whispered, voice shaking. his eyes fluttered shut at the words, something raw flickering across his features. he kissed you again, slow and intentional. like he needed you to feel every unsaid thing he did not know how to say.

the kiss deepened, soft lips parting, breath mingling. his hand moved down, tracing your spine as he pulled you closer and every inch of your body hummed with anticipation. you tugged on his black shirt, tugging it over his head. you helped each other undress with quiet urgency, fingertips brushing skin, lips reconnecting in between.

mark grabs your thighs, gently lifting you up and turning you over to lay you down on the couch. he hovered over you, eyes dragging slowly down the length of your body, memorizing every line, every curve.

“you’re so beautiful,” he breathed, brushing your hair from your forehead.

your throat tightened.

he trailed kisses over your jaw, your neck, the slope of your shoulder, your breasts. every kiss feeling like a promise. his hands were everywhere, trailing over your waist, the dip of your hip, down your thigh, slow and warm and reverent. he took his time. worshipped every inch like he didn't want to miss a second of this.

he knew exactly where to touch you. knew the spots that ignited that fire in your stomach. he pushes your panties to the side and when his mouth finally found the place between your legs, you gasped, back arching. he groaned at the sound, at the taste of you, gripping your thighs gently, keeping you open for him. he watched your every reaction, paid attention to all of your sinful moans like it was his favorite song. his tongue moved, licking and circling and sucking until you were gasping his name, eyes fluttering shut, legs shaking around his shoulders.

your fingers laced through his, grabbing onto him like he was the last thing keeping you there. and when you came, it hit hard, head thrown back, toes curling. he stayed right there, drawing it out, licking through every wave. he kissed his way back up your body, slow and open mouthed until you pulled him back to your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“mark,” you whispered, breathless, “bedroom.”

you didn’t have to say it again. mark grabbed your thighs, picking you up with ease, his bare chest warm against yours, legs wrapped around him, heartbeat thudding in rhythm with your own as he carried you to your bedroom. the air between you is charged and fragile in a way it had never been before. as soon as your back hit the mattress, you pulled him down to meet you. lips meeting again. but it wasn’t like the other times. there was no reckless rush, no frantic need. this kiss was deeper. slower. like he wanted to taste every part of you that had been out of reach until now.

his weight settled over you, grounding, familiar but all too different. he kissed you like he was afraid this might be the last time. touching you like he was memorizing you all over again, not your body, he already knew that – but you.

the way you sighed when his fingers brushed over your hips. the way your breath hitched when his lips settled over that sensitive spot below your ear. the way your hands roamed over his back, curling at the base of his spine like you didn’t know how to keep him close enough.

then suddenly, he stopped. bracing himself on his forearms, forehead pressed to yours, “wait,” he murmured, breathing hard, like it physically hurt to not be touching you.

you blinked, disoriented by the sudden break in heat as he curses under his breath, “i-i didn’t bring a condom…i didn’t expect to–,”

“i-i should have some,” you turned quickly, reaching for the drawer of your nightstand only to find your box of condoms empty.

you looked at him. he looked at you. a beat of silence passing in between you.

his hand found yours, warm brown eyes boring into yours, “we don’t have to.”

“do you want me?,” your voice cracked a little and that’s when you realized your throat was tight, feeling more vulnerable than ever.

“of course i do, kitten,” he said, placing a soft kiss on the inside of your wrist, “but i want you, not just this.”

“i want you, too,” you whisper like you were sharing a secret. his breath hitched. whole body stilling. you saw the moment he gave in, the exact second his restraint cracked.

“i-i’ll pull out,” he mumbled, still trying to be careful.

“i’m on the pill mark,” you said softly, “you can stay inside.” something in him faltered, his breath hitched, eyes darkening. he kissed you again, slower than before, more tentative, like he needed to make sure you meant it.

he lines himself up against your core, giving you one last look for confirmation and when you nod, granting him permission, he finally gave in to what you both wanted. he slid into you slowly, carefully, his forehead pressed to yours, breaths tangling. you felt the tremble in his arms, the shudder that worked through him as he sank fully into you – making you feel full, whole, complete.

you both stilled, letting the moment settle.

you’d done this before. countless times. fast, rough, unspoken. but it had never felt like this. this felt like new territory. this felt like falling.

this wasn’t about sex. this was about every word you’d left unsaid.

your hands roamed up his back, fingernails grazing over the muscles there and his body responded to every touch, arching into you slightly. you could feel every vein on his cock, every twitch, every pulse. he moved slowly, deeper than he had before, watching your face for every flicker of reaction.

mark’s hand came up to brush the hair from your cheek, as he littered kisses from your cheekbones, along your jaw, every inch of skin he could find, “i was made for you” he whispered.

your chest ached, eyes burned. you didn’t know what to do with those words so instead you pulled him closer and kissed him hard. desperate to shut him up. to shut yourself up. to make the ache go away. every movement was slow, sensual, too vulnerable. every inch of your skin between you whispering i missed you, don’t leave again, please feel what i’m feeling.

his hand laced with yours, fingers locking tight, fitting together like two connecting pieces of a puzzle. it was all too much. the way he stayed close, nose brushing your cheek. the way he murmured your name under his breath like it was the only word he knew.

you whispered his name when that coil in your stomach started to tighten, the pressure ready to be released, tension curling through your body. he kissed your temple, your cheekbone, your mouth, over and over again as you came undone beneath him. your legs trembled, breath hitched, back arching as he talked you through it, murmuring praises in your ear.

he followed soon after, body shuddering against yours as he gave in, marking your walls, a grunt of your name spilling from his lips. and even then, he didn’t let go of your hand. he stayed inside you long after, face buried in the curve of your neck, body heavy over yours in the best way. neither of you said anything, just basking in the warmth of each other’s bodies.

you’ve never felt fuller. the feeling of skin on skin. of a truth too big to name yet.

and when he pulled out, you felt the loss of him like a jolt. your body throbbed, empty and aching. he reached for the tissues on your bedside table, gently wiping away the mess you two made.

you swallowed hard, “mark-”

his eyes searched yours, desperate and open and unguarded in a way you’d never seen before. he was just as scared as you. scared that you would push him away again, “please,” he begs, “don’t make me leave.”

“i don’t know how to do this,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t know how to accept this.” you couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word. that one word lingering in both of your tongues.

mark’s face softened, something inside him cracking at your words. he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours again, “we can figure it out,” he says, “but we don’t have to figure it all out tonight…for tonight let's just…stay here.”

your eyes stung. he wasn’t asking for promises. he wasn’t demanding answers. he was just asking you not to run. not yet. you nodded and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. neither of you said anything after that. he shifted beside you, pulling you into his arms, your body curling naturally into the space against his chest. one of his hands wrapped around your back, the other held your hand like he was scared you would just disappear.

you laid there, wrapped in him, your heart a mess of silence and scars. listening to the beat of his heart. trying to believe this could be real.

“i don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered into his skin.

“you already do,” he murmured, raw and honest, brushing his lips to your hair.

“i’m sorry.”

“there’s nothing to be sorry for, kitten. i’d rather be hurt with you than feel nothing without you,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head. your eyes fluttered closed at that, too tired to hold everything in your chest. too afraid of what would happen when morning came. but for right now, in this moment, you let yourself stay.

and somewhere between his breathing and the ache in your chest, you fell asleep in his arms, tangled up in a mess of limbs, heartbreak and that word you both can’t say.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 26. saturday.

mark woke up to the soft morning light filtering in through your bedroom window, stretching across the sheets like a quiet whisper. the space beside him cold. his hand reached out before his eyes even opened, instinctively searching for you, but the space was empty, only leaving behind the shape of your figure.

his brows furrowed as he sat up slowly, blanket slipping off his chest. the room felt too still. like the warmth had left with you. he got up, heart tightening as his bare feet hits the floor, pulling on his sweats as he stepped into your living room — empty.

no note. no text. no sound of the shower. just silence. the kind of silence that presses on your ribs and makes everything feel heavier than it should.

mark exhaled slowly, rubbing his face with both hands. this wasn’t new – this disappearing act of yours, distant and cold. but it hurt more today. especially after last night. after they way you kissed him like you meant it. the way you held him like you wanted him. the way you made love to him like you loved him.

he sat down on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. the victory of passing his finals felt like a faded memory now. and maybe you were just getting breakfast? maybe you were getting coffee? maybe you went out for a quick walk? but deep down, he knew better.

because when someone leaves without saying goodbye, it’s never just about getting coffee – it’s about fear. about retreat. about trying to stuff last night back into that box. a box where it doesn’t fit anymore.

he didn’t know what would happen next but he made you a promise and he’s determined to keep it. even if you never let him this close again. even if this was the last night he’d get to love you the way he wanted to. but he wouldn’t push. he wouldn’t beg. he wouldn’t ask you to feel more than you were ready to. he knew your walls were built from heartbreak and survival and he would never try to tear them down.

but he’ll show up — quietly, steadily, solid where you expected everyone to vanish. he wouldn’t ask for anything in return. not your love, not your certainty, not even your presence. just the chance to exist nearby. just the permission to care.

you didn’t have to earn his love by loving him back.

and if someday you turned around and realized you didn’t want to be alone anymore. he’d be here, welcoming you with open arms.

⟢

you hadn’t meant to leave like that. not really.

you told yourself it was just a short walk. just some air. just to clear your head before the morning got too loud and the reality of your actions settled in too deep.

your lips still felt the ghost of his. your skin still hummed with the way he touched you like he knew you — not just the version you showed him on movie nights and tutoring sessions, but the messy, terrified, too much version you’d spent years trying to hide. he kissed you like he wasn’t afraid of her. and that pushed you further down your fears.

you didn’t know if you were allowed to believe in it. so you left. not to hurt him. never too hurt him. but to protect yourself. protect him from you. to build the distance before you both could fall all the way in.

you couldn’t stop thinking about the look on his face when you told him he passed — a mixture of excitement and bittersweet emotion clearly on display. the way he hugged you like you were home. and then, god, you kissed him. and for the first time in forever, kissing someone didn’t feel like an escape. you swallowed hard. you were so afraid of these emotions. of needing him.

you went back home when the sun was down, mark nowhere to be seen, except for a note left on your coffee table, written in mark’s handwriting:

“call me if you need me.”

just simple words that made your chest ache.

if. not when.

he wasn’t expecting you to need him. wasn’t asking you to lose yourself again, to shrink, to bleed out the softest parts of you just to keep him. he wasn’t trying to save you or fix you or unravel you for the sake of making you his.

he left you a choice, control fully in your hands. a door, cracked open.

if you need me.

not a condition. not a plea. just kindness wrapped in restraint. not loud or overwhelming. not all-consuming. just patient. just quiet. just there.

ᓚᘏᗢ one week later. may 3. saturday.

you never contacted him. you didn’t know how to face him.

some days, you’d go home to take-out waiting for you by the door, still warm, like he’d just left. there were messages left in your phone. messages that you read over and over again, finger hovering above the keyboard. a reminder that mark was still there. that he still cares.

you just didn’t know what to do with that.

“c’mon y/n, come to the party at the wayv frat tonight,” your best friend, yeri, says through the phone, her voice bright and pleading.

“yeri, i don’t really feel like partying,” you sigh, voice low and dull.

“y/n, you can’t push us away too, we’re your friends,” she says more firmly now.

you told her all about it a couple nights ago, over the fried chicken mark left at your doorstep, the soju in your fridge and a loose tongue that couldn’t keep your pain in any longer.

you spilled everything. what happened with mark, how it started, how it ended and yeri almost killed you with your own pillow. you can still hear her voice now, going through every stage of disbelief like it was a full-blown performance.

she went from, “are you kidding me?! mark lee?!,”followed by a dramatic gasp and a mischievous smirk, “was he good?? was he big?,” then came the pause, wide eyes, jaw dropping surprise “he said he only wanted one girl!!?? THE mark lee?? wanting one girl???,” and then her voice cracked, eyes misting as she whispered, “he wanted to know your favorite things?!?!” like it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.

and then she strangled you with your own pillow when you got to the end of the story.

she was very much #teammark at the moment.

she was tired of your self sabotaging, your walls, your stubbornness — the way you rejected affection like it was poison. the way you flinched from being needed. from being loved. she understood it came from a place in your past. she never dismissed that pain. but she firmly reminded you that you can’t let your past haunt you forever. that the echoes of what hurt you, the ghosts that whisper you’re unlovable or unsafe, should not define the life you’re living now. she gave you an entire pep talk talking about how you can’t keep holding someone with one hand while the other is clinging to everything that once went wrong. and maybe the love in front of you isn’t perfect, maybe it’s messy and complicated and terrifying but it’s here and it’s real and it could be everything only if you let it.

“look,” yeri cuts through your train of thought,, “mina, doyeon, and ningning will be there too, okay, “you’re the only one that's going to be missing.”

you hesitate.

“he probably won’t even be there,” she adds quickly, “the dream frat most likely has their own party going on tonight.”

you don’t believe her. especially since you knew the dream frat was still under observance from that fight jeno threw.

“i don’t know…,” you say.

“c’mon,” she says, softer this time, “it’s the end of finals, we deserve to let loose and have fun,” she tries, one more time.

you exhale slowly, already halfway convinced.

“...fine.” you mutter, earning a bubbly scream from the other side.

⟢

the music is loud the moment you step through the door, laughter spilling down the hallways, the scent of cheap beer and fruity vape lingering in the air. you’re already regretting the black dress hugging your body, the heels, and the fact that you let yeri talk you into this.

“shots first!,” she yells over the music, dragging you toward the room. you spot familiar faces, mina waving from across the room, doyeon chatting up a pretty girl, ningning locked in an intense game of beer pong with a guy in sunglasses — it’s all the usual chaos. familiar. almost comforting.

you let the noise wash over you, grateful for the distraction until yeri stiffens beside you. you know before you even turn. he’s here — mark lee, leaning casually against the wall across the room, red cup in hand. he’s mid-conversation with a boy you knew, xiaojun – music major, member of the wayv fraternity, also a guy you tutored.

he was laughing, looking relaxed until he saw you.

and everything stops.

almost like you were the only two in the room.

his smile falters. eyes lock with yours. like he didn’t expect you to be here. doesn’t know what to do now that you’re both standing in the same room again.

you forget how to breathe for a second.

“y/n…,” yeri starts, but you shake your head, breaking away from his gaze.

“i’m fine.” you’re not.

but that’s what you tell her, forcing a smile, “let’s get those shots,” you manage to say as you and yeri slip into the kitchen. looking for something to drink. preferably something strong.

⟢

he hadn’t planned on staying long. he hasn’t really been in the mood for parties this whole week. it was too loud, too crowded, too many people and none of them were you.

but chenle, haechan and jisung kept dragging him out night after night, insisting he just needed to “get back out there.”

it hasn’t worked — he wasn’t interested in anyone else, no matter how pretty his friends say they were. all he could think about was you.

he sees you in the spiderman figurines he had in his room. he sees you in the half-eaten pizza box that the boys had ordered, where he could practically hear your laugh. he sees you in his notes. in every damn song that plays. in the stray cat that kept curling up on their lawn. the basketball court. the library. every corner he found himself in is a memory of you.

and sex has been different since that night. not after what you’d shared. not after what it felt like to be wanted like that, to want like that. he didn’t even know if he could go back to casual anymore, especially after feeling intimacy that intense.

so yeah, the plan was simple, he was gonna show up for a bit, make his rounds, say hi to his friends then dip. lock himself up in his room. back to waiting for your call.

he didn’t expect to see you but there you were, walking through the crowd.

and he wished he looked a little better. put a little more effort into his outfit. but truth to be told, he didn't think he had anyone to impress. his light stubble has grown in. he was only in a plain white shirt and black jeans. he didn't even bother styling his hair.

one second, he’s laughing at something xiaojun said, the next the breath gets knocked out of him — you walked in like you didn’t want to be there but still looking so effortlessly beautiful. the walls you’ve been hiding behind standing tall all around you.

every instinct tells him to go to you but his feet stay planted, the grip on his cup tightening.

“dude,” xiaojun says, mid-sentence, eyebrows raising, “are you even listening to me?”

mark doesn’t answer, he watches your eyes sweep the room and then land on him.

everything else disappears.

he doesn’t even hear the music anymore. the crowd becomes nothing more than a blur of faceless shapes, none of them worth noticing.

you still have that look in your eyes. that haunted, guarded look he’s seen too many times. the one that says i want to let you in, but i can’t afford to be hurt again.

you break the contact first, of course you do. he can’t help but continue to stare.

“okay,” xiaojun says suddenly, setting down his drink. “that’s it. i’m introducing you.”

mark’s head snaps toward him, “wait, what?”

“don’t know what happened to you, man but you’ve clearly lost your game,” his friend shrugs, already grabbing mark by the sleeve, “i got this. stop being a pussy, i’ll be your wingman.”

mark resists, suddenly very aware of his surroundings, planting his feet, “no…xiaojun, wait, you don’t understand–”

“she’s super chill,” xiaojun interrupts confidently, “smart as hell, kind of terrifying at first glance but definitely nice. i got you, don’t worry.”

“xiaojun…seriously–” mark hisses, digging his heels in, heart pounding in panic now, “we already…we know each other.”

but xiaojun didn’t hear him. too excited. too focused at playing matchmaker and hauling him toward the kitchen. “you can thank me later,” he grins, “just let me cook.”

mark’s stomach sinks. his hands are clammy. he’s seconds away from bolting. and then you turn around, cup in hand, mid-sip, just as xiaojun barrels into the kitchen with mark reluctantly in tow.

“y/n!,” xiaojun calls cheerfully. mark looks like he’s been dragged into hell itself, his eyes sending you an apology and you can’t help the way your brows lift.

“oh my god,” you whisper under your breath, choking on your drink and mark has to physically stop himself from reaching out to check if you are okay. you curse the fact that you let yeri leave you alone just a few seconds ago.

xiaojun beams, “i want you to meet my friend! this is mark. mark this is y/n..she used to tutor me back in the day. super scary, very smart,” you can’t help but raise a brow at his description, “anyway, you two should totally talk,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

mark gives you a look like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. his voice comes out tight, strained, like it hurts to speak, “hey.”

you glance at mark. he glances at you. and somehow, without saying anything, you both decide to play along.

“nice to meet you,” you say coolly, extending a hand like you haven’t seen every inch of him in moments you’re trying very hard to forget.

mark straightens up, his face schooled into a neutral smile. he takes your hand and his touch lingers just a little too long, bringing up feelings you tried so hard to push away, “same here.”

xiaojun beams, totally buying it, “see? told you i got you,” he whispers, making you quip a brow.

mark doesn’t look away from you, “so…you used to tutor xiaojun?”

you nod, keeping your expression composed, “yeah, freshman year. he was failing basic algebra.”

xiaojun gasps in mock offence, “i had a C-”

“which is failing,” you shoot back without missing a beat.

mark chuckles under his breath, eyes crinkling, “sounds like you were a tough tutor.”

“that depends on who i’m tutoring,” you say, like you didn’t spend the past month tutoring him.

xiaojun claps his hands together, clearly pleased with himself, “this is going great. i’m so good at at this. i should charge people.”

“oh yeah,” mark says, playing along, nodding solemnly. “you should definitely monetize your matchmaking business.”

“maybe i will!,” xiaojun grins, painstakingly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension thickening between you two, “anyway, i’m gonna go and leave you two alone. you guys get to know each other. don’t do anything i wouldn’t do!,” he winks and disappears back into the party.

and just like that, the mask drops. the space between you crackling.

mark raises an eyebrow, “nice to meet you, huh?”

you shrug, “you started it.”

he smirks faintly, “you didn’t have to shake my hand like we were at a networking event.”

“well, you didn’t have to look so charmed by it,” you shoot back and for a second it all feels too normal. just two friends caught in their playful banter.

⟢

ᓚᘏᗢ now.

“it’s good to see you,” he says, a little quieter now, smirk fading just slightly. you falter at that but instead of running, instead of deflecting, you hold his gaze.

“so,” you say, attempting a half-smile, “do you come here often, mark?”

he chuckles but the sound fades quickly. the amusement doesn’t last in his eyes. you were doing it again. masking your feelings behind a joke. trying to find an out. trying to stall the inevitable — and he stopped playing this game a long time ago. has stopped holding back.

“you didn’t call.”

your smile drops, “mark–,”

“that night,” he cuts in softly, but there’s something raw under his voice now, “i woke up and you were gone.”

the kitchen feels smaller. the party noise beyond the door fades to a muffled hum.

“i didn’t know what to say,” you murmur, voice almost lost under the thump of bass in the other room.

“you didn’t have to say anything,” he says, “i just wanted you to stay.”

you look away but mark steps forward. not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him.

“i kept checking my phone,” he goes on, “every morning when i wake up, every night before i go to bed. i watched you read my messages and i thought maybe you just needed time.”

“—i waited,” he continues, voice shaking now, “i left food by your door, i didn’t even care if you didn’t text back, i just wanted you to know i’m still here.”

you press your lips together, holding everything in.

“i didn’t want that night to end,” he goes on, quieter now, “and maybe i was stupid for thinking you felt the same way but–”

he breathes in, eyes locking onto yours. you try to tell him to stop but your voice betrays you. and mark could no longer hold back the words he’s been wanting to say.

“i fell in love with you.”

your heart stutters. that one phrase making you want to run.

“and i’m still in love with you,” he finishes, like a final breath. like he’s cutting himself open and bleeding honesty, the words slamming into your chest.

“we only had two rules, mark,” you managed to whisper, voice quiet and broken.

mark takes a shaky step closer, heart in his throat, “tell me you don’t feel it then,” he said quietly. his voice wasn’t angry, just tired, broken, desperate.

“look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me…that you don’t feel anything when i look at you like this and i’ll stop. i’ll leave you alone.”

you freeze. you didn’t answer right away. because you did feel it — you felt it in your chest, in your stomach, in the way the world always seemed to go a little quieter when he was around. you feel it in the ache that never went away after that night. you feel it in the way he says your name like it’s something holy. but that truth was too dangerous. too real.

so you hardened your voice, you shove it so far down you almost believe the lie yourself.

“i don’t feel it.”

you looked him dead in the eye, even though it nearly broke you. mark’s face falls but you don’t stop there. you lift your chin, meeting his gaze and finally twisting the knife in both of you.

“i don’t love you.”

his face didn’t crumble. didn’t twist in pain. he just stilled – silent, hollow stillness. the words knocking the breath from his lungs in one brutal blow. his eyes search your face like he’s trying to find a hole in your armor – something to tell him you don’t mean it.

you walked away, leaving him in the kitchen and disappearing into the crowd before he can see the way your hand trembles. before he can see the way your heart is breaking too. every step away from him felt heavier than the last. your throat felt like it was strangling your heartbeat. every breath scraped your ribs like regret trying to crawl out of your chest.

you told yourself not to look back. not to care. this is for the better. he deserves someone better. someone who knew what they wanted. someone who can give him the love he has to give without flinching.

you did the right thing. for the both of you.

you ignore your friend’s calls. focused only on trying to get as far away from this place as possible. and yet, as you passed through the living room, something ridiculous stopped you cold — someone was messing with a money gun. dozens of dollar bills floating all around you, spinning through the air like confetti in slow motion. you scoffed before you could stop yourself, bitter and breathless at the irony.

you pushed forward anyway, trying to control your tears, making your way through the bodies and out into the front lawn. you manage to make it a couple feet away.

but then…fingers, warm and gentle, wrapped around your wrist, turning you towards his tear-filled eyes as he caught up to you, breathless.

“what are you so afraid of?” mark asked, eyes wide, wild with a mixture of hope and desperation.

“what is it that terrifies you so much you’d rather lie to my face than admit what we have?”

his words cracked something open inside you. that was it. the last of your resolve breaking apart. your defenses collapsed.

“you, mark!,” your voice broke, full of too many emotions you could no longer control, “i’m afraid of you!”

he blinked, startled. you didn’t let the silence catch up.

“i’m afraid of what you make me feel,” you said, voice unraveling.

“i’m afraid because i’m in love with you too. and i don’t want to be!”

the tears came fast and hot but you no longer cared about the strong front you’ve been trying to keep up.

“—because the last time i fell in love, it destroyed me. i gave everything to someone who promised they’d stay and they left. and i had to build myself back up from nothing and i swore i’d never let myself feel like that again.”

mark took a slow step closer. like he was approaching something sacred.

“i don’t want to become her again,” you choked out, “the girl who wakes up wondering if today is the day everything falls apart. the one who clings too tightly. the one who ruins everything because she wants too much.”

“you’re not her anymore,” he said softly, like he was holding your heart in his hands., “you’re stronger now. you know who you are. and if things fall apart,” his voice cracked, his own tears falling, “i’ll still be there, i’m not going to leave you.”

you shook your head, tears falling freely, “you don't know that! what if i mess it up? what if i’m too much?”

“then i’ll stay anyway,” he said, voice trembling with conviction, “i’ll stay and remind you every single time that you're not too much. that you’re worth loving.”

you looked up at him, ready to break again but his words make you freeze, “and i’m scared too.”

mark swallowed hard.

“i’ve never been in love before,” he said. “not like this. not even close and i don’t know what i’m doing. i’m scared i’ll say the wrong thing. that i’ll mess this up. that i’ll love you too much or not enough or in the wrong way”

he let out a shaky breath, gaze locked on yours.

“but i’m willing to learn. i'm willing to fall. because i'm scared of losing you the most and i’d rather be scared with you than go my whole life without you in it…without trying.”

his eyes bored into yours, wide and unguarded, filled with that same fear you’d been carrying. you realized then that you weren't so different. just two souls wanting to love and be loved, both terrified of what it might cost.

and if he was brave enough to jump, you weren’t going to let him fall alone — with that, the last wall inside you crumbled and you reached for him.

mark pulls you into his arms like he’d been waiting for this moment all his life. there, under the stars and distant music, you clung to him, allowing yourself to want him. your chest heaved against his, tears soaking into his t-shirt. and still, he held you tighter.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice hoarse, “i’m just…i’m so scared.”

“i know,” he murmured back, “it’s okay. i’m here.”

he rocked you gently like your pain had a rhythm only he understood. he didn’t know what else to do but hold you.

eventually your tears slowed. your breathing evened out. your fingers loosened from their desperate grip. you stayed in his arms a moment longer, heart pressed into his chest. committing it to memory like it was a song you never wanted to forget.

then you pull back, just enough to look up at him. your lashes were damp, eyes still glassy, “i meant it,” you said, barely above a whisper, “i love you.”

his eyes searched yours, not for doubt, but for the truth. and when he found it, unguarded, soft, scared, real, his hold on your waist tightens just a tiny bit like he couldn’t believe this was real and not something he’d dreamed up in all the nights he spent missing you.

mark leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. you don’t. his lips brushed yours, featherlight at first, then deeper, steadier, like exhaling after holding his breath for years. you kissed him back like it was the only thing you knew how to do — your heart had spent so long trying to run away from this very feeling and now it was collapsing into it with both arms wide open.

no more running. just you and him and the promise of something real. not something that had an expiration date marked by final exams and end of sessions.

he smiled against your lips. you pulled away, the smallest, tearful laugh catching in your throat.

“so…what do we do now?,” you asked, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, though your voice was still soft. still fragile from everything it had admitted. and your eyes only had room for his reflection.

mark raised a hand, thumb gently brushing a tear from your cheek, “well,” he said, his voice low and full of warmth, “i would love to take you out on a date.”

and this time, when you smiled…it felt like the beginning.

ᓚᘏᗢ the next day.

mark knocks at your door at exactly 6:00P.M. a little more dressed up than usual, his face freshly shaved, hair styled perfectly, a bouquet of white roses behind his back.

you open the door and his breath catches. the red dress you're wearing stops just above your knees, hugging your curves in all the right places. its bold and subtle all at once, elegant neckline, bare shoulders.

you see the shift in his expression instantly, eyes widening, lips parting slightly.

“kitten,” he breathes out, recovering just enough to let a smirk tug on his lips “are you trying to cancel our date?”

your brows furrow in amusement, “what?”

he lets out a soft laugh, eyes still tracing the length of you. “how do you expect me to not want to have my hands all over you until this is off?” he says, a hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you gently against him, already losing his inner battle.

a playful smirk appears on your lips, “hey, buy a girl dinner first,” you say, pressing your palm to his chest to push him back, just a little.

he chuckles, deep and warm, eyes twinkling as he finally brings the bouquet around “for you, kitten.”

you take the flowers with a soft, surprised smile “these are beautiful mark, thank you,” you say quietly, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips, just a quick one, before slipping back into your apartment. he stays at the door, watching as you make yourself into the kitchen, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. you rummage through your drawers for the vase you rarely use, dusting it off before filling it with water. carefully, you begin arranging the flowers on your coffee table. mark steps inside, closing the door behind him. his arms wrapping around your waist in a back hug.

“you ready?,” he murmurs, a kiss brushing the curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

“mhm,” you smile, reaching down to pat his hand before lacing your fingers with his. his grip is warm, sure. he leads you to the door, locking it behind you as you both step out of your apartment.

“this is kinda weird,” he chuckles as you walk towards his car.

“what? holding my hand,” you say, about to pull your hand away only for his grip to tighten.

“i didn’t say it was bad,” he says quickly, pulling you closer, “i’ve just never held hands with my girlfriend before.”

you chuckle, some things never change.

“oh, i didn’t know i was your girlfriend now?,” you smirk, teasing, a brow raising.

his smile instantly drops, “please say sike,” he mutters, suddenly serious. you burst into laughter and the tension in his shoulder melts. he watches you in awe, like your laugh could break every bone in his body and he’d still ask to hear it again. a smile taking over his features.

“sike,” you say sweetly just as he pokes your side, making you jump. he opens the passenger door for you with a smug look and you slide inside, cheeks warm, heart racing.

mark planned the most romantic, classic first date imaginable. like something ripped right out of a movie montage. candlelight dinner, soft jazz humming in the background and a corner table in a quiet, upscale restaurant where the lighting was dim and golden, casting everything in a dreamy glow. the flicker of the candle between you danced in his eyes, making him look warmer, softer than usual. the low murmur of other diners fading into the background. he pulled out your chair for you like a real gentleman. you ordered your food, sat across from each other, feet brushing beneath the table, half accidental, half deliberated. it was playful and sweet. he smiled every time it happened like he was trying to make you blush without saying a word. and it worked — you couldn’t remember the last time a date felt this intentional, this thoughtfully put together. like someone had wanted to impress you.

“wow, you really did your research, huh?,” you tease him, eyebrows raised, an amused smirk tugging at your lips.

“only the best for my girl,” he winks. you rolled your eyes at the line but the flutter in your chest betrayed you.

the food arrived and for a while you just existed in the moment. complimenting the dishes, laughing about how his plate looked fancier but yours tasted better. he slid a perfectly sliced piece of steak onto your plate without you asking and you absentmindedly twirled a forkful of pasta and held it out to him like it was second nature. like it was something you’ve been doing for years.

then halfway through the meal, mark leans in a little. his elbow resting on the table, chin in hand like he couldn’t help but watch you.

“i don’t know enough about you,” he says suddenly.

you looked up, caught mid-chew and more caught off-guard, “you’ve literally seen me naked, i think you’re doing fine.”

mark laughed — that warm, boyish sound that always cracked you open a little more than you liked to admit. he leaned back slightly, shaking his head, “yeah but i mean know you. like the little things. the stuff people forget to ask but matters more than they think.”

you blinked, slowly setting your fork down, “ok…what do you want to know?”

he lights up like a kid on christmas day, “what’s your favorite color?”

“really, mark?” you laughed, because of all the things he could’ve asked, it was a question as simple as that.

“hey! it’s important especially since i want to buy you gifts,” he shrugs, taking a bite out of his (your) pasta.

you rolled your eyes, smiling anyway “okay. pink.”

mark blinked, surprised. he never would’ve guessed. “pink?”

“mhm,” you said, spearing a bite of the salad in between you, “not like neon pink though but soft pink.”

“didn’t see that coming,” he said grinning. “but it kinda fits…you act all tough but you’re secretly a softie.”

you narrowed your eyes, “careful.”

“just saying,” he chuckled, reaching for his drink.

“alright,” you said, pointing your fork at him, “your turn, favorite color?”

“blue.”

you tilted your head, chewing thoughtfully, a playful grin on your face, “blue because it’s the color of the sky?”

he grinned, “that was the reason…at first,” he said, voice softening, “then you walked up to me, wearing a soft blue sundress during freshman year and the reason changed.”

your fork froze halfway to your mouth. for a second, the air felt heavier, quieter, like the words had rearranged the molecules around you. your eyes widen a little, lips parting as your expression falters between surprise and amusement.

“you remembered what i was wearing?,” you ask in pure disbelief.

“how could i forget?,” he shrugs like he didn’t just confess something that would stay with you for the rest of your life.

“wait…are you saying you’ve had a crush on me since freshman year?,” you asked, your tone teasing.

mark rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning, “i may have had a tiny crush on you back then,” he admits. the smile on your face growing with every second.

the rest of your evening unfolded like a dream you didn’t want to wake from. full of quiet laughter, sharing of favorites and the reason behind them. every answer was like turning a page, revealing another layer neither of you had taken time to read before. between conversation, his hand would find yours, fingers lacing together like they belonged there. he’d brush your knuckles with his thumb, every movement gentle, deliberate. and every now and then, he’d lean over and kiss you. soft, unhurried kisses that made your skin hum and your stomach flip.

by the time you slid back into his car, the air between you was warm and charged, not with tension but with something more open, more vulnerable. he let you have the aux, learning your favorite songs on the ride back. both of you singing along, sometimes out of tune, sometimes laughing too hard. his hand was in yours the whole drive home. you kissed at stop lights. playful pecks that turned into lingering moments. the city moved around you, but you both felt disconnected. stuck in your own world with a population of two.

when he finally pulled up to your place, you were still laughing about something stupid he’d said. and then it got quiet. the kind of the quiet that meant something more. mark walked you to your door, hand still wrapped around yours like he couldn’t let go.

“tonight was really fun,” you said softly , your arm looped around his neck, fingers playing absentmindedly with his hair.

“yeah?,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple, lingering there for a beat, “would you say i’m you know…boyfriend material?,” he teased, smirking against your skin.

you huffed a laugh, playfully nudging him with your shoulder, “that was so bad.”

he tilts his head to look at your properly, the mischief fading into something gentler, more sincere, “i had the best time.”

you met his gaze, leaning up to kiss him – slow and sweet. his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss for a heartbeat before you pulled back, breathless but smiling.

“goodnight, mark,” you whispered, not quite ready for the night to end.

“goodnight kitten,” he said just as softly.

you slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. but your skin still buzzed with his touch, lips still tingling with the memory of his kiss. you leaned against the door, eyes closed, heart racing as the entire night replays in your mind.

outside, mark stares at your door, already missing your presence. he started to bring his fist up for a knock, but then the door opened. again.

he blinked, startled.

you were standing there, eyes already locked on his. you didn’t say a word. neither did he.

because in the next second, he crossed the threshold and kissed you – hard, fast and real. all the restraint of the evening gave way to need. he kicked the door shut behind him, hand blindly finding the lock as his other arm wound around your waist.

you make the familiar steps to your bedroom, lips never leaving his, a quiet gasp escaping you when he lifted you slightly, walking you backward until your knees hit the bed.

and when you made love, it wasn’t rushed or desperate. it was slow, tender. his hands memorized you all over again. his lips marked every inch of your skin. you whispered his name like it meant something new now. he held you like he never wanted to stop.

the morning came and you were still there, wrapped tightly around his arms. body molded perfectly against his like you were always meant to fit there. fingers interlaced like your hands had made a silent promise sometime in the night to never part. mark could see the pink and purple marks blooming where his lips and hands had wandered. he watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest — you looked peaceful, like all the weight you usually carried had melted away in the dark, if only for a little while. and in that quiet moment, with the world still hushed around you, he knows that it’s all worth it.

and if he had to do it all over again – the mistakes, the heartache, the waiting. he would. every single time, without hesitation, if it always leads him back to this. back to you. the only thing he’s ever been sure of.

ᓚᘏᗢ

loving mark made you realize that love didn’t have to be a fantasy. it wasn’t all sunshines and rainbows and happily ever afters. but it also wasn’t terrible, screaming at each other at 3am, being left behind on the kitchen floor, crying your eyes out.

it didn’t happen overnight either. there was still fear lingering in the back of your head. but this time you don’t let it take control. this time you don’t let it overpower.

because love with mark is staying, even when you were scared. especially when you were scared. it was comfort and safety. the kind that wrapped around your heart and told you it was okay to let your guard down. it was peace. the kind that didn’t demand you to be anything other than what you were. it was someone showing up at your apartment with your favorite snacks, settling in beside you on the couch while a romcom played and cramps left you curled under a blanket. no pressure to talk. just presence. it’s laughing at terrible jokes until your stomach hurt. arguing about which spiderman was the best. agreeing to disagree, even if you were clearly right. it was fighting over which greasy takeout to get and pretending to be annoyed when he ordered your favorite anyway. it was celebrating the happy moments, the sad moments and everything in between. it’s sticking around when things got hard. still choosing each other when the weight of the world made everything feel heavy. it was learning each other and unlearning old patterns. being patient. building something new, one honest conversation at a time. it was asking, “do you want advice or do you just want me to listen?” it was hearing the answer and respecting it.

it wasn’t about fixing each other or needing someone to fill a space inside you. it was about wanting to be there. it was about choosing to stay again and again and again.

𓏲 the end.

-

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

bonus: mark x kitten coded -> video one, video two, video three

-

an: and 3/7 is done! i hit the 1000 text block limit thing on here and it was awful. it’s not my fault they’re both yappers and i write way too much when mark is involved! i hope i was still able to convey the tension and longing in those long ass paragraphs >.< …. anyways, this was supposed to end the moment she walked away but i couldn’t do it! i had to give mark a happy ending, he deserves it!. kitten was so hard to write like why am i writing a character with past trauma and real, raw, emotions that are hitting too close to home… this is supposed to be a fun, silly rom-com. but i hope you liked her! i hope you liked them. thank you for reading! <3

VOTE HERE FOR THE NEXT STORY

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎

love tags : @bluedbliss @yesohhsehun @tynlvr @sunghoonsgfreal @2sungie @euphormiia @ptv-hades @imnotrosiee @remgeolli

[norrisainz33]

pr || ls18

summary: fans are convinced lance and his victoria secret model gf are just a pr stunt but they’re actually just two best friends in love

pairing: lance stroll x model!reader

fc & warnings: barbara palvin x some hate comments

requested: yes!! thank you for your patience!

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, and 10,334 others

f1gossip: looks like our very own lance stroll has been spotted with a mystery woman out in montreal ahead of the grand prix this weekend. this is not the first time these two have been spotted together either… perhaps they’re getting a bit more serious and we’ll see her this sunday? if anyone recognizes her, let us know!

view all comments

user1: nauuurrrrr lance that was supposed to be me

user2: we lost another one to a model chat

user3: you mean to tell me you lot don’t recognize the vs angel ynuser when you see her?!

user2: mate all we’ve seen is blurry pics of her hair

user3: she’s got recognizable hair!!!

f1gossip: timelines seem to line up with her posts and where we’ve seen her and lance together! i think you cracked the code user3

user4: it’s giving pr stunt bc how did he manage to get a vs model….

user7: no fr!! either that or she’s with him for daddy’s money

user8: yes this has pr written allllll over it

user5: i hope we DONT see her sunday

ynuser has made a post

liked by yourbff, miumiu, iamrebeccad, victoriassecret, vspink, lance_stroll, flavy.barla, yoursibling and 200,235 others

ynuser: montreal i think i might love you

view all comments

yourbff: holy moly i’m obsessed

user3: mother is mothering (also i called this)

lance_stroll: nice flowers

ynuser: thanks! the person who got them for me is even nicer

f1gossip: 👀

user4: what sorta pr nonsense interaction is this

user12: oooo you’re so effortlessly gorgeous

flavy.barla: 😍 wow!

ynuser: 😘

f1gossip: 👀 x2

user18: i can give you flowers too ya know

lance_stroll has made a post

liked by astonmartinf1, estebanocon, ynuser, chloestroll, robertomerhi, scottyjames31 and 234,456 others

lance_stroll: thankful for the two weeks at home! always great to see the crowd out here in montreal. merci beaucoup canada- on to austria we go 🤍🇨🇦

view all comments

user1: holy heck you are so fine

user2: maple syrup making the dump is sending me

astonmartinf1: maple syrup ✔️ refreshing time at home ✔️ ready to get some points in austria ✔️

ynuser: face so pretty they should be putting YOU on magazine covers

lance_stroll: 🤭 oh stop! we both know you’re the only one fit for magazines and runways

user4: ohh look pr getting even more interactive i see

user11: you look so good in am green

estebanocon: 💪🏻 great weekend mate! thanks for taking me and flavy around canada

lance_stroll: of course mon ami! we love spending time with you guys 🤍

user3: WE?! who is WE

user22: cutie patootie

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, and 11,344 others

f1gossip: in a recent interview where model, y/n y/l/n, talks through the upcoming vs fashion show she was also asked if there was anyone special who would be in attendance…. she blushed and said: “my partner is going to be there! he has yet to come to any of my shows so i’m really excited that it finally works with his schedule!” we can only assume she’s talking about a certain f1 driver 🤔

view all comments

user1: wow how did i not realize how stunning she is

user8: how long do you think we have to put up with this fake relationship

user4: it’s already been way longer than i would have wanted

user3: if it’s pr why are both of them being so secretive? can’t 2 people just be happy? like leave them be

user3: omg lance at the vs show?!?!?!? ain’t no way i can’t WAIT to see him there

user33: f1 driver try not to date a model challenge failed

user4: at least she’s a real model 😭

user12: you lot are miserable in these comments fr. i don’t follow f1 but my girl was mentioned and i do NOT like how yall talking abt her.

user18: welcome to being a lance stan. we live in the trenches but we all love y/n here!! it’s the other fans who are annoying

user12: whelp…. seems i will be going to war for lance

ynuser has posted to their story

view all story replies

user1: this is hot wtf

yourbff: oh!

ynuser: 🤭

yourbff: he got any single friends so i can get this sorta treatment too or.......

ynuser: HAHA i'll ask

user18: a tear just ran down my ….. nvm i’ll keep that one to myself

yoursibling: princess can’t walk on her own?

ynuser: these shoes hurt my feet

yoursibling: of course they do hahahah well im glad hes coming in handy

ynuser: lance is simply the best

user55: just disappointed this ain’t me fr

lance_stroll: i love you baby girl

ynuser: i love you too sweet boy

lance_stroll: you promise?

ynuser: what? of course i do!!

lance_stroll: i've been reading too many of the comment on our posts :(

ynuser: ohhh baby don't do that!! no one knows what our relationship is like besides us and i love you more than words could ever express

lance_stroll: i know its just easier said than done to ignore it sometimes

ynuser: i get it baby i really do and i'm sorry. people will always have an opinion an we can't change that but don't ever doubt just how much i love you 🤍

user16: glad whoever this is is treating you like the queen you are

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, and 15,674 others

f1gossip: and just like that! it's official. lance has arrived to the victoria's secret fashion show red carpet alongside the gorgeous vs angel, y/n y/l/n.

view all comments

user18: the video of them arriving might be the happiest we’ve seen lance look in like years

user22: this makes my heart so happy

user8: fake fake fake

user12: adopting him and starting to watch f1 was the best decision i made man look at my mom and dad

user18: the strookies are so glad to have you 💚

user4: contracts gotta be almost up after this!!

user3: this is jobless behavior user4

user88: wow she looks incredible and honestly this is one of his best outfits in a while. gf effect is real

lance_stroll has added to his story

view all story replies

chloestroll: how in the world does she always look so perfect

lance_stroll: i ask myself that every day. shes truly beautiful inside and out

chloestroll: my baby brothers in love ❤️‍🔥🥰

lance_stroll: as the kids would say, i'm down bad

user18: hold on is she wrapping your hugo boss jumper around her legs in the second slide!? brb crying

ynuser: thank you for being here! these shows make me so nervous

lance_stroll: there is no place i'd rather be!

flavy.barla: CUTIES!!! did you make sure she got the flowers from este and i?

lance_stroll: of course i did! she cried real tears and said she was going to call you after the show 😘

user8: you and your pr fling ❤️

astonmartinf1: the couple of the century holy moly

lance_stroll: 😉

user12: you better close your eyes every time another model walks by that isnt our queen

ynuser has made a post

liked by lance_stroll, yourbff, astonmartinf1, zendaya, victoriassecret, adrianalima, yoursibling and 324,220 others

ynuser: another vs fashion show in the books! thank you to everyone who made this possible - to the team of incredible stylists, to vs, to my friends for supporting me through this journey and to my darling lance who is always my biggest cheerleader and never says no to milkshakes at midnight. see you same time next year 🤍

view all comments

chloestroll: my favorite angel

ynuser: my favorite stroll 🤍

lance_stroll: hello??????

chloestroll: lance look away this is a private convo

lance_stroll: yeah i’ll be having private convos with you both 😘

ynuser: god forbid the girlies are besties 😔

user12: the milkshake photo im sobbing 😭

lance_stroll: i love being your cheerleader 😘

ynuser: and i love being yours my handsome man 🤍

user24: i’ve never seen someone so gorgeous

flavy.barla: wish este and i could have been there! so proud of you beautiful 😍

ynuser: thank you!!! i can’t wait to see you in cannes 😘

user18: only watched that show for you and god was it worth it

yourbff: IM SO PROUD OF YOU

ynuser: THANK YOU

user27: this is my version of the royal couple

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[dammit-tazmuir]

C— kept saying, Pick one. Are we more invested in proving this new plan is bullshit, or in saving you? I was like, It’s both, how can it not be both. C— was like, It can’t be both. Pick one and stick to it. Decide what you give a fuck about.

Spoiler alert, it wasn't both.

But ya know. I'm sure it'll be both this time. The faceless oppression of global capitalism and collective exploitation of billions over the course of centuries was bad and all, I guess, but like, John also hurt people who didn't deserve it, and more importantly, people we the audience personally like, which is way worse than people we don't know.

Obviously we won't hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it and are objectively qualified to decide that. Quests for vengeance never have collateral damage if you're morally pure, and John's problem is just that he always sucked. He probably lied about his whole backstory and wasted a quarter of a book, I'm sure Tamsyn would do that to us. Alecto probably, uh, played eeny meeny miney moe or something, she definitely never had a real reason to choose him.

Also sure there's very little misogyny in the empire but sometimes he's dismissive toward Mercy (far more condescending and meaner to everyone including other women, but when she does it she's a girlboss) and he patronizes the babies (definitely because they're women, not because they're babies) so obviously he's just super sexist. Ignore his relationship with his own masculinity, his childhood love for dolls and hatred for older men, his aversion to casting himself as "Father" despite all the Catholicism. Ignore that his original inner circle minus puppets consisted of his childhood bestie, his boyfriend, his boyfriend's inseparable baby brother, his girlfriend, and four other women and no other men. Also being polyamorous definitely means he's running a gross sex cult, that claim isn't anyone's biases showing at all, it's not like it took his partners 500 years to seduce him. Also ignore any and all historical allegations against any of the schools he's attended, I'm sure those details were arbitrary and being in the first paragraph of a book isn't important. It's not like he vents often but avoids directly saying anything that makes him sound weak or vulnerable. And we all know that the world consists only of blameless victims and malicious abusers. So I'm sure he's just power-hungry and manipulative for funsies and we totally just need to murder him already.

Hi can you tell I'm tired.

Anyway yeah it wasn't "both" for him and it would really suck and undermine the entire point if it was magically both now for us.

Obviously he did a lot of shit wrong, and I'm not even saying there's no satisfying way he could be punished or even die, but our girlies just storming the palace and assassinating him ain't it.

Tamsyn Muir: “Here's a series about how a man's vindictiveness dooms the universe, all because his trauma left him incapable of believing in forgiveness over vengeance. As contrast, the protag in the first book reflects something closer to divinity by extending her abuser grace so that she can repent and change, and the protag of the third book begs her brother to not flatten a planet in revenge after having experienced forgiveness.”

too many TLT fans: “yass can't wait for my girlies to kill God!!!”

[nadvs]

ok so yk how in power play they’re gonna be apart for a while or atleast not see eachother everyday… phone sex blurb??🫠🫠🫠

like he initiates it and she doesn’t understand at first and then he guides her thru urgghhh i love them sm😭

ohhh you ATE with this idea 😌 blurb set in the power play series. FILTHY smut and lots of dirty talk. 18+!

Rafe’s deep voice buzzes through your phone as your head rests on your pillow, your bedroom plunged in darkness.

He’s telling you about his day as you play with a loose string on your pillowcase. You talk to your boyfriend every night, but no amount of calls can fill the emptiness sitting in your chest from how much you miss him.

It’s been a couple of weeks since the school year ended, and it’s been surprisingly hard to schedule time to see each other in person. You’re glad that at least you can talk like this.

“So, you had fun today, huh?” he murmurs. “I liked those pictures.”

You think back to all the photos you’d sent him from your day at the beach with your friends, mostly scenery, some shots of you in the car and on the sand.

“Wasn’t that sunset so pretty?” you say.

You hear Rafe breathe a chuckle on the other end.

“What?” you laugh. “It was.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies. “I wasn’t really looking at that.”

“What do you mean?”

He chuckles again, staring up at the ceiling from his bedroom two hundred miles away, able to clearly picture the curious look he knows is on your face.

“I was looking at you.”

You smile to yourself in the dark.

“Really?”

“I don’t get you,” he says with a resigned sigh. “You still don’t see how fucking hot you are.”

His words make your muscles loosen, warmth filling you.

“You think I looked hot?” you say.

“Baby,” he breathes. “That one of you by the water? I got so hard just lookin’ at it.”

The warmth grows hotter and you bite your lip as you imagine how big and strong and good he looks naked, how much it spurs you on to feel his growing cock pressed against you when all you’ve done is share a couple of innocent kisses.

Thinking about it, about him being turned on from so far away with no chance of doing something about it makes the sexual frustration you’ve been feeling even worse.

“I really, really wish you were here,” you tell him, your voice dripping with longing.

Rafe smirks. After your first time together, you two were at it nonstop, the knowledge that soon you’d both be moving off of campus hanging over you.

As expected, it wasn’t enough. He craves you every hour, minute, second.

Heat pools deep in his stomach as he thinks yet again about how you looked in your photos, how much skin you were showing, how if he was there with you, he would last seconds before rushing to find a place to get you alone.

“Pretend I am,” he rasps.

“What?”

Rafe veins tighten with anticipation.

“What would happen if I was in your bed right now?”

Your core coils, breath hitching as you feel the tone of the conversation sink into something deeper, more intense.

“You know what would happen,” you say with a soft, shy chuckle, enticement and arousal tangling together deep within you.

“You nervous, baby?” Rafe teases, the smile in his voice apparent.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“You want me to tell you how?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Put your hand under your shirt,” he instructs. “You wearing a bra?”

“No.”

The simple, monosyllabic answer makes his cock press against his boxers, already so hard it hurts.

“Damn,” he exhales, strained. “Alright. Tell me how it feels.”

You palm at your chest, squeezing and pinching, shutting your eyes as you imagine him with you, doing it instead.

“Soft. Warm,” you say quietly. You swallow before you speak again. “My nipples are hard.”

Rafe can’t control himself. He lowers his hand, palming himself over his shorts, thinking about how much he loves to get your chest wet with his kisses.

“I miss sucking them so much,” he rasps.

Every inch of you tenses up with arousal, but your mind loosens, sinking into comfort as you slowly buck your hips.

“You’d be doing that if you were here,” you say, then let out a groan of frustration. “Your hands are so much bigger than mine. I can’t even pretend it’s you. I can’t touch myself the way you can.”

“That’s so fucking hot,” he breathes. “You like it when I play with your tits?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“You like when I get rough?” he provokes you. “Squeeze hard. The way I do.”

He can tell by the way your breath hitches that you obey.

“Good girl,” slips out of his mouth, and it makes your head spin with euphoria. “That feel nice?”

“Yes.” You swallow, your throat dry, picturing him in his bed, touching himself. “Is your hand…”

“Is my hand where?” Rafe teases, wanting to hear you say it. “Don’t be shy.”

“On your cock,” you finish your sentence, nerves radiating through you.

“Fuck, I love hearing you talk like that.”

It spurs confidence in you, a reminder of how much you get to him, of how much power you have over him.

“Answer me,” you whisper. “Is it?”

“Over my shorts,” he replies. “I’d do anything to be inside you right now. Tell me how wet you are.”

Your hand drags down your body, into your panties, your fingers pressing over your heat.

“I want you here so bad,” you shudder. “I feel like I’m dripping.”

He groans and scrambles to finally push his hand into his boxers, gripping the head of his cock, precome already dribbled out.

“I’d look at you while I do it,” he murmurs. “Like I always do.”

You picture it, his habit of locking eyes with you right as he’s pushing into you. Your heart is pounding in your ears as you trace circles over your clit, letting out soft moans that start to slowly get breathier.

“You getting close?”

“Yes,” you say, your grip growing harder. “I’m so wet my hand is slipping.”

Rafe rolls his eyes back in need, in anguish, in such painful desire. He strokes himself faster, imagining how hard he’d be pounding into you if he could.

“Fuck, baby, you’re good at this,” he whispers.

The praise makes you feel like you’re floating as the knot in your stomach tightens.

“Say my name when you come,” he tells you, drunk on the idea of being responsible for the orgasm that’s about to rush through you.

You listen to Rafe’s instructions, your voice shuddering and breathy as you whisper his name, pleasure zipping through every nerve.

He comes seconds later, the groan on the other end of the phone making goosebumps prick your skin.

His hot come covers his hand, rubbing until he’s too stimulated, eyes squeezed shut as he listens to the sound of your heavy, relieved breaths.

It takes a moment to tumble down from the high, both of you gasping, elated.

“I miss you so damn much,” he tells you, sweat glistening over his skin, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Me, too,” you whisper through your shallow breaths. “What am I supposed to do? Cuddle myself now?”

Rafe chuckles tiredly, the lack of you cutting through him.

“Fall asleep on the phone with me,” he tells you. “It’s the closest we can get.”

And you do, satisfied, telling yourself every sleep is one day closer to seeing him again.

[dragoneyelashart]

Billie and reader’s daughter gets a tattoo and piercing behind her mothers’ backs

you’re standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring the pot on the stove as steam curls up into your face and the scent of garlic and rosemary fills the air. music hums low from the speaker, something soft, something that doesn’t distract but keeps you company. it’s peaceful, the kind of moment that feels earned.

the front door creaks open. you glance toward the hallway and call out, “hey my loves! you two are late.”

there’s a beat of silence, too long, and then muffled whispers, the shuffle of feet, and a hushed, frantic:

“don’t tell mom i let you do it.”

“i won’t if you don’t tell her you did it too!”

your brows lift. you set the spoon down slowly, wiping your hands on the towel slung over your shoulder. “what... exactly... aren’t we telling mom?”

your daughter appears first, sheepish, followed closely by billie, who looks like a teenager caught sneaking back in past curfew. they're both trying not to grin, which already tells you everything you need to know. suspicious doesn't even cover it.

“what did you do?” you ask, arms crossing, leaning one hip against the counter. your daughter exchanges a wide-eyed glance with billie, and then finally, defeated, holds out her wrist.

a fresh tattoo. a delicate, shooting star and glinting from down low, a belly button piercing.

“oh my god,” you say, eyes widening.

“she wanted it!” billie pipes up, like that justifies everything. “and i supervised! and i got one too, look!”

she rolls up her sleeve to reveal the same tattoo, matching. then, like she’s trying to distract you with a magic trick, she turns her other arm to show a second one: small, neat cursive. your initials. right above her pulse point.

your mouth opens. then closes. then opens again.

“you—” your voice falters, something in your chest squeezing tight. “you got... my initials?”

billie shrugs, pretending it's nothing, though there’s a proud little smile tugging at her mouth. “yeah. i mean, you’re kind of permanent.”

you blink, heart caught somewhere between furious and utterly melted. you look at your daughter. she’s watching you like she’s ready to bolt if you so much as twitch.

“i’m going to pretend,” you say slowly, voice measured, “that i’m not freaking out. because right now i’m trying to decide if i’m more touched... or more horrified.”

billie snorts. “touched, obviously.”

“billie.”

“y/n.”

you turn to your daughter, narrowing your eyes. “you. grounded. no phone for a week. and don’t even think about going near another tattoo shop until you’re thirty.”

she groans, slouching dramatically. “ugh. but you’re smiling!”

“no, i’m gritting my teeth. there’s a difference.”

with a loud huff, she yanks her phone out of her back pocket and hands it to you like she’s surrendering a piece of her soul. then she stomps off toward her room, muttering something under her breath that you generously choose to ignore.

the door slams upstairs.

a beat passes.

then billie’s arms snake around your waist from behind, her body pressing warm against yours. you feel her lips graze your neck, soft and lingering.

“admit it,” she whispers into your skin. “you’re a little happy.”

you sigh, dramatic, but not really annoyed. 

you try to resist it. try. but you glance at the initials inked on her skin again and feel your stern expression falter, something warm blooming in your chest.

“maybe,” you mutter. “a tiny bit.”

she grins against your shoulder. “knew it.” you swat her playfully with the kitchen towel. “now go set the table before i tattoo ‘grounded for life’ across your forehead.”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @giannaeilish @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonglazesbillieeilish | send me an ask or comment to be added to my taglist !

[justwonder113]

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🎧 Shutting you up mid argument with a kiss - Hyung line edition 🎧

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Maknae Line

📖 Summary:  Basically what the title says 🤭

⚠️ Warnings:  Cursing as always; Arguments; kissing; fluff; angst but nothing too extreme; Suggestive ending at Chan's part. NOT PROOFREAD

🖋️ Author’s Note:  Saw a gif of a man shutting a girl up with a kiss and got inspired so hopefully you'll like it. Will do a reverse version too so stay tuned~

📝 Word Count:  3k

📜 Masterlist: | ☕ Ko-fi:

💬Reblogs and comments are truly appreciated—they help more STAYs find my work, and your feedback means a lot to me. ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

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Chan

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To say that you were pissed off would be an understatement. On a broad daylight in front of you this bitch had the nerve to flirt with your boyfriend! Even worse, apart from ignoring your whole damn existence like you meant nothing she made him uncomfortable!  

Like you just wanted to enjoy a peaceful meal, a peaceful evening with your sweet, overworked, always busy boyfriend and instead of that you were now practically seething in your seat while Chan awkwardly but still firmly rejected the girl. 

“Baby you’ve not touched your food in a while. We can go home if you want?” Chan’s concerned voice brought you back from angry and mean things you were thinking about a waitress you were doomed to be served by today. 

 You felt bad. “No...” - You started unsure of what to say. “You wanted to try this place for a while. Let’s just eat okay?  I promise I’m fine.” 

Chan didn’t look convinced.  You saw his eyebrow rise in question but he didn’t say anything and as if sensing  your inner turmoil he started rubbing your hand with his thumb, He hadn’t let go of your hand since you first sat down here. Sometimes it infuriated you how perfect he was. How handsome, kind, gentle, loving, understanding... Even now he was the one feeling uncomfortable but the first thing on his mind was to check on you.You alsmost felt bad feeling angry. 

Almost. 

To be fair you really tried to keep your cool but you were human after all. 

“It’s just some people have no shame! I mean I was right here! She just ignored me! You were holding my damn fucking hand! Of course it means we’re dating or do we have to start making out for her to get a hint?” You grumbled out all annoyed.  Looking up at Chan to take your side you noticed that the expression on his face had changed. Instead of an awkward smile he had on he was now gazing at you with amusement written all over his face. His eyes like a crecent moons and his adorable dimples showing.  

It wasn’t fucking fair he looked this damn good! 

“Don’t smile at me like you aren’t in fucking trouble!”  You watched as confusion washed all over his face. 

“Why am I in trouble?” 

“Oh I will tell you! You are too kind!” You point it out like it’s a huge problem which sounds ridiculous but unfortunately for both of you it is. 

“How is me being kind a problem? Isn’t that a good thing? Should I be evil?” Despite Chan’s playful tone and his amused smile confusion was as clear as a day on his face. 

“Shut it I’m still talking and you’re on thin ice!” The glare you gave him instantly made him shut up. 

“Sorry darling, please continue.” Softly kissing your hand he straightened up and tried to look serious. Tried being the key word. You really tried to keep your composure. 

“You can’t just smile at everyone like that, Chan,” you snap. “That waitress was eating it up. You were practically handing her your number with those puppy eyes.” 

Chan blinks, caught between confusion and guilt. “I was just being polite—” 

“That’s the problem!” you cut in, voice slightly rising against your better judgement. “You’re too polite. Too nice. Too—you. And you don’t see it, but people take advantage of that. You think they’re being friendly. I see it as them testing boundaries.” 

You sighed. “I shouldn't have to sit through a meal watching someone throw themselves at you while you smile and thank them for it like it’s normal. I trust you. I know you won’t betray my trust. It's just... Fuck I don’t know how to explain. I don’t want someone to make you uncomfortable like this. It’s not just about me getting pissed.” 

You exhale sharply, half-angry, half-exhausted mostly grumbling like an old cartoon character. “I should just—I don’t know—write ‘taken’ on your damn forehead in permanent marker or something like mark you up or some shit like that.” 

Chan’s expression shifted at that — something flickered behind his eyes. And then, without a word, he leaned forward over the tiny table, cupped your jaw with one hand, and kidded you. The kiss was firm, sure, leaving no room for argument — just the press of his lips saying everything he hadn’t yet taking your breath away just like that. 

When he finally pulled back, he murmured, breath warm against your skin, “Then I guess I’ll just have to show everyone I’m already yours.” Another short but loving peck, and you’ve already forgotten just what had you worked up anyway. “Is that good with you darling?” The teasing glint in his eyes and the smug grin he was barely hiding made you snap back to reality. 

“Oh fuck you!”  How did he manage to always fluster you was beyond you. He was taking advantage of how much you loved him really. What a tease. Made your heart throb and everything...

God you loved him. 

“Later baby.” He leaned in and sealed your lips again, not that you were against it. Also, you just loved how sour the mood of a certain waitress got after Chan’s very much public display of affection. A win was a win. 

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Lee Know

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The day started out great. You had a day off and you had spent it all day cuddling with your boyfriend and his adorable fluffballs till noon, you had a great breakfast and you two even went out to hang out with the guys. You decided to have a game night. There were also few other close “friends” invited.  

The thing is you and Minho were always a team whenever you played because both of you tended to get overly invested in games and usually it resulted in chaos. But today others had an interesting idea. Since there was an even amount of you Felix and Jisung came up with the idea to randomly split into pairs. That’s how you ended up being paired with Minho’s biggest enemy- Kim Seungmin. Not that you had anything against him, in fact you loved that chaotic little gremlin, the literal chaos incarnate.  

Minho didn’t seem to appreciate that at all. 

At first you thought that he was sulky because he and Innie lost to you and Seungmin in many games, declaring you the winner of the night. But now as you two were heading towards your shared house the atmostphere had really shifted. 

Even the air felt heavy in the car. It was quiet. Too quiet. Like the storm was brewing.  

After you felt Minho glance at you for the nth time this whole ride you just couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. 

“Okay what is the problem? You had been sulking since we left.” 

Minho looked at you for a second, his face unreadable. “I’m not sulking.” Flat, so dry. 

Yeah right. 

“Please like I’d miss something like that after knowing you for years. You’re literally pouting Min! You only do that when you’re annoyed...”-You poused for a second-“or jealous.” 

“I’m not pouting.” a displeased scoff from him.

Ypu scoff in return. Yes, it's very mature..“Oh please like you can fool me.” 

"I’m fine.” 

“Minho. Why are you upset” 

He laughed now dryly.

“What is funny?"

“It’s funny you noticed, considering you were too busy all evening laughing at everythingSeungmin had said, like he’s the funniest person ever. You didn’t even bother to look at me from time to time. What a cute little pair you were." Minho's voice was cold, so cold it made you shiver. He never talked to you like that.

How dare he?

“Are you fucking serious right now?"

Another glance

“Completely” 

"So what? Am I not allowed to laugh at someone else’s joke? What if my boyfriend takes it as me flirting? What do you not trust me now"

"You think this is about trust?" Minho asked after stopping a car in front of your house. He looked at you, he really did. For a first time in the last 2 hours. "No. It's about the fact that you know exactly what you do to me when you smile like that—and then you go flashing it at everyone else. So fuck me I guess." 

"Excuse me? I’m not yours to—"  

You barely desipher the click of his seatbelt before his hand is firmly on your jaw and his lips are on yours. The kiss so raw and passionate speaking so many things at once. "Yeah, you are." He whispered against your lips before connecting them all over again. You swear you feel like you’re melting.   "You're mine."

“You won’t get out of this with a kiss you know.” 

"If you don’t want me to kiss you, don’t look so damn kissable when you’re angry." Only Lee Minho would he able to say this in the most nonchalant way.

Still it made your heart flutter.

“You’re such an asshole sometimes." You grumbled as you avoided his gaze. You didn’t want him to see how flustered he got you.

“You love me.” 

“I do.” 

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Changbin

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You loved your boyfriend. He was your love, your joy your happiness. He meant everything to you. Like there was nothing you wouldn’t do for him. But sometimes you just felt like strangling him. Like the way Homer Simpson strangles his son Bart. Or at least smack him. 

You two were supposed to have a date in this fancy restourant that recently opened up. You barely managed to make a reservation it was already packed for next 3 months.

Well, you were supposed to go and enjoy your date. The key word being supposed.

 Because he didn’t show up.   

You waited and waited. 15 minutes he didn’t answer your call. 30 minutes. Still no answer and no call. An hour- nothing. The pitiful gazes from the restaurant staff and other people around you became too much, but you still waited. An hour and a half... You just couldn’t take it anymore, so you left. 

You had barely taken a few steps from the restaurant when you saw him running full speed at you. 

“Baby I am so sorry!” You heard him huff out between laboured breaths. 

“Forget it, let’s go home.” The sound of your voice sounded so foreign to you. So emotionless. So empty. 

Changbin quickly caught up with you and stopped you by gently but firmly grabbing your wrist. “Baby please!” He sounded desperate but you didn’t care. You were fed up. You just wanted to go home. 

The desperate call of your name made you stop. And something in you snapped. ”Unbelievable! You forgot! Again! And now you act and sound like you’re the one hurting?” 

“Baby please, listen to me for a second.” He pleaded but you were done listening, 

“Do you even care Changbin? Or am I just some afterthought in your schedule?” You finally asked it, you really did. 

"I—No, I do care! I just lost track of time. I was in the studio, and-” You didn’t let me finish. Scoffing you started to talk. You were done being forgiving and understanding. This time you would speak up for yourself. "Studio. Right, always the studio. Always work. Always something more important than me! You didn’t even text, Changbin! You could have at least warned me instead of making me look like a pathetic fool in front of all these people! You could have fucking answered one of the many fucking calls. “ You knew that his schedule was a nightmare, but you weren’t asking for much. You knew that his mind was occupied with work, but would it kill him to think about you from time to time? 

Changbin looked like he was physically hurt by  your words. "I know. And I’m sorry, I really am!” 

“Sorry?! Sorry doesn’t change the fact that I was sitting there alone, waiting for you! I looked like an idiot, Changbin! Do you even know how...” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, you barely even had time to realize what was happening but one second you were pouring your heart out to Changbin in the middle of nowhere and the next second he was kissing you so desperately like you were the air he needed to breathe.

like you were his lifeline.

He held you like he was afraid you would disappear. 

The kiss itself was so raw, so desperate, so passionate and urgent. You didn’t even know how to react. Your whole body begged you to reciprocate to return the passion. It begged you to hold onto him and never let go, but at the same time you heart ached so much...  

His hands were so warm and gentle holding your face. His whole body was warm. All you wanted was to nuzzle against his strong sturdy frame. But what frightened you more is how weak you were for him. It’s like you could physically feel how the frustration, the anger- all melt into the heat of the kiss as the seconds passed. 

Eventually he leaned back. His eyes  glistening  like he was seconds away from crying. You don’t even realize when you started crying yourself. You only realized when Changbin gently wiped them away. “I messed up. But please, don’t say I don’t care about you.” He took your hands in his and kissed every knuckle making your skin crawl in anticipation. Not breaking eye contact. His eyes speaking for himself , in the language only you two could understand. Something just you two. “You’re my heart.” Another kiss, on your wrist now. And your heart leaped in your ribcage.  

“I love you so much baby.“- He muttered against your skin as he now migrated and kissed both of your cheeks. His touch purely electrifying. “Please trust me on that.” A broken voice and a final kiss on your forehead and you finally give in. 

“You’re on thin ice...” You finally mutter out after a few seconds of silence and Changbin looking like a literal sad puppy instead of a dwaekki. 

A biggest grin comes up on his face immediately. “I won’t break your trust again bunny! I promise.” 

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Hyunjin

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It starts the same way it always does. 

You said something—something important, something you needed Hyunjin to hear—and he just nodded, absently, like your words were some kind of background noise to whatever thought was occupying his head. 

Like now. 

You were sitting across from him, watching, waiting for even the slightest flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. But instead, he was staring at the floor—no, not even staring. Spacing out. 

You could feel your fingers tighten around your drink. Your heart clenching in pain from being ignored yet again. “Hyunjin.” You called out agan but somewhat you already knew you would be ignored again.  

And there it was - Silence. 

Your heart sinked further. 

“Hyunjin.” You called. His head jerked up, eyes wide, almost guilty. “Huh?” 

Oh, there it iwas. The proof that he wasn’t listening. 

Your voice sharpened, your tone cold. “You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?” 

“i’m sorry darlin I must have spaced out. What were you saying?” There it was. He asked you to repeat yourself like it was nothing special. Did he even realize just how much he tuned you out? Were you not interesting for him anymore? 

“God Hyunjin you always do this.” It’s like you could feel the headache manifesting. 

“What? What did I do wrong?” He fully sat up now. God was he serious? 

“Do you even hear yourself right now? That’s the problem, Hyunjin—you don’t listen! 

Hyunjin looked taken aback for a second but he quickly started to defend himself. “That’s not true, I...” You didn’t let him finish. 

“It is! Every time I try to talk, you brush it off. You nod along, say, "Yeah, yeah," like it’s nothing! Like I’m some background noise in your life!” You paused a second to take a deep breath. You felt like you could cry any second now. You felt so fragile like you could crack any second.  “It really hurts Hyun...” 

Seeing your defeated state he paniced " I swear, I...” 

"No!”  You interrupt, quite harshly also. “No, don’t just "I swear" me! Because the moment I get serious, the moment I actually need you to listen, you always...” 

Hyunjin moved. Quick, decisive, like he already made up his mind before you even finished your sentence. His lips crash against yours mid-rant, stealing your words, your frustration, your breath. The world tips upside down and all that's left is him—his touch, his warmth, his absurd, infuriating way of handling things. He pulls back just enough to whisper—soft, teasing, smug in the way only Hyunjin can be and get away with - “See? You’re not arguing anymore. Perfect balance.” 

You’re actually speechless. It was like the anger and sadness evaporated but now all you felt was confusion. Being in a relationship with him sure was a rollercoaster. You were flustered, scandalized, fuck you would be clutching your pearls if you had any on.  

You were dizzy. You could barely stand on your two feet. Your heart was going absolutely crazy in your ribcage!

“That—That doesn’t help your case at all you asshole!” Not able to stop yourself you smacked his arm which made Hyunjin giggle. 

Leaning in he wrapped his arms around you and gently brough you to himself. “I’m sorry my love I promise I will be more present from now on.” As if to make his point come across, he laned in to kiss your forehead gently. 

Bergundigly you wrapped your hands around his waist.

As if you could stay mad at him. 

“You better Hwang!” 

Hyunjin flinched like you slapped the shit out of him. “Baby! Not my last name!” 

Served him right. 

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✧･ﾟ: Thank you for reading! :･ﾟ✧ 

If you enjoyed this story, reblogs and comments are truly appreciated—they help more STAYs find my work, and your feedback means a lot to me. 💬🖤 

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Any support is deeply appreciated and helps me keep writing more stories like this💌

[cyberhughes]

LET ME LOVE YOU #𝒒.𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒆𝒔

𝜗𝜚˖ ࣪ ִ𐙚 summary pretending to date quinn was supposed to be simple, but as jealousy, comfort and silent longing blurs the lines of an arrangement that was meant to get his ex back, you don't know if you can keep pretending.

warnings alcohol is mentioned ONCE, mentions of a past toxic relationship, self sabotage, that's it i think! wc 761

note requested by my baby girl isa for my 500 follower celly this is literally self sabotage in it's highest form i'm #projecting. anyways i hope this lives to your standards my love... also i rewrote this three times i think help but guys i lowkey am really proud of this one i hope you all enjoy ok bye

"you don't mean that." quinn's voice was laced with dissent as it echoed through your head, and it was impossible to tell if it was the alcohol or the truth that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

but you knew it, he was right.

but he didn't need to know that.

he didn't need to know that when your plan was so close to success. it was a deal the two of you had made, you would pretend to date each other for two reasons; quinn wanted his ex back, and you wanted yours off your back. it was simple, really.

except it wasn't. it stopped being simple the moment you felt jealousy creep in every time her eyes lingered on him, just how they were supposed to. your heart wasn't meant to beat faster at the ghost of his fingertips on your waist as he held you close, seemingly searching for a reaction from her. the way you could know exactly what he was thinking just by looking in his icy eyes was anything but simple.

but it wasn't just you that felt it, and that was the hard part.

you knew quinn was falling too.

his gaze that was once only fixed on her would find itself gravitating towards you. he'd seek you out late at night, when the world was quiet and there was nothing but the feeling of your shoulders pressed side by side, would you comfort in each others presence with no words being spoken, yet everything said. he'd wrap his arms around you—not for show, but to feel you—lingering longer than he should've as her eyes burned holes in his back, but all he seemed to notice was the feeling of your heart beating with his.

he was falling too and that's what made your decision that much harder.

he was right, you didn't mean it when you whispered the words "i don't love you."

maybe it was fear, or that familiar shadow of insecurity that haunts you.

the shadow that would creep onto you, whispering all the reasons that you'd never be enough; that you could never be like her.

you'd never be able to get away from the insecurity that'd haunt you at night knowing the two of you only started because of her.

it would always lead back to her.

your plan had worked. she wanted quinn back, while your ex had found someone new so quickly that it left your stomach twisting, just as quickly as you were falling for quinn like rain falling through the cracks of a broken roof.

"you don't mean that."

you couldn't hold eye contact, knowing that your facade would break the second you did. you couldn't face him, you couldn't face the truth you had spent so long fighting.

"she wants you back, quinn. there isn't a need for us to continue this anymore." the hem of your sweater was ruined as your nervous fingers tugged at the frayed threads.

"i don't even know why you're being like this. it's obvious we have something here-"

"but we don't." your eyes flickered to his, your gut twisting at the way he looked at you, like you were both the problem and the answer.

your bottom lip was turning white from the pressure of your teeth as you tried to keep yourself together.

"why are you pushing me away?" the softness of his voice broke you, it was painfully gentle as he searched for reason. he wasn't mad, and it left you with a bittersweet feeling. he was such a contrast to your ex, who's voice would always be raised as it fought for dominance, never a hint of understanding in his tone.

quinn didn't want to fight with you.

he wanted to fight for you.

you didn't mean to let the tears fall from your eyes, but they came anyways. your ex always called you weak for crying, making you feel like your sadness was a trick to get him to apologize, as if your tears were tools and not truth.

you couldn't even hear the words that quinn was saying, as a storm of insecurity clouded your mind, but the warm and familiar feeling of his arms embracing you steadied you. his hands brushed through your hair gently, as if undoing the knots of your past.

quinn wanted to fight for you, and as you felt the low rumble of his voice grounding you, and his heartbeat syncing with yours, you knew that you didn't mean it.

you'd let him fight for you.

©cyberhughes; do not copy, translate or repost my work without permission.

[the-tarot-witch22]

Messages from the universe - Pick a pile

Pile 1 / Pile 2

My Paid Readings | My insta | My Monthly Goal Post | Paid Reading Feedbacks! | Pac Masterlist!

Liked my blog or readings? Tip me!

Hello everyone ! It's been a while isn't it! So, this is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!

I worked really hard on this pac please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

Pile 1

(The cards I got for you - knight of pentacles, the star, the hermit, justice)

Okay so first of all so major arcanas for you guys, trust me something life changing will be happening for you, it could be a major transition period, for some of you I am feeling you guys lost someone close to you? And you haven't been yourself for a while now, you feel lost? almost as if things aren't going your way atleast for now, I also feel the energy almost as if you are emotionally exhuasted. Anyhow let's dive deeper into your reading, okay loves, first of all universe wants you to be patient, this group is almost impulsive, or rather act on instinct or just without thinking, universe is saying "patience my child", i am also seeing you all or many of you try to manifest and when it doesn't work in try, you are like "why me?", "why must i suffer"? universe right now is dragging your ass out, that all you have to is listen trust me and you dont do that and you blame me back!? Damn it I am also feeling that universe wants you to focus yourself on your career or invest in your hobbies, and also look with in instead of distracting yourself with outer things, even if its uncomfortable more like "feel the feelings", I am also feeling that something about learning lessons, you dont have to go through one thing again and again, you can learn, but some of you guys here are stubborn, and don't see it that way, also i got a message that "no dont go back to your situationship", let's move forward and deeper into your reading, I am seeing and feeling that most of you guys here are intuitive , and do tarot/astro, universe is telling you to hone your skills, I am also feeling that the storm you are facing and faced in your life WILL NOT last forever, I am seeing and hearing you guys need a vacation or just some alone time for yourself, or maybe even open up about your feelings to people around you or close to you, no you won't be judged, there is hope guys, you are not alone, but again the message with pour the love you give outside to within you, you dont need external validation you are you are doing okay, its almost like universe is gently patting you on head, like our child you are enough, I am also seeing that some of you guys need to stand up for yourself you guys can stand up for others but themselves, so change that, you guys are truly embodient of balanced energy, but a small thing can rattle you, I am hearing "keep living, it does get better", universe is being very straightforward with you that you need to keep going, and not give up.

These are all the messages I have gotten for you my loves, hope it resonates and makes sense!

Signs - If you are a libra/Sagittarius/Leo/Taurus - Sun/moon/rising, and if you are wearing yellow/white/black/pink/blue tshirt/hoodie/sweatshirt, or i am seeing some of you guys lying, almost sleepy or like phone will fall on your face, if you might be near a charging port or refrigerator, or some of you could be drinking water.

pile 2

(The cards I got for you - ace of wands, 6 of pentacles , knight of pentacles, tower, 10 of wands)

Okay so the very first thing I feel and heard is "let your creativity shine", this pile might be very into artsy stuff, or enjoy the smaller art or moments in life, I am also seeing this group as who is most often percieved as "attractive to others" even if you don't see it yourself, you guys this pile had me, because I see you all go through you numerous amount of backstabbing or family issues, but still i see you, universe is proud of you my loves they will reward you too, and very soon! Okay so let's dive into your reading, so i am seeing and hearing that universe wants to say that, you guys need to apply for the jobs/colleges or even new type of hobbies, that you move, and be passionate about, I am seeing lots of procastination here, so don't actually do something even if its reading a book, it's like make the effort, the energy here is truly lazy ngl, hehe, so moving forward, I am seeing you will be the given a chance to work on a project soon, take that and you will shine, it will be kind of new opportunity for you, which you should take, I also am getting the message to wear what you want some of you could feel self conscious, but i am seeing you want that dress? wear that, step into your power, I am also feeling that you guys should might come across people from past, its upto you if you wanna talk to them or not. I am also feeling that you should help when you can small charity and donation, whatever you wish, and say you are grateful, i know it's cliche but small things like this truly help a lot, you might even start a new job soon, but be careful of the mental and emotional pressure, I am also feeling that, you guys need to rest just for a bit, not procastinating but actually breathe and journal, meditate, I am feeling universe is gonna send you a future partner soon/ or you may have already met them, anyhow! universe is telling you almost some of you might have gone through emotional upheavel or even harsh circumstances weeks/months ago, but don't worry you are gonna get back on track, you are again gonna feel better, you are not stuck you are just human, I also feel all of your stagnant work will be successful! "You are strong, but don't bear all the burdens alone", you don't have to, you dont have to pretend you are okay, cry it out, dance, heal, grow, and use your magic to build something for yourself!

So, that's it pile 2 hope you enjoyed!

Signs - If you are a aries/ saggitarius/virgo/capricorn/gemini - Sun/moon/rising, and if you are wearing tank top, striped tshirt, black/white/dark blue/printed, or some of you could be in car/or your dining room/kitchen while you see this.

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3

[shhhhimwatchingthis]

Actually love the way The Next Prince is exploring the power between Khanin and Charan.

Like, yes Khanin is a prince but he found out last week. They're in the kingdom in which Khanin is a prince but he is a stranger there. he has no allies or friends. no one he can trust. Unlike Charan who has the King's ear, who has a place, who has friends and allies.

Charan is older than Khanin and a stronger physical fighter but Charan is quicker on his feet in the improv/get out of trouble department and just as if not more gutsy and stubborn.

And most significantly in the ep 3 reveal Charan just helped manipulate the hell out of Khanin by telling him his father is dead. As the only thing remotely familiar to Khanin now he's imprinted HARD on Charan and the devastating thing is Charan KNOWS it.

Charan desperately tries to give Khanin his power back to make up for it. When they're alone in his room, he tries to invoke propriety only for Khanin to retort by asking why it suddenly matters now and not when they Shared A Bed on the run. and like Khanin is right in that scene Charan has no response to that. Like its a fascinating exchange in terms of power because Charan is trying to give Khanin power back...by denying him the thing he wants (Charan by his side) which means Khanin doesn't really have the power in the scene....but he does clearly shut Charan up and win the argument so he does maybe have some of the power.

And then of course Khanin does start acting like a prince, pulls rank and drags Charan to his side, but so many of these other disparities still exist between them: age, Khanin's status as a stranger in his own kingdom vs Charan's lower rank but familiarity, the LIE that Lie is going to Devastating.

It's all just so fascinating. The show is both highlighting the inequality between the two and continuinally putting them in on an even level. And its just interesting in comparison to say Cutie Pie, in which Lian was always always one step ahead compared to Kuea, instead there seems to be real effort to play and shift with the power dynamics between these two.

Anyway, I need a million more episodes of this show.

[ineedpaigebuckets]

(fake) roomie

an: pt 2 to "like gravity" where azzi and paige fall into a little more affection than they're used to

———

after her and paige's little conversation, after the first day of camp, it hit her—this tight, anxious feeling curling low in her stomach.

she wasn’t nervous about playing with older girls or being the youngest one out there. she wasn’t scared of messing up a drill or looking like she didn’t belong.

no, what she wasn’t prepared for was paige bueckers.

paige was… everywhere. loud in the most natural way. funny without trying. she lit up a room just by walking into it. people were entranced with her like gravity had made an exception just for her.

and azzi got it. she really did.

but what she didn’t get—what she didn’t expect—was that no matter how many people circled around paige, laughing at her jokes, pulling her into conversations, trying to keep her attention, paige always managed to find her.

it started subtly. paige would slide into the open seat next to her while watching film, even if there were others open. she’d show up at lunch with an extra gatorade, like she just happened to grab two. she’d lean in during stretches to whisper something stupid in azzi’s ear just to make her laugh.

they weren’t roommates, but they may as well have been. most nights ended the same—with one of them climbing into the other’s bed, sharing a snack, legs tangled in a blanket, paige’s ipad balanced on a pillow between them.

paige flopped onto azzi's bed at night like she belonged there, always with something to eat—chips, pretzels, a sleeve of cookies. they’d sit shoulder to shoulder, legs overlapping under the blanket. their feet would brush. their knees would bump. and when they both reached for the last pretzel and their fingers touched, neither of them moved.

azzi told herself it didn’t mean anything.

but paige had this look in her eye sometimes—like she knew something azzi didn’t know how to verbalize.

one night, paige rolled over and propped her chin in her hand. she down at azzi.

“bet you can’t do ten pushups with me on your back.”

azzi raised a brow. “you wish.”

she barely made it to six before collapsing. paige was giggling against her spine the whole time, her body warm and solid and heavy, arms hooked around azzi’s shoulders like a koala. azzi rolled over and paige didn’t get up right away. they just laid there, tangled on the floor, both of them breathing hard, laughing harder.

paige grabbed her phone and snapped a picture right as azzi tipped her head back, mouth open in a full, unguarded laugh. her cheeks pink, her eyes closed, her smile bright and real.

later, paige put it on her private story.

“my (fake) roomie 💗”

azzi saw it and didn’t say anything, but the warmth in her chest lingered long after.

after that, the touches felt different.

paige’s hand on her back stayed a second too long. their legs brushed during drills and neither stepped away. her pinky started hooking around azzi’s during warmups—casual. casual. until it wasn’t.

one night night they were watching a movie, something dumb and old playing on the ipad. azzi was halfway through a bag of gummy worms when she felt paige’s pinky graze hers.

she should’ve moved. she didn’t.

instead, she curled her pinky around paige’s—just barely. just enough.

the room felt quieter after that. not awkward, just… heavy. charged. their pinkies stayed like that the whole movie. connected, barely.

azzi’s heart beat loud in her ears, but neither of them looked away.

she told herself it was just paige’s energy. she was like that with everyone, right?

but no one else made azzi’s stomach flip just by looking at her. no one else made her want to sit closer for no reason. no one else made her think about how soft her hoodie looked or what her neck smelled like when she leaned over to grab something.

no one else looked at her like that.

that night, paige was flipping through her camera roll, telling a story that azzi wasn’t fully listening to. then she stopped. her voice quieted.

“i think this is the prettiest picture i’ve ever seen.”

azzi leaned over. “of you?” she teased, pointing to the next photo—a mirror selfie of paige holding up her ipad like a trophy.

paige shook her head. smiled. tapped back to the other photo.

“no,” she said softly. “of you.”

azzi's breath caught in her throat. something about the way paige looked at her right then—gentle and sure, unbothered by the silence—made her throat close up.

later that night, when they were stretched out on the bed talking about random things—college, the wnba, their favorite cereals—the conversation shifted, softer.

they started talking about the future, azzi went silent. she looked at paige for what felt like an eternity.

then, almost whispering, she said, “i’ve never really liked anyone like this.”

paige turned her head toward her, smile slow and steady.

“me neither,” she said, eyes locked onto azzi’s like she was afraid to blink.

her hand was close—unbearably close. she let her fingers hover just over azzi’s, not touching, just waiting.

and then they moved, somehow at the same time. slowly, like gravity had taken hold of their shoulders, tugging them forward inch by inch. the air between them felt thick, charged—like it had weight. paige could hear her own breathing, shallow and shaky, feel her pulse fluttering in her neck. azzi’s eyes flicked down to her lips and back up again, wide and unsure.

and then—inch by inch—the space disappeared. their heads tilted toward each other without a word. noses bumped first. too fast. azzi laughed, breath shaky against paige’s cheek. it made paige laugh too, nervously, quietly, and then without thinking, she leaned in that final bit and kissed her.

it wasn’t perfect. it was awkward. their mouths didn’t line up right at first—azzi tilted too far to the left, paige a little too fast—too much angle not enough pressure. paige tilted again. azzi adjusted, and somehow it still landed. not perfect, not practiced—but warm. real. azzi’s lip caught on paige’s for a second before she kissed her again, more certain this time. her hand slid up, resting on paige’s chest without even thinking. just trying to feel something steady.

the kiss lingered just long enough to say something. not everything, not yet—but something honest. something wide open and new. paige smiled into it without meaning to, the way you smile when you realize you’ve just crossed a line you’ve been staring at forever. azzi kissed her back, gentle and shy, like she was still deciding if this was allowed but didn’t want it to stop.

paige’s knee slipped between azzi’s for a second before she pulled back, trying to catch her breath. their foreheads bumped.

azzi’s chest was rising fast. her fingers clenched in the blanket, her whole body warm. not embarrassed. just lit up.

they didn’t say anything. didn’t need to.

they watched the rest of the movie without paying attention, barely apart. their pinkies linked again, automatically this time. like muscle memory.

they didn’t talk about what it meant. but they didn’t ignore it either.

it felt like their whole world had been electrified, and neither of them knew how to stop it.

⸻

p 💗:

u left one of ur socks in my bed

we’re officially married now

az 💗:

oh no

guess this means i have to do ur laundry now

p 💗:

yes

and give me back rubs and bring me snacks during film

wife responsibilities 😌

az 💗:

ur annoying

but i’d still do it

p 💗:

i knew it

u love me 😏

az 💗:

shut up

p 💗:

nah

i’m busy thinking about ur laugh

az 💗:

???

p 💗:

when you face planted trying to do a push up with me on your back

top 3 moments of my life

az 💗:

u were NOT light

also you moved on purpose i know you did

p 💗:

maybe i like being on top of you

az 💗:

ur actually insane

p 💗:

nah i just like my fake roomie

az 💗:

okay well stop flirting

i'm blushing

i'm trynna sleep

p 💗:

not my fault you keep looking at my mouth when i talk 🤨

az 💗:

i do NOT

p 💗:

you do

every time

lean in a lil too close

az 💗:

maybe ur just magnetic

p 💗:

maybe u like me

az 💗:

maybe i do

maybe i don't know what to do with that

p 💗:

that's okay

i'm not going anywhere

but just so u know i'm thinking about u tonight

hard

az 💗:

u suck

goodnight p

thanks for making everything feel... less weird

p 💗:

never weird

just us

sweet dreams az

⸻

[thevalleyisjolly]

So I just rewatched Rogue One after finishing Andor Season 2. And it really has made me see the movie in a different way. This past season, I've read many critiques that Cassian in Season 2 seems to be a different character from the Cassian we see in Rogue One. The two primary concerns are commitment and obedience; Cassian wavers in his commitment to the Rebellion, and Cassian disobeys orders much more frequently which appears to undermine his decision not to kill Galen in the movie.

I've delved into the issue of commitment before, the TL;DR being that Cassian expresses these doubts and despair after surviving a horrifically traumatic event and that he never actually follows through with quitting even though there is little to functionally stop him. What I want to look at now is the issue of disobedience, and in order to do that, I think we have to start by understanding that Rogue One is, fundamentally, Jyn's story.

Yes, Rogue One is an ensemble cast movie about the many unnamed soldiers who give everything for a sunrise they'll never see. But the driving force in the narrative is Jyn. We start the movie with Jyn's childhood, and apart from occasional scenes necessary to advance the wider plot, we're following her perspective for much of the film. She's our viewpoint character for understanding the narrative as well as the other characters. It's a Star Wars story told through the story of Jyn Erso.

I want to point this out because it means that nearly every major character we meet, apart from legacy characters like Vader or Bail or Tarkin, exist in the film's story primarily through their relationship to Jyn's story. We don't get extensive Chirrut or Baze or Bodhi backstories because they are not in the story to provide different viewpoints. Bodhi reconnects Jyn to her father both through his official message and his personal memories of Galen; Chirrut and Baze provide faith and guidance through the doubt and darkness.

And then there's Cassian. Rewatching Rogue One through the lens of it being Jyn's story, I'm struck by how his role in the narrative is to Call Jyn, not to a grand adventure but to a home, to be the person and the leader she has the potential within to be. He challenges the self-interested worldview she's adopted out of necessity and trauma, he makes her look at herself and her decisions, he inspires her to hope and to fight and he's the first to welcome her home when she commits to the cause.

On the other hand, we're not told or shown very much about him (I'm deliberately not going into the novelization because the novelization, while incredibly written, top tier movie novelization, was written as a companion novel after the film was made and is there to enhance the film rather than be part of it structurally). Yes, Cassian has the biggest presence in the film and the story other than Jyn...but we aren't following Cassian's story. The things he tells us and shows us about himself -being in the fight since childhood, struggling with his orders to kill Galen- are things which exist in the context of his role in Jyn's story, to challenge and parallel her. He, like Jyn, has been in affected by the Empire since childhood but where he had to fight, Jyn chose to run. He cites his orders (and his disobedience) as Jyn is confronting him for trying to kill her father, and Jyn even directly calls him out for trying to "talk [his] way around this."

Yes, I agree it's a hugely significant moment in the film for Cassian to disobey the order to kill Galen, but I think the "why" is just as significant in the film as the act of disobedience itself. Cassian uses his orders as a justification when he's being confronted by Jyn, and a last resort justification too. He first dismisses her accusations as shock ("You're in shock. You don't know what you're talking about. ...You're in shock and looking for somewhere to put it."), then when Jyn continues, he defends himself by saying that he never actually did the deed ("I had every chance to pull the trigger. But did I? Did I?"). When Jyn counters with the evidence of the Alliance bombing raid, at last Cassian falls back on, "I had orders! Orders that I disobeyed!"

This isn't to say at all that it wasn't a huge struggle and a huge moment for Cassian to not kill Galen. He did disobey his orders in that moment and you can see the weight of the conflict on him. It's a turning moment in his journey within the movie; the moment he looks in on himself, at what he's about to do, and doesn't like what sees. The point I want to bring out is that everything he says and does afterwards is in the context of Jyn's story.

Jyn herself is at a crisis point in the narrative; her long-lost father has just died in her arms, thanks to the actions of the Alliance, and her father's dying wish is for the Death Star to be destroyed, something she cannot accomplish by herself. By the time she gets back to Yavin, she's standing up in front of the Alliance demanding that they take action. She's already made her decision. What happens now, in the stolen Imperial shuttle with Cassian, is the moment where she has to choose. Cassian, representing the Alliance who killed her father but also the billions, trillions of unnamed people who've had no choice but to fight the Empire since they were born, calls her out for her self-interest even as she challenges his culpability in her father's death. Yes, he admits, he had orders, but he didn't go through with them. You [Jyn] though, you wouldn't understand because you've chosen inaction. Jyn has not had to make the difficult decisions about whether to follow orders and do something she knows is wrong; she's only just decided to start caring.

Later, in Cassian's speech in the hangar, he says, "Everything I did, I did for the Rebellion. And every time I walked away from something I wanted to forget, I told myself it was for a cause I believed in. A cause that was worth it. Without that we're lost. Everything we've done would be for nothing." In that moment, he admits to Jyn and the audience that he's been holding onto the Rebellion and the cause as a reason for his actions. Every good or bad thing he's done, he's been able to justify it to himself as part of a fight that he's been forced into since childhood. In admitting this out loud, he both acknowledges that Jyn was right when she pushed back against his excuses ("Orders? When you knew they were wrong? You may as well be a stormtrooper.") and signals to Jyn and the audience that this mission now, this cause is worth it. He was lost but has found a purpose once more; just as Jyn was lost but is now home, in the right place at the right time as the leader she has inside her. This is Cassian's role in Jyn's story, the story through which we understand this Star Wars story. He challenges her and us to think about commitment and privilege and the unheroic side of rebellion; he inspires her and us to action and to hope.

Andor, on the other hand, is a Star Wars story through the story of Cassian. For that reason alone, the Cassian we meet is already going to be different because we're not seeing him through Jyn's eyes now. We are seeing Cassian the character through Cassian's perspective and for a much more longer period of time - five years where he is the main vessel for the narrative as opposed a few days where he is a character in someone else's story. We watch Cassian succeed and fail many times, we hear him doubt everything and inspire others, we see some of the events which shaped him and we come to understand his role in the events which we've come to know.

When Andor was first announced and throughout since, it was marketed as the story of how Cassian becomes the rebel we meet in Rogue One. And I think given that pitch, it's fair to criticize the apparent dissimilarities in character between Cassian in the show and Cassian in Rogue One. At the same time, I don't think Cassian in the show is an entirely different person from Cassian in the movie. Many of the same building blocks are there (charismatic, capable, deceptive, clever, manipulative, determined), but we're seeing the development of these traits now through Cassian's experiences rather than viewing them through Jyn's perspective. It definitely feels different, sometimes radically so, and it's not wrong by any means to prefer the more streamlined character we meet in Rogue One. Nor does this mean that ten years' worth of fan discussion and insight into the character is wrong! It just means that unless they remake Rogue One from Cassian's perspective, everything the character does in the film is structured and interpreted through the lens of Jyn's story and not his own.

So having said that, let's return to the issue of disobedience. In Andor Season 2, Cassian disobeys direct orders several times, each time in relation to information from Luthen (which goes a ways towards showing why everyone the Council except Mon is so mistrusting of him). So what orders is he disobeying? Both times he leaves Yavin, he does not have permission to go - although the first time, when he leaves for Ghorman, the rebels on Yavin are very loosely organized, Draven only makes a token effort to rein in Cassian, and they have no issue coming back. And...that's it. The second time, when he goes to Coruscant, he's ordered to stand down and he does not. Then, when they come back hot without a flight plan filed, they're confronted by an X-wing escort and afterwards, Cassian complies with what he's told (even though he vehemently disagrees with the Council about it).

When we look at Cassian's disobedience in Season 2, we see that the orders he disobeys are primarily related to permission. He has not been given permission to undertake these unsanctioned missions but he refuses to stand down and he leaves Yavin under false pretenses that everyone can see through. The charge is insubordination, and post facto, potentially exposing the rebel base and thus endangering the Alliance. Contrast this with the order he's given in Rogue One - do not extract the target but rather kill him. This is not an order related to his position within the Rebel Alliance; this is a mission directive to eliminate a perceived threat. And while I think there's a definite criticism to be made of the "lone agent" elements of his insubordination in Season 2, I don't think it fundamentally undermines his moral and personal struggle in Rogue One about refusing to kill Galen.

There's a difference between not listening to your boss' orders because you want to pursue a personal matter, and choosing to disobey an order to kill someone because it would be wrong. One is a decision that anyone can be faced with at any time, the other is a fundamentally moral issue and one that is complicated into a struggle for Cassian because of the nature of the situation. When you've been fighting a fascist regime your whole life, living through atrocities and doing some terrible things in the name of the cause, and you now have the opportunity to take out an important engineer in the regime's weapons program, is it a greater crime to kill them or let them live? At this point, they don't know what else Galen Erso has been working on, if he hasn't been developing other devastating weapons for the Empire. And what if you had to look their daughter in the eye afterwards, the daughter who believed that you were going to save him, whom you lied to about his safety?

This is getting long, so the last thing I'll say is that it's absolutely valid (and important!) to critique Andor over how well it executed its goal of showing Cassian's journey. There are elements that I personally agree were a little rougher and inconsistent, such as the hints that he's some kind of "destined" chosen one or the development of his relationship with K-2SO which could have done with more time. What I really want to say though is that Cassian is a complex character, whom we now have multiple hours of story and screen time through which to examine (and re-examine!) him. And this opens up so much room for discussion and textual criticism, and I hope that we're able to keep talking about and enjoying Cassian Andor long after his story ends.

[lvnleah]

Would you write a bit where Hayden is really nervous about motherhood, like terrified, and maybe has a chat to like Amanda or Katrina Gorry or literally anyone with kids who reassure her about the whole thing and tell her she’ll be fine

not alone | no more secrets.

“She’s so good with her,” you smiled as you watched Kyra run around with Harper as the pair of them chased a ball. “I can't wait for days like this when my little bubba’s older.”

“Are you excited?” Katrina asked you, “You’re 26 weeks, it’ll fly by, before you know it she’ll be here.”

You watched Kyra and Harper laughing together, the sight filling you with a mix of joy and nervous anticipation.

“I think so,” you replied, your voice a little quieter than usual. “But it feels so far away, and also, like, right around the corner. I don’t know… it’s like, I’m so excited, but then I panic. What if I can’t handle it?”

Katrina gave you a soft, understanding smile, her gaze moving from Koby, who was resting contentedly in her arms, to you. “You’ll handle it, you will. It’s normal to doubt yourself, especially in the beginning, but you’re already thinking about it. That’s half the battle.”

You nodded, though the doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. The thought of being a parent, being responsible for a tiny, helpless baby, was overwhelming.

“I just keep thinking about how much everything is going to change.” You sighed, “Like, I’m going to be responsible for a little human.”

Katrina shifted Koby slightly and gave you a knowing look. “Everything is going to change. But not all change is bad. You’ve got people around you who love you. You’re not doing this alone.”

Your eyes drifted back to Kyra as she scooped Harper up dramatically, both of them giggling as she spun the little girl in a circle. You smiled without meaning to, the sight easing something in your chest.

“She’s been… really amazing,” you said softly, almost more to yourself than to Katrina.

Katrina hummed. “She’s been completely smitten with you since day one.”

Your head snapped to look at her. “What?”

“Oh come on,” Katrina laughed. “You really think she offers to do grocery runs with you just because she loves supermarkets? Or that she shows up to every appointment ‘just in case you need someone to drive you home’? That girl would wrap you in bubble wrap if she could.”

You looked away, biting down the flush rising to your cheeks. “She’s just being a good friend.”

Katrina raised an eyebrow. “I know what it’s like dating with kids. It was the exact same situation for me and Clara, but it’s close enough. Just let her in and be there for you.”

“I’m scared I won’t know what to do,” you admitted, your hands resting protectively over the curve of your bump. “Like, what if she cries and I can’t figure out why? What if I mess something up and she gets sick or hurt?”

“You will figure it out,” Katrina said gently. “I promise you will. Every parent has those thoughts. I had them and I still get them some days. You’ll learn her little cues, and what she needs. You’ll learn together.”

“Sometimes I lie awake at night just thinking about if she’ll be okay.” You sighed, “Like, what if she doesn’t sleep, or she hates the car, or I can’t get her to feed right?”

Katrina gave a soft laugh. “You’ll have nights where you cry in the dark with her in your arms, and then mornings where she smiles at you for the first time and everything else fades. It’s hard, but it’s not all hard. And you’re not doing this alone, no matter how much it might feel like it sometimes.”

“I don’t even know how to hold a newborn properly,” you whispered, the vulnerability catching in your throat.

Katrina smiled, “You’ll learn. You’ve got a whole load of support. And me. And Kyra. And everyone else who loves you. You’ll learn. Honestly, they just want to be close to you and feel safe. You already know how to love her. That’s the most important thing.”

You blinked back tears, overwhelmed by the weight of it all, “I just want to be a good mum.”

“You will be,” Katrina said without hesitation. “Because you already care so much.”

Kyra jogged over a moment later, cheeks flushed and hair wild, carrying a breathless, grinning Harper in her arms.

“She wore me out,” Kyra laughed, carefully lowering Harper onto the picnic blanket beside you. “You alright?” she asked.

You nodded, wiping your eyes before the tears could properly fall. “Yeah. Just… having a moment.”

“No over ice cream right?” Kyra asked wearily, “Because if you start crying and screaming over it like you did the other night then I might—”

You shook your head and cut her off, “No, Ky.” you laughed, “Just thinking about everything. About baby girl. About being her mum.”

“Thank god because I couldn’t cope,” Kyra mumbled, sitting down beside you.

You let out a shaky laugh, your hand instinctively rubbing your belly again as your baby rolled gently beneath your palm.

Maybe Katrina was right. Maybe you would learn. Maybe it was okay to be scared, as long as you kept showing up anyway.

[elexuscal]

Welcome to the Murderbot Diaries Fandom!

Hello, hello! Our favorite anxious half robot, half-human security construct has made it to streaming, introducing it to a whole new audience! While that leaves the temptation to put on our helmets and hide in the corner, I'm putting my best foot forward to mimic Dr. Mensah and welcome you all to our hab!

My intention with this post is to give a little bit of a guide to newcomers to get them situated, and generally just say hi.

What's Murderbot?

Murderbot is the titular character of The Murderbot Diaries, a book series by Martha Wells. Book 1, All Systems Red, is currently being adapted by a new streaming series on Apple TV. The (two) series follow a rogue ‘SecurityUnit’ as it befriends humans and robots alike, steals its freedom, and does what it can against the hyper-capitalist companies that rule much of the galaxy.

Spoilers Abound!

As far as we can tell, the (presumed first) season of the Murderbot show will cover only book 1 of what is currently a six-book series (with two additional short stories, and two more entries planned).

As such, there will be spoilers lurking in the tags! This includes future events, reveals, and characters.

If you're new and don't want to be spoiled, stick to the tags #Murderbot Show and #Murderbot TV. It's also a courtesy of fans of the book series to keep TV show discussion in that tag as opposed to the book tags #Murderbot Diaries and #TMBD. (Though I'm going to be honest, there's like a bazillion tags at this point so this might be a losing battle. Oh well, we try!)

Sharing Spaces

The fundamental themes are Murderbot are about the power of kindness and compassion, and the importance of respecting those different from you. Those are ideals I hope we can continue to foster as our little fandom grows.

What does that mean?

Primarily, it means recognizing that there are going to be different perspectives, and that's okay! Some people are really excited by an adaptation of the books they love; some are skeptical. Plus, of course a whole bunch of folks who have only just been introduced to MB via TV! All are valid! Let's not be rude to those who disagree with our own perspective.

It also means respecting different interpretations of the character and stories. We don't know how much the story of books and show are going to diverge; certainly, even faithful adaptations need to make changes to take advantage of a new medium. And indeed, even when you're reading the same text, people can come away with very different perspectives. We need to make room for all those perspectives to hang out together.

Identity and Representation

The Murderbot of the books is nonbinary, using it/its pronouns. There’s heavy emphasis in the text that Murderbot is wholly uninterested in both sex and romance, and it is therefore very commonly interpreted as asexual and aromantic, not to mention touch-averse and neurodivergent. As such, you'll find many folks from these communities within the fandom. Please try to be kind and respectful of these groups!

As always, the fandom principles of 'Ship and Let Ship' and 'Your Kink Is Not My Kink (And That's Okay)' applies. That said, it's a two way street, and there are ways to approach shipping that recognises why many other fans won't share your interests. Write shippy fic, draw shippy art, just tag appropriately and be respectful of ace and aro-spec identities as you do.

Respecting representation also extends to visual depictions of the characters! With a new show out, it of course follows that many people will be making fanart reflecting its cast! However, the books themselves are often very scant on physical descriptions, reflecting Murderbot's often laconic style. This leaves a bit of a blank canvas for fanart. While we're definitely going to be seeing a lot of fanart representing Skarsgard's Murderbot (as well as the rest of the show's cast), you’re also going to be seeing pieces  taking inspiration from other places, such the official book cover art by Tommy Arnold,  the voice actor of the audiobooks, Kevin R. Free, and artists’ own imagination! This means other interpretations of the characters in terms of racial background, build, and gender presentation. That's awesome! Let's keep enthusiasm for all ways of depicting this awesome universe going!

Fandom Is Fun

Above all, fandom is a place of joy, connection, and creativity. Be kind to others; block those who are bringing you down; share and emphasize the things you love!

If this is your first time finding Murderbot; welcome! I think you've got a real treat ahead of you. I'm glad you're here. 👋

[yoongihan]

Services Rendered - BC - 2/3

pairing: escort chan x femreader

genre: smut, with little plot, a lot of talking, fluffy, but there be angst in this part

word count: ~ 13.5k

warnings: sex work, smut: pentrative safe sex, hand jobs (both rec.), oral (both receiving) ; a lot of kissing, older reader, chan goes by chris, reader shorter than chris, many more 'babys' and 'yeonins' because it's chris, the most ethical escort service ever; alcohol imbibed, but no one's drunk, more discussion of insecurities on reader's part, cursing. if i've missed something, let me know.

rating: 18+/M

summary: seeking a solution to your lack of experience, you assume the process will be business-like. you're entirely wrong.

a/n: I AM SO SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG. i swear i thought it'd take a couple weeks and i started it right after posting the first part. i don't think the final part will take as long (she says while packing her apartment to move states literally next week). thank you so much for the kind reception of the first part. there's some book discussion in this part, those books belong to their authors. i hope you enjoy it. big thank you to @moni-logues for reading this over and making sure it actually makes sense.

part one

Part Two

You wake up at some point, way too early. The sleepy realization that you aren’t in your own bedroom gives a moment of panic, but it subsides. You also realize that you aren’t currently the little spoon, or any spoon at all. There’s another irrational moment of panic, this one about him, that he’s left, that he’s gone. 

You roll as gingerly as one can toward the other side of the bed, which reveals a head of messy hair and a peek of bare shoulders. Had he ditched his pajama shirt sometime in the middle of the night? Does it matter?

Your heart rate slows though. He’s still there. 

You turn back toward the nightstand and the bright digital numbers that tell you that you are up well before any person needs to be. You get out of bed, standing to walk to the bathroom. As you do, you realize that you are sore. It’s a stupid thought, honestly. Of course you’re sore, but still, it’s surprising, and unnerving. You’re sore because you’ve had sex. 

You had sex.

You shut the door to the bathroom before you turn on the light and once you do, you nearly audibly groan at what the mirror shows. Bedraggled. The last vestiges of your makeup are smeared (even though there wasn’t that much to begin with), eyes a bit bloodshot, hair a disaster. 

You wash your face thoroughly and pat it dry. You also decide to brush your teeth. You’re not convinced a stunning specimen like Chris would even have morning breath, but you definitely do, and maybe even if you sleep a few more hours, this will mitigate the worst of it. 

When you return to bed, he hasn’t moved at all. You slide in, staring at the back of his head, wondering about the course of today. 

Will it be a sex-fest? You doubt it because you hardly think you have the stamina, even if he’s studied tantric or whatever. 

Will it be awkward? Possibly. You’ve had only a handful of waking hours with him. What will happen when there are long, non-seducing hours? Conversation had been fine last night, but this is so much time. 

Will it be claustrophobic? The hotel room is yours until twenty-four hours plus from now. That doesn’t mean you can’t leave the hotel, but does an escort want to be seen in public with his less than perfect-looking client? Does he want to be seen with you, as though you’re a couple?

You shake your head, closing your eyes despite wanting to reach out and trace your fingers along those bare shoulders. You don’t know how much time passes; you don’t think that you really fall back asleep, but you do doze some. A pleasant dreamy fog of rest, mixed up with memories of the previous evening: a pull of emotions and impressions. 

When you come back to this plane of existence, you can feel lips on your shoulder. 

“Chris?”

“You expecting someone else?” His voice is deep from sleep and glazed with amusement. You rub your eyes, by the nightstand clock you can see that a couple hours have passed since your first wake up. There’s a lazy bite on your shoulder, you shiver before tentatively rolling over to see him. 

The wild hair, the barely-open eyes, the flushed skin. 

God, he’s so beautiful. 

“Hi,” you say for lack of anything creative. “Good morning.” His head tilts to the side and sniffs once. 

“You brushed your teeth,” he accuses as he covers his mouth with his hand. “That’s hardly fair.” He starts to pull back the covers, as though to leave the bed. 

“It’s not a big deal–”

“Nope,” he interrupts, laughing as he slides to his feet and heads to the bathroom. “We have to be the same here. Equality, right?” He winks at you before entering, the door shutting behind him. 

You sigh, embarrassed now for NOT having morning breath, before forcing yourself to sit up, back resting on the headboard. You touch your hair to make sure it’s not too crazy. 

When the door opens, not more than a minute or two later, you’re already back to feeling horribly anxious at what the day will bring. He walks to your side, looking down at you. 

“Equal now?” you ask softly. 

He sets his knee on the bed, gracefully climbing on without even touching you, enclosing you with his presence. You stare up at him, swallowing as your throat feels dry. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes sparkling. He leans in, his hands pressed into the mattress at your sides. His lips find yours, a minty burst. It’s biting, the mint, but his mouth and tongue are soft and warm. It’s like sinking into a hot bath. 

“Morning,” he murmurs, lips barely a millimeter from yours. He goes back in, drawing it out, making you sit up higher, your hands encircling him by the neck to keep him close. When he breaks for air, he lets his nose bump yours before sitting back on his heels. “Sleep okay?”

You’re muddled from his kiss, brain slow to engage. “Mmmhmm.” You move again to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You can tell he’s grinning when your lips meet his, but you slip your tongue in his mouth, curling with his. He groans, reaching to pull you on top of him instead. His hands slide along your legs to your hips, gripping tightly as you continue to taste him. It’s relaxed this morning, the tangling of your bodies. He seems not inclined to speed up, rubbing his hand up and down your back, almost in rhythm to the kiss. It’s so engrossing, being wrapped up in him, that you don’t even question when your hips start to rock against his. 

Well, the stuff you’ve heard and read about morning wood certainly is true. He groans when you thrust just right; you echo his groan, barely audible since detaching from his mouth seems wrong. 

He breathes your name against your mouth. “Hold on.”

The words eventually make themselves recognizable in your mind and you break away. “You don’t…want to…I thought guys were always up for it in the morning?”

“Oh, I am. We are,” he says quickly, as though he realizes that you’re beginning to feel ashamed by your assumptions and zeal. “But you might be sore? A little? And it’s by no means required.” He cups your face in his hands before you look and dart away. “Talk to me.”

“A little sore.”

“Thought so.” He kisses you softly, nose brushing yours before letting his head fall back on the headboard. “Breakfast?”

It’s difficult to switch from desire for him to considering desire for food. “I mean, we can do room service.”

His fingers trace along your ears before dropping to his lap. “Let’s go out. Do you like diner food?”

“I wouldn’t trust someone who doesn’t.”

He laughs, reaching out and squeezing your thigh. “That does seem like a good litmus test.” He stares at you for a second. “Want me to shower first?”

You nod slowly as you roll off his legs, sitting back against the headboard next to him. “You want to go out?”

He looks over at you, still comfortable on the bed in the twisted sheets. “Supposed to be a nice day. I figure, good breakfast, maybe we go to the park…” He trails off at your expression. “Do you not want to?”

“No, that…that sounds nice,” you mumble, eyes falling to your hands, folding back the sheet like that will make order out of chaos. 

He leans over, mouth at your ear. “Did you think it would be sex 24/7?” His whisper and breath on the sensitive skin makes you tremble. 

“I both thought too much and not enough about this weekend.”

“Meaning?”

“I worried, but tried not to imagine what scenarios might happen. I didn’t think you’d…” When you look over at him, he gives you a questioning look. “Never mind.”

“Nope, you promised to tell me. What you’re thinking.”

“That’s still in effect? I think you mastered getting my brain mushy and senseless.”

He chuckles, hand grasping your chin to turn you to him for a kiss. He lingers, enough to make you want all over again. 

“Tell me?”

You want to look anywhere but at him, but his hold on you is firm. “I wasn’t sure going out like a date was something we could do.”

He stares at you for more seconds than you wish he would. “Sometimes I’m hired as a date for events.”

You suppose if you’d given yourself a moment to think about anything you know about sex work (specifically from films and books), you would have remembered that. Hopefully no one would blame you for focusing solely on the ‘sex’ part of the occupation. 

“Right.”

He kisses you again. “You’re worried about something.”

“Do you want to be seen with me? In public?” Might as well just ask. He already knows you’re insecure about things.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he counters, fingers skimming your jaw and cheek. 

“I’m older than you.”

“I know.”

With as insightful as he’s been already, you hoped you wouldn’t have to spell it out for him, but apparently he’s making you do that anyway.

“You don’t mind being seen with me? Even though I’m…”

He kisses you for a millionth time. “A couple things. I chose to take this job. With you. That includes being seen with you. Also…” He shakes his head. “I feel like I should make you say another positive thing about yourself.” He lets his hand glide down your neck, a caress. 

“Chris…” You think for a moment before continuing, “I don’t think I’m disgusting or repulsive. I really don’t. I just know how the world sees me. And my good qualities…” He grins when you smile. “Don’t seem as admired by society as the qualities I lack. It’s not low self-esteem, but a realistic understanding of the world?”

“That seems a little like justification for not thinking you’re beautiful. And you are.”

You can’t help your immediate grimace at the compliment. 

“See?”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s…I don’t trust compliments about how I look.”

“From anybody or from men?”

Insightful as fuck.

You sigh. “Why ask when you seem to already know?”

His thumb traces along your collarbone as he answers: “I like to make sure my assumptions aren’t completely off.” He takes a moment, his touch lackadaisical. “So, breakfast…out?”

“Yes. If you’re sure.”

He rolls his eyes before cupping the back of your neck to kiss you. “Yes. I’m sure.” And he gets up to walk back into the bathroom. He doesn’t close the door and you open your mouth to question, but he pops his head out. “Feel free to come in if you need to. I’m not shy.” He winks and disappears. 

Yeah, you’re not doing that. Sex is one thing (a thing you’re still processing), but domestic daily acts together? That’s a level of intimacy you can’t fathom. 

You are combing through your luggage for something to wear when he comes out of the bathroom…in only a towel.

“All yours,” he says, going to his own bag to find clothes. 

You stare, which is silly, because you’ve already seen him two seconds ago with only pajama pants on. It’s the same thing, right?

It’s not. The towel leaves less to the imagination, and the scattered drops of water catching the light on his torso heighten your awareness. 

He glances over at you when you don’t respond, or even move. He smirks. 

You scoff, embarrassed. “You know you’re hot,” you retort when you grab your clothes and move toward the bathroom. He catches you by the arm, pulling you close. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, nose to nose with you. His fingers caress your forearm as he lets go and you mutter a ‘you’re welcome’ as you dash into the bathroom, shutting the door behind. 

–

“Is that enough meat?” you ask, not in a judgemental tone, but more in astonishment. He grins cheekily across from you in the booth. 

“I told you. I’d share if you got the pancakes.”

“I know, but…” You gesture to his plate with toast, eggs, and enough bacon and sausage for the carnivore in anyone. “It’s…impressive. Thank you. I really do hate choosing between sweet and savoury for breakfast.” You set pancakes on the spare plate. 

“Well,” he begins, setting some of his protein on your plate. “I did use up a lot of energy last night.”

You don’t have to look at him to hear the amusement and know he’s smirking again at you. 

He says your name plaintively when you don’t look up or comment. 

“I think you just like embarrassing me.”

“I think you’re cute like this.” He points at you with a fork. “You’re cute always, but especially right now.”

The meal is mostly devoured in quiet as you are hungry (you expended energy, too, after all), but you find out that Chris loves working out, playing sports with his friends, going to concerts, and cooking.

“I’m not good,” he assures you about cooking. “I’m not awful, but I’m not going to impress anyone.”

“But cooking is a skill. There are people who pretty much order out for every meal. Minus like cereal and sandwiches.”

“I still do that…sometimes.”

You laugh at his sheepish expression. “I do too. Some days after work, I’m too tired to even think about making something. It’s enough to decide what I even want to eat.”

He nods. “Understandable.” He puts another piece of bacon on your plate even though you’ve definitely eaten your quota of food for the morning. “Do you like what you do?”

“Work-wise? I guess. It’s enough for now. I can do the job, some days I feel like I do it well. But I wouldn’t say it fulfills me. Helps me pay the bills.”

“Is that okay?”

You startle when you stretch out your legs and hit his. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he replies simply before hooking his foot around yours at the ankle. His eyebrows lift at your expression, like he’s daring you to make a scene. “Is it okay to not be fulfilled by your job?”

“I…” His foot is rubbing your calf and it shouldn’t be stimulating, but my god, it is stimulating. “Well, are you?”

“Fulfilled?” He cocks his head to the side, thinking. “Sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I’ve done well.”

“This job?” you ask, swallowing before grabbing your mug of coffee. Chris, with another very unique trait, doesn’t drink coffee and is having orange juice. “Your…current work?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes warm. “This job.”

“I mean…not the acting, not like specifically…a…client…but your work overall…”

He leans closer, despite the table in the way. “I know what you mean.” He waves down the server and hands her a credit card before you can even get your wallet out of your purse. 

“You…”

“My treat.” 

“Tax-deductible?”

He laughs. “Sure. Something like that.” 

You finish your coffee by the time he’s signed the check. He slips his hand in yours (he’d done the same on the walk from the hotel to the diner) and leads you back outside. 

“Anything you wanna do?” he asks. “There’s a park a few blocks away. Some shops if you’re so inclined.” 

“Is this okay?” you ask. “Us just…hanging out?”

He watches you while you both wait at a crosswalk. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. I…I feel like I might be wasting your time.”

He squeezes your hand. “I don’t feel like that. You said that you don’t take time off from work a lot.”

“I did?”

“In your interview. I figure this can be about some relaxation as well as…other activities.” 

“I don’t want you to be bored.”

“I don’t want you to be bored either.” He gestures toward the sign that announces that you’ve arrived at the city park. “But…there’s fresh air, trees, and a used bookstore all within a couple blocks.”

“A used bookstore?”

He grins at the delight in your voice. “Fresh air first.”

It’s a nice park. People are out on a clement Saturday, walking their dogs, playing frisbee, and having picnics. Chris leads a meandering pace, stopping to pet dogs whenever the opportunity arises. You also indulge scratching behind the ears for several, getting licked and jumped on. You don’t want to think about the dusty paw prints left on your pants, just Chris’s big smile and laugh when he falls from a squat position because the golden retriever is a little too excited. 

He’s still chuckling when you offer your hand to him (the excitable dog and his owners have already moved on). He takes it and you brace your feet to pull him up. He brushes himself off, and before you can overthink it, you do the same, wiping the stray dirt from his t-shirt. He grabs your hand after a moment, lifting it up and kissing it softly.

“Thanks.”

You want to ask if he’s the top employee at his company. How could he not be, with warm eyes looking at you like you matter. How can any client go back to their real life after time spent with him? 

It’s a dream. A dream that you made happen, but still a dream.

“You’re a dog person,” you reply to his gratitude, trying to move his focus off of you. 

“I am.” He doesn't let go of your hand, but draws you toward a bench. You sit next to him, clasped hands on his thigh as he looks out at the people milling about, dogs chasing sticks. “My folks have a dog, but my life is so busy that I can’t have one now. Maybe someday.”

“That sounds nice.” You stare at his profile for a few seconds. “Dog, house, white picket fence?”

He laughs. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know about the fence. What’s your ‘someday’? Your job sounds pretty involved.” He glances at you. 

“It’s silly.”

“Is it?”

“I mean, what I want.”

“Lies.”

You take a deep breath and turn your focus on the trees. “I want a quiet life. Sure, I’d still work, but it’s mostly at home. I have a small garden where I grow things that end up on my table. The idea that what I put effort into actually is something that benefits me tangibly. Instead of just a paycheck.”

“Don’t insult the paycheck.”

“Everything I work with is conceptual, you know? I can’t touch it, see it. It’s documents and meetings, and something posted on the internet. There’s nothing to hold.” 

“Makes sense. I like traveling, but it’d be nice to have more than a tiny apartment to come home to.” He squeezes your hand. “Want some ice cream?”

You look around, confused.

“It’s behind those trees,” he says, pointing. “Stay here, I’ll go get it. What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Surprise me.”

His eyebrows rise. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on me,” he says, before leaning close. “You trust me?”

“You seem to have me pretty figured out already.”

His brow furrows. “I doubt that.” He’s so close with his unsure expression, it’s cute. You cover the remaining distance and kiss him softly. He returns it, light and breezy. “See…I didn’t know you’d do that.”

You grin at him. “That’s because you can’t see what I see.”

The blush growing on his cheeks makes him all the more endearing. “Smooth talker,” he mumbles before kissing you again and getting up. You watch him go before looking back out at the activity. 

You can’t remember the last time you sat somewhere and people watched, without taking out your phone either to scroll or work. It’s calming. Chris, his very presence reminding you why he’s here, sets your nerves alight. In all the good and anxious ways. You worry so much about what you say or do, that in this moment, it’s nice to just be. 

“I got two that I like, so whichever one you prefer, I’m good with the reject.”

You startle at his voice, intently watching the final outcome of a boy, about ten years old, in a tug-of-war with his beagle. 

“What did you get?”

“Chocolate peanut butter, and mango sorbet.” He carefully sits next to you, a cone of melting goodness in each hand. 

“They both sound good, but I'm leaning toward mango.”

“Interesting decision,” he says, handing over the bright yellow-orange swirl. 

You take a lick of it, closing your eyes to enjoy the burst of flavor before responding to his words. “Is it? Is there some psychological diagnosis about me choosing fruit over chocolate?”

“Possibly,” he replies, leaning against the back of the bench, staring out at the clearing, still inhabited by people, dogs, and activity. “Are you denying what you really want due to some social concern that you can’t have the thing you desire?” He raises an eyebrow when you laugh. “Are you assuming I would rather have chocolate and you are appeasing me over having the thing you want the most?”

“Maybe mango sounds better than chocolate right now.”

He scrunches his nose. “Unlikely.”

You laugh again at his mocking disbelief before enjoying several more bites of the sorbet. “Did you study psychology or sociology in school?”

“Neither. There was a gen ed intro class I had to take. It was cool.” He offers his cone to you. “You have to try it, to know if you made the right choice.”

The familiarity of sharing ice cream with someone you met yesterday is not lost on you; how strange this entire experience is. So you lean over to taste and it is really good. You offer your cone. 

“Equality, right?”

He chuckles and tries the mango. 

“I don’t regret my choice,” you say when he goes quiet, either pondering psychology classes or chocolate over mango. 

“Hmmm,” is all he gives you. “I can’t complain. This is really good.” 

You smile at his apparent glee for ice cream, and how the sun shines on his face, highlighting his skin, casting shadows of his eyelashes on his cheeks. 

The smear of chocolate by his lips. 

“You…you have…,” you begin, gesturing to the mark. 

He doesn’t look embarrassed, but leans toward you. “Can you get it?” 

You wipe it with your thumb, offering the remnants to him without much thought. Then you see his eyes spark when his lips touch your skin. There’s a light scraping of his teeth and the ice cream feels less like an enjoyable dessert and more like a precursor to something else. 

When he draws back, your eyes are glued to his mouth, your thumb still proffered in supplication as you’re frozen.

“It’s melting,” he says softly, nodding toward your ice cream cone. You blink and focus  on the sorbet, eyes straying back toward him after a little bit. “So…do you want to go to the bookstore after this?”

Your thoughts are definitely not on books, or shopping, or anything public. You don’t answer, unable to figure out how to say what you want. 

He says your name, drawing your gaze from what’s left of your sorbet to him. Does he know? Can he tell?

“I don’t want to go to the bookstore.”

His eyebrows raise. “No? Um, there’s…” He pulls out his phone, you assume, to look up what’s around. “There’s a farmer’s market several blocks away. And–”

“Chris…

He glances over. “Yeah?”

You take a deep breath, channeling whatever confidence you have in everything but sex. “I’d like to go back to the hotel.” The confidence lasts just the duration of the sentence, and you look away immediately.

“Yeah? Why?”

Your head turns so fast, because you can’t believe he might be oblivious, not after last night, but he’s grinning widely at you, those beautiful brown eyes heated. 

“You like making me spell things out, don’t you?”

“I do. I like how flustered you are about the very reason you hired me.” He stands up, waiting for you to do the same. “We can finish on the way.” 

He chats the whole way back about when he was growing up in Sydney, but you can’t really focus on his actual words. Just the rolling sound of his voice, the accent in full effect. You’re thinking too much, as per usual. Worried, as usual, about how you’ll perform. It doesn’t seem to matter that everything last night went way better than you could have hoped or imagined. Your brain doesn’t allow you to relax, to take in the evidence that you can ask for this, that he might want to even if it is why you hired him. 

When you two are waiting for the hotel elevator, ice cream wrappers discarded in a street bin, he bumps shoulders with you. 

“Where’d you go?” 

“Into the twisted, thorny mire that is my brain.” 

He laughs and kisses you without warning. It’s almost perfunctory, natural and domestic. “Your brain sounds like the part of the Sleeping Beauty cartoon, where the prince has to hack his way through the huge vines into the castle.”

“That. With no castle or end in sight. And probably a bit grimier.” 

The elevator doors open and you both enter as he is still chuckling at your description. “Grimier?”

“Yes. The cartoon seems too clean, you know? That much plant life would be dirty with soil and insects, and that mossy loamy smell.” You lean back against the elevator wall as the doors close. “Maybe swampy too.”

He’s still grinning when he turns toward you, lips finding yours in half a laugh. The relative privacy allows you the freedom to slide your hands around his middle, pulling him close. He’s cosily warm; the ice cream has left you a little cold and his natural temperature banishes that chill. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tantalizing. Your head falls back against the wall as the elevator dings to announce its arrival to your floor. He pulls away, hand slipping into yours to drag you toward the long hallway. 

It feels both interminably long in distance as you stumble after him, but also short because…sex…again. With him.

How does most of the world’s population consider sex to be a normal (albeit enjoyable) thing?

Once you’re both inside the hotel room, he looks at you with that raised eyebrow. 

“What?” you ask, wishing your missing boldness would not be missing. 

“I’m half-wanting you to just pounce, I guess.”

His smile softens the sharpness of your nerves. 

“Just half?”

He moves close, not touching you, waiting. “More than half…what’s got you looking so wide-eyed?”

“Nervous.”

“Why?” At this, his hand comes to your cheek, careful. 

“I guess I thought, you know, having sex once would make me less awkward about it.”

His eyes soften. “Once would make you a sex goddess?”

You make a face at the absurdity. “I didn’t say my thoughts made logical sense.”

His hand molds to your cheek and jaw. “It’s okay to still be nervous. And it’s okay to be awkward.”

You know you’re pouting, but you can’t help it. “I just…I want to…enjoy and for you to enjoy.” Your face heats at that last part. 

He dips his head so you can’t look anywhere but at him. “I do. I will. And I’ll tell you if I’m not and we’ll try something else.” His thumb pulls lightly at your bottom lip. “Trust me?” 

“I do…” If you think too deeply about it, it’ll worry you how much you trust and admire this man, after less than twenty-four hours of knowing him. “Really, I do. It’s more me, than you.”

He lets his lips brush yours delicately, as if inviting you to make the decision to add pressure and intensity. It’s so lovely, like the touch of a rose petal. You cover his hand on your cheek with yours and lean in, prolonging the kiss. His arm curls around you, pulling you flush against him. Using his hold on your face, he angles your head, shifting from a quiet kiss to hot and wet and shiver-inducing. 

“Wanna try something new?” he whispers, lips still touching yours with the question. 

“Um…”

He draws back, still holding you because he rightly knows you might try and run away. 

“Like…?” 

He bumps noses with you, teasing. “I have a feeling you already know what you want to try.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why do you make me say everything?”

“Cause you need to. So it’s clear,” he replies, unbothered by your frustration. “It gives you the power. This is your weekend, baby.” He dives back in, the kiss as stubborn as he is. You melt against him, wishing you could be absorbed by his heat and scent. “What do you want?” It’s as though he addles your brain on purpose, just to ask questions like that. 

“Orgasm,” you breathe.

“Sure. How?” His head drops to suck a mark on your neck, making your fingers dig into his arms. “You can say it.”

“Your mouth.”

He lifts his head. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Never mind that you know you’re flushed from saying it. “Do…you…mind it?”

The smirk is devastating. “If someone…in your future, tells you they don’t want to…dump that person. Immediately.” He maneuvers you to the bed, chuckling at your inability to walk normally. He sits you down, so your feet are planted on the floor. 

“You’re overestimating my dating life,” you finally say. 

He cocks his head to the side, regarding you before dropping to his knees. You swallow, hard. 

“I think, if you truly wanted to date, you could. Successfully.”

“Have you met people, Chris?”

He laughs, resting then sliding his hands along your thighs. “I have and I stand by what I said.” He presses one kiss on your knee before starting to undo the button and zipper of your shorts. “Why wouldn’t someone want to date you?”

You’re so focused on where his hands are, how he’s slipping off your shoes and socks. He massages your calves idly, like he’s barely thinking about it before tugging off your shorts. 

He says your name when you don’t reply. 

“I’m not answering that,” you breathe out as his hands map your legs.  “It’s like you asking for me to say something nice about myself yesterday.” 

“Lay back, baby,” he says, rising up on his knees to kiss you softly. “We’re back to the color system, okay? Red if it’s too much, or not good. Or if you don’t feel safe. Yellow to slow down, or change. Green if you’re out of your mind with pleasure.” His smirk makes your eyes narrow in mock-annoyance. “I really want it to be green.”

He kisses your bare knee before trailing his lips up along your inner thigh. 

“Yeonin?”

You make some sound in response. 

“You gotta relax.” You feel him cover your hand which is clenched tightly in a fist (you didn’t even notice) and carefully undo the curling of each finger. “You’re supposed to enjoy it.” He has that amused thread in his voice. 

“I do. I am.”

His fingers slot with yours. “Deep breath.”

You do as he instructs, and your muscles relax with the exhale.

“Good girl.”

Oh.

“Hmmm, I figured,” he says softly, lips back on the inside of your thigh. There’s a nip and a soothing touch of tongue. As he gets closer, you try not to squirm, but it’s impossible. He lets go of your hand to hold your hip down. “Easy.” Then you feel his mouth on the gusset of your underwear.

The noise you let out is humiliating, but you cannot be appalled at yourself because holy shit. He chuckles, and you can feel the vibrations in your core. He hooks a finger on the fabric, his finger brushing your swollen and sensitive and wanting cunt. You whine as he pulls the clothing down your legs and off. His hands slide back up your thighs, thumbs barely brushing you there.

“Chris,” the whine is more pronounced. “Please.”

“So polite,” he says, his breath fanning out on your clitoris. It feels like an eternity, his fingers digging into your skin, breath heating then cooling, before you feel his mouth. You’d levitate if his hand wasn’t so firm on your hip, keeping you on the bed. A slow lick, excruciatingly slow. He hums, sending vibrations again, this time more intense before his lips enclose over your clit and he sucks. 

You are forming words, you think, but you might be nonsense as well. There’s ‘Chris’ and ‘More’. 

“As you wish,” he answers one of those ‘more please’s with that low voice, full of provocation and fondness. His fingers, first one then a second, slip in, curling up and proving how much attention he pays as he finds the exact spot. You shudder and his fingers retreat; this time you whimper.

“Not so fast, baby. It needs to build for a bit.” His explanation in no way makes you not wordlessly complain the next two times he does the same thing. He checks in with you, asking for your color, and saying the word ‘green’ is its own kind of torture as breathing is challenging. Your hand is in his hair, twisting, tightening. He’s laughing, but when you raise your head to actually see him, his eyes are black, pupils blown out, and you’re sure the image of him looking at you while giving you oral will be seared in your brain for fifty years. 

Then he doesn’t back off or relent and you are sent beyond this mortal plane, the experience not old hat to you, the pleasure prolonged as he continues until you come back to yourself, breathing heavy and fingers releasing their grip on his tousled hair. He lifts his head, hand patting your thigh and wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand. When you stare at him, unable to speak, he climbs onto the bed to lay next to you. 

“Verdict?” he asks softly. You pull him to you, kissing him messily, trying to rid him of his shirt at the same time. He obliges, tossing his shirt to the floor before cupping your face in his hands to kiss you deeply, apparently not in a hurry like you seem to be. 

“Good,” you finally speak, breath somewhat back to normal. “So good, god, Chris…” You don’t know what to say, how to phrase how much this means to you: to be given pleasure so freely, that he cares enough to get you off with no expectation of reciprocity. 

But you want to reciprocate. You start to undo his jeans, and you don’t notice that he’s only smoothing your hair, pressing soft kisses on your cheek, forehead. 

“You always want to rush,” he murmurs as you shove down both jeans and his underwear. It’s not a protest, his dick definitely isn’t saying no, but you look up at him even as you take him in hand. 

You want to say that time is limited. That it’s less than 24 hours till he leaves, a part of that has to be dedicated to some sleep as you can’t function properly to get yourself home if you don’t. You have to rush because you don’t have any guarantee that you’ll get to experience this again.

And not with him.

So you say nothing, denying a realization of feelings that are better looked at tomorrow, when you’re on your own. 

“Can you get a condom?” he asks, his voice strained as you explore his length, intrigued by how hot it is, how delicate the skin, and how stiff. “Please?”

You meet his eyes with your own smirk. “Now who’s being polite?”

His lips twist. “I’m always polite.” And he gives your nose a peck. You ignore the flutter of your heart at such a small gesture, letting go of him to grab a foil packet from the box. You roll it on him, squeezing carefully. 

“That okay? Green?”

He huffs a laugh, face flushed and glowing with light perspiration. “Green.” He wraps his hand around yours and starts to press the head to your entrance. 

“Like this?” you ask, not sure why side by side, facing each other is shocking to you. Sex always seems like one person is above, the other below. There’s something even more intimate about this.

“Yes?” He smiles. “Okay?”

You nod as he slips in, your earlier orgasm allowing the breach much easier than last night. You clench instinctively and he slides a hand down your side to your leg, lifting it so it’s slung over his. The angle changes and you gasp.

“Better?” He tips your chin up to capture your lips again as he draws back to thrust. You grip his shoulders, lost in the feeling of his cock moving against your walls, the rhythm of his tongue with yours. You don’t think (not much anyway), drowning in the sensations of heat, sweat, sharp inhales and exhales. He whispers compliments, words you don’t really comprehend, but with his accent, the timbre, you think it’s poetry. 

His fingers bring you to completion before he lets go and comes himself.

Chris props himself up on one elbow once you both get your breath back. He’s giving you that sleepy grin, self-satisfied (you can’t be mad at him…he should feel satisfied) and content. He moves a piece of your hair out of your eyes. 

“Still green?”

You snort then laugh. “Yeah, if I had strength I’d give you a high-five.”

He holds up his hand and with effort you smack it, making him giggle. “That’s a first for me.”

“Never been high-fived?”

“Not after sex.”

“Pity.”

He falls to the mattress next to you, eyes never leaving you. You stare back, breathing mostly normal now. 

“It was good for you, too?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t sure?” He scoots closer, nuzzling your shoulder, leaving a kiss. 

“I mean, it sounded like it was good. But…I guess I want verbal confirmation.” 

He moves even closer so your faces are inches apart. “Yes. It was great even.” He kisses you without heat, only sweetness. He rolls to his back, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s early.” He glances at the nightstand clock then at you. “Any thoughts on how we can while away the hours until dinner?”

There’s nothing to hint mischief in his voice, but you still think he might be angling for more of something. You want to, but you’re also a little shaken by what’s just occurred. That he wanted to, did, and did so with skill. 

“You did say there was a bookshop?”

If he’s disappointed, you can’t see it in his face. “To add to that stack over there?” The books you brought have not moved a millimeter since yesterday.

“One can never have too many books.”

“Nerd,” he teases, clasping you by the jaw to turn you toward him for another kiss. “We’ll get dressed and go then. Maybe you can recommend something for me.” He dwells on the kiss, lips tasting yours. He pulls back as your eyelashes flutter open. “Hmm…though…” 

You go still entirely when you feel his hand rest high on your thigh. “Chris…”

“You can have three,” he says easily. “Should tide you over until after dinner, yeah?” When his fingers find where you are sensitive, you shudder. 

“I don’t think…” Surely you can’t again. He’s gentle, attuned to your workings so well that it takes a light touch, circling and pressing. 

“Sure you can. Just a little one.” 

With a kiss, he muffles your sharp exhale when your stomach drops yet again and the spread of pleasure tingles through your body. 

“A goddamn menace,” you huff out as he squeezes your thigh. 

“Yeah, you’re really upset about it, I can tell.” He slides out of bed and into the bathroom without another word while you’re prone for several minutes before hauling yourself up to gather your discarded clothes. 

–

“Oh, it’s lovely,” you say reverently when he slows you down in front of the bookstore. You were so intent on avoiding the two teenagers on skateboards that you missed it. 

He opens the door and you enter into tall, overstuffed bookshelves. It’s not a big space, but every inch of it is used. There’s a small counter and till to your right, and the clerk nods in greeting. You nod back, reaching for Chris’s hand and tugging him toward the fiction section. “You said to recommend something.”

“Yeah, I have a job that I have to fly to, so I’ll need something to pass the time.” If he notices your falter at the mention of another ‘job’, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t ask, though the morbid side of you wants to, if it's this kind of job: creating intimacy with a client, a stranger. You tell yourself it could be a legitimate acting job, but it punches you in the chest anyway. 

“What do you normally read?” you ask with a steady voice. You stop in front of the Bs, pulling out a copy of Wuthering Heights. “Want a great presentation of badly-parented children that grow up and treat each other horribly?”

He chuckles. “That’s such a sales pitch.”

“It’s a pretty copy, though,” you say, sliding it back on the shelf. 

“I read more nonfiction.” He sees your expression. “I know, it’s boring, but a lot of it has been acting methodologies. To expand my skills.”

“Would you prefer nonfiction?” You run your finger along the spines, stopping on familiar surnames. “I have a few I could recommend.”

“No, no way. Give me something that’ll suck me in.” He comes up behind you, resting his chin on top of your head, arms around your waist. 

“Okay…more recent, or stuff like this,” You gesture to the books in front of you. “Classics?” You lean back into his embrace, savoring. There’s a long list of moments from this weekend you want to carve into the stone of your memory. This is one. 

“Uhhhh, maybe more recent. I’m not that smart.”

You sniff, covering his arms with your hands, holding him close. “That’s ridiculous. And besides, there are multiple kinds of intelligence.”

“There are?” You feel his words in your hair as much as you hear them. 

“There’s a theory that there are nine, and less than half are what would be considered academic.” You pause. “Sorry, I get a little ranty about stuff like that. You know how there are people who are so good at reading others, registering their emotions and how to empathize?”

“My mate, Felix.” He’s so sure. “He’s very affectionate, very aware of how to care for his friends and those around him.”

“Yes, exactly. That’s its own intelligence. You can be an astrophysicist, but cannot walk into a meeting with any awareness of the people around you. Two types of intelligence.” 

“So all that to say?” His words are shaded with repressed humor. 

“I’m going to find one classic and one more modern book for you.” 

You feel him kiss the top of your head. “So generous.” And he lets go. “Am I allowed to find something for you?”

You turn to him. “You want to?”

“If you trust me.”

“Absolutely.” 

Your confident response visibly surprises him; he blinks then that devastating smile, complete with dimples, appears. He drops his head to kiss you before disappearing down another aisle of books. 

You wander along the classics first, considering what you know of him, what story might immerse him. It’s easier to focus on that than on the job he’ll work after you. 

You have no idea how much time passes when Chris finds you in a corner, legs crossed and seated against the shelves. There’s a stack of five books next to your knee as you leaf through one. He squats down in front of you and waits until you notice him. 

He chuckles when you jolt at his presence. “I thought you were only recommending two?”

“This is my short list,” you reply indignantly at his amusement. “You might go and play sports with your friends, but I read when I have free time.”

He plops down across, offering you one book. You reach out to take it as he speaks.

“I’ve not read it, but I know the author wrote a book I liked as a kid. And I read the first page? I don’t know…I thought it sounded a bit like what you were talking about at the park. A simple life.”

A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L’Engle; a memoir of her time at her family’s farmhouse. 

“Oh this sounds lovely.” You clutch it to your chest. “Thank you. I didn’t even know she had nonfiction.” 

“Glad you like it…” He looks at the books. “Do you need help narrowing down?”

“No. I think I’ve got it.” You pull two and hand them over. 

“Okay, I’ve heard of Frankenstein…why that one?”

“It’s a good book that happens to be a classic. It’s not terribly long in case you are intimidated by the older language. And it’s very different than any movie that has Frankenstein in the name.” You tap the other. “The Talented Mr. Ripley–”

“Also has a movie or two.”

“Yes, but I thought, with you being an actor and that’s basically what Tom is doing, you might enjoy it. It’s a series, so if you do like it, there’s more. Though it’s really dark, so I don’t know if you are into that.” You start to second-guess yourself. “Nor is it that recent…It’s from the fifties. Give it back.” You reach for it, but he holds it out of your range. 

“No. These are the ones you picked and I’m intrigued.” He shrugs. “I also like that neither is like, Game of Thrones-sized.”

“You read those?”

“God, no. I thought about it when I watched the show. Then saw the number of books in the series and the page numbers and decided: not for me.”

“If you like fantasy, I can–” You start to scrabble off the floor.

“Yeonin…I’m happy with these. Thank you.”  He doesn’t say anything for a second, smile still bright. “Want to browse more? Or should we go get a drink before dinner?”

“You don’t drink.”

“I don’t, but there are some really good mocktails out there.” He stands up, holding out his hand for you. You take it, letting him pull you up with ease. 

You bend down to gather the books that you pulled in your pursuit of finding some for him, and start to put them back. He doesn’t say anything, but shadows the retracing of your steps, humming something you don’t recognize, but is comforting. When you're done, he plucks the L’Engle book out of your hand and heads toward the till.

“Chris…” You hurry to follow. “Don’t you…Christopher.”

He turns at that, surprised. “Oh, good thing you don’t know my full name if this is all it takes.”

“If you’re going to buy my book,” you say as the clerk takes the stack he holds. “I should buy yours.”

“No.”

You actually harumph. “Then I’m paying for dinner.”

He opens his mouth, says nothing, then closes it. “We’ll see about that.” He thanks the clerk, who seems amused by the both of you. He hands you the brown paper bag. “You can–No, I can’t even let you do that. I’ll carry them.”

You huff, “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins at you, holding the door open. “I’m okay with that.”

You wait for him to step alongside you. “I’m certainly fine with drinks, but do we need to change for dinner?” You were in what you’d put on this morning: shorts, a soft and fluttery blouse. He was in jeans and t-shirt (it sounds simple, but the way the t-shirt fits him is illegal). 

“I meant to ask. Did you want to go fancy?” He stops you both at a red ‘don’t walk’ light.

You think about it, noticing how your arm is almost touching his, thinking maybe you should take his hand again, stay in that moment for a bit. But you feel his gaze on you as the light changes and you both make your way across the street, so you don’t, trying to remember his question. 

“I don’t feel like you could fit a suit in that one bag of yours.”

“You really are fixated on me in a suit.”

“You put that image in my head,” you reply, enjoying his grin. “It’s really your fault.”

“Sure it is. I do not have a suit, though I could probably do a bit better than this, if you wanted to?” He looked down at himself before switching the bag of books to his other hand and taking yours. He does it so easily without a concern or second-guessing. You wish you could have his confidence.

“I didn’t pack my ball gown.” 

“Pity.”

“I’m okay with wherever, really. We’ve already established neither of us can do spicy, so I trust whatever you decide on.” You laugh. “I think I just like not having to make a decision.”

“You can make the decisions later,” he says so casually as he leads you to a bar, more tavern, but a bar. You almost stumble at his words, the implications of later sending a wave of heat through you. It reminds you of the decision he’d coaxed out of you an hour or more ago. 

You’re so flushed, it’s like you already had spicy food. 

He squeezes your hand and pulls you into a stool at the long curved wooden bar. The bartender hands you both a menu which includes food, but you flip to the cocktails while Chris looks at the ‘zero-proof’ section. You smile over the top of the menu at him.

“What are you smiling for?” he asks, not even looking up. His observational skills are off the charts. 

“No reason.” How can you tell him that every detail about him makes you smile? You wouldn’t have minded if he did drink, but the fact he chooses not to strikes you as admirable, and cute. 

You are so far gone on him, it’s concerning. 

The bartender comes back to take your order: for you a rosemary gin fizz and for Chris, something with papaya. 

“Thank you for the book, again.”

“I hope you like it.”

Can you ask for some sort of contact from him? So you can tell him what you think once you finish it? Can you ask for a phone number so you can hear what he thinks of his books?

But you signed a contract about confidentiality. You could request him again if you wanted to have another weekend, night, hour, but this truly had been a venture and dent in your financial security.

You’d be so tempted to use every cent to see him as much as you could.

“I’m sure I will.” You can’t look away from him, happy to soak in the brightness that he radiates. 

“Stop.” He laughs at you.

“You’re handsome, Chris. I can’t help it.” It’s nice to be on this end of the teasing, to see the red in his skin, the duck of his head and glancing away of his eyes. 

“Please stop.”

“Fine,” you sigh in mock-exasperation.

He looks back and grins before resting his hand on your thigh. Your drinks are delivered and there’s a swapping to try the other before settling and discussing favorite books read in school. During the entire conversation, he doesn’t stop touching you in some form. None of it is inappropriate (you almost wish it was, a little), staying in the realm of casual and affectionate. 

But you are so stirred by it. You’ve spent years seeing how your friends and their partners interact in public, and casual touch is a thing you envy so much. The reassurance of someone’s presence by you, always. 

Chris is saying something about Fahrenheit 451, and your eyes are welling up with your everlong internal monologue. 

He says your name, interrupting himself. 

You shake your head. “Sorry. Thoughts.”

“Gonna share them?” 

You sort of want to. Because nothing you’ve revealed to him has backfired; he has not shamed or chastised you for being open and vulnerable. 

But these thoughts put a burden on him, a possibly very unwanted burden. They shove your feelings and wants and needs on a man who is only next to you to fulfill a contract. There is no longevity in this transaction. 

You’re lucky he turned out to be as wonderful as he is.

You shake your head again in answer to his question. “Not this time.” 

He looks skeptical, but lets it pass, before asking if you want another cocktail. It was exceptionally good, but you don’t want a buzz from any substance. He’s enough. You’re also a lightweight with spirits and you don’t want to hinder any part of tonight. 

He nods and asks for the check. You protest again, and he smiles winsomely as he hands the bartender his credit card.

“Can I buy dinner then?”

He sighs dramatically. “You make it very hard to properly court you.”

You laugh at the old-fashioned word. “Is that what you’re doing? I feel like I’m already very wooed.”

He shrugs, signing the receipt before standing up, hand out to you even though sliding off a barstool does not require assistance. 

Like you’d deny yourself the chance to hold his hand. 

“So,” you begin, curling an arm around his as you move into the nearly-gone sunshine outside. “What’s for dinner, since we’ve dispensed with the fancy?”

He leads you across the street, his other hand resting on your arm that’s tucked into his. Perhaps ‘courting’ is the correct word. 

You wish it was an autumnal day, with chilling wind so you could have an excuse to burrow into his warmth even more. 

“Hotpot?” he says, stopping in front of a restaurant with that in its title. “I never go to these with friends because they get it so spicy, but I figure, you and me…”

“The non-spicy ones.”

He laughs and opens the door for you. “I like that. The non-spicy ones.” 

You’re directed to a table, and you’re chuckling as Chris explains to your server that, basically, you want the blandest option they have. He, your server, looks unimpressed by the both of you. But the food is delightful, and filling, and not too spicy, though it does come very close to your threshold of tolerance. 

You both drink a lot of water. 

Dessert is bingsu three doors down from the hotpot restaurant, with strawberry and chocolate. He playfully smears some chocolate sauce on your lips, giving you no time to lick it off before doing so himself as though he’s reminding you how easily he can turn you on.You don’t need reminders, but you enjoy them. 

Which leads you back to the hotel, and your room, and the bed. 

He sits on the end of the bed, leaning back on his hands with a glint in his eyes. “So…you said something about lingerie last night.”

“After that dinner?”

He smirks. “You think that’s gonna matter?”

“Of course I think that’s gonna matter,” you argue, hands immediately going for your stomach which is…quite full. 

He rolls his eyes and gets up, helping himself to your suitcase. 

“Chris!”

“You can’t tell me you have lingerie and not let me see you in it. You aren’t that cruel.”

You had felt very optimistic when you’d bought it, but that positivity is fleeting and currently absent. 

He pulls it out, finger-hooked in one of the shoulder straps. “Wow.” He looks at you. “Please?”

You try to argue again, but it’s hard to deny him anything, not with heat in his eyes, and a pout on his lips. 

Taking the garment from him, you squat down to grab the second piece, the bottoms, and he doesn’t move away. 

“You don’t have to put those on.”

Bashfully, you look up at him. “No?”

He shrugs. “Just saying.” He winks and walks over to the window to look out. “Up to you.”

“He says after begging for me to put it on.”

“Begging?” He turns to see you heading to the bathroom to change, but you waver at his tone. “You haven’t seen me beg…do you want to?”

“I…” You’re completely at a loss. “Do I?”

His smile verges on the arrogance of a smirk. “Maybe.”

You hurry into the bathroom and assess yourself as well as the lingerie. It’s difficult to see yourself as attractive to someone you find attractive, but surely with the evidence of the past day, you can accept that Chris does, on some level. And all things that are attractive can be enhanced with something pretty: makeup, a perfectly wrapped present, a book with sprayed edges. 

You repeat these mantras in your head as you undress and pull on the lace and satin. It’s a fairly simple piece, not in the realm of scandalous according to your friends who helped you pick it out. But as you remind them, and yourself, your deep end is not others’ deep end. You adjust the top, so it fits and holds in what it needs to hold in. 

You assess again, full view in the mirror. You tidy up your leftover makeup, and accept your hair (you can’t work miracles) as is. 

Deep breath. You look fine.

You open the door, and peek out. He’s still by the window, the city lit up below him. He makes such a lovely silhouette that you forget what you’re supposed to be doing (what are you supposed to be doing? A grand reveal? Should you say ‘tada’?) and walk out fully into the room. 

He turns.

“So…yeah.” Not much better than ‘tada’. 

He doesn’t say anything, but comes over. The silence of the hotel room is deafening. You fidget because he doesn’t move quickly at all. You also look everywhere but at him. So when his hands take yours (and cease your fidgeting), you’re staring at his socked feet before allowing yourself to look up. 

You regret taking no photos of him because his face is art. 

“It’s okay?” you ask as he still hasn’t spoken. His eyes travel, feet to the top of your head, down each arm to your fingertips and back up to your neck, then face. 

“‘Okay’ is not the word I’d use,” he says, voice in that lower octave that makes you shiver. 

“Above average?”

The corner of his lips lift in amusement. “A bit more than that.” He takes a step closer, his hands releasing yours and settling at your waist instead. He leans in, mouth at your ear. “You look extraordinary.” 

You blink at him as he draws back, the word reverberating in your mind. You choose to believe him, actor or not. You choose to accept his admiration and desire. 

And enjoy it. 

“Thank you,” you reply. His answering smile is proud (of you, you think, for not dismissing the compliment) before he kisses you, his fingers tightening against the satin. You lean into him, convinced that kissing him for decades wouldn’t be any sort of difficulty, would never get old even as you and he got old.

Oh. That thought does not need to be chased. 

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, mouth parted from yours. “Did you want to try anything new tonight?”

Do you? You’ve liked everything, and you know there’s a whole gamut of positions to be explored. Probably most beyond your imagination. 

But.

“I want–” You swallow as your throat is a bit dry. 

“Tell me.”

“I want everything we’ve done. Again.”

He half-laughs. “All of it?”

“Yes, please.”

He’s kissing you, laughing against your lips as he maneuvers you to the bed. He pulls you onto his lap, his hands sliding underneath the hem of your top, finding your skin. There’s a slight roughness to his fingers, grazing that makes you quiver. With hands in his hair, you kiss him as deeply as you can, tasting, tongues playing. He groans when you roll your hips, subconscious as your body works to quiet your mind. You do it again, feeling how hard he’s become in minutes, the friction almost too harsh for the thin and delicate fabric you wear. 

You want and crave, and break away to start on the button and zipper of his jeans.

“Baby,” he whispers, lips pressed to your shoulder and collarbone. “You first…”

“Can I…? Can you show me how to…suck you off?”

It’s his turn to blink, to take a moment to comprehend your question. “You wanna…fuck, yeah, of course. But in a minute, okay? I need to taste you first.” With hands spread on your back, he moves so you're lying down beneath him. His hands slip to your underwear like he’s going to take them off, but he pauses.

“What is it?”

He’s staring at you, specifically that underwear. “I’m always so grateful for lingerie. It’s the best thing.”

You try to hit his arm as he starts to giggle. He dodges you and drops down to press an open mouth kiss right to your clothed core. Your hips buck and he pushes them down. 

“You know I’m gonna drag this out, yeonin.”

It’s such a tease, to get his mouth, but have something in the way. To feel the heat and the wet, but not fully. 

“Christopher…” There’s nothing but whine and need in your voice. 

He hums, sending pleasant vibrations against your sensitive skin. 

“Please…take it off.” He may still be holding you down with his hand on your hip, but you can squirm, desperate to be closer, to have more. 

“I thought you wanted me to beg.”

“Chris…” It’s plaintive and without shame. 

He acquiesces and the sodden underwear is removed. But there’s not an immediate return.

“Fuck, you really are dragging it out.” You lift your head to see him watching you with all the arrogance someone as gifted with his mouth could be. 

“Maybe I like hearing you curse.” He leans back down, but kisses right below your navel, one hand finding purchase on your thigh. “Maybe we need a lesson in delayed gratification.”

You cover your face with your hand. “You seemed so nice till now. What if I write a complaint letter to the company?”

He moves up so he’s face to face with you, his expression stern. “That a threat?”

“Maybe.”

He drops his head to kiss under your jaw, near your ear. He bides his time, sucking the skin in just the right spot. You moan wantonly, unable to keep your hands twisted in the sheets, seeking his shoulders and arms to cling to. 

He’s still dressed.

You pull at his shirt when he finally withdraws from your jaw, undoubtedly leaving a mark (you know you’ll look at it in the coming days, remembering). He indulges you, removing his t-shirt so your greedy hands can caress the bared skin. But he doesn’t stay put, returning to where he’s left you so wanting.

You feel his breath at your entrance.

Your next ‘please’ is broken and without sound. 

When you feel his tongue glide up to your clit, you are gasping nonsense into the quiet of the room. He sucks and licks lazily, taking breaks whenever you feel the imminent high. You curse several more times, words catching when he adds his fingers to coax the build even more, curling inside you as his mouth reengages. 

And finally, finally, you break, pleasure throbbing and pulsating. 

He doesn’t stop when you come down from it.

“What–what are you–”

“You can give me another.”

And you can, to your surprise. It’s almost like an aftershock of the first one, remnants of bliss sweeping through. 

Only then does he lie next to you, wiping your essence from his mouth. Minutes go by as you come down. 

“So, do you still want to–” He doesn’t finish his question because you’ve rolled over, one leg over his hips so you’re straddling him. You go back to that button and zipper of his jeans, ignoring his hands trying to do it himself. You tug down his jeans, pulling them off before climbing back on top of him, palming his cock.

“Fuck..wow, okay.” He props himself onto his elbows as you discard his boxer-briefs as well. You wrap your hand around him, thumb at his tip, a little shaky. “You can use–” You cut him off again, this time when you bend down to lick. “Holy..fuck…yeah.” You look up at him, sucking the head before sliding down to take in more of him. You think what he says next is another curse, but you don’t recognize it. “You said to teach you…”

You slide off. “Wait, it’s good? It’s…well, it’s not much different than having a popsicle.”

He falls back, laughing bewilderedly. “I guess that’s not wrong…but–” 

It’s really quite fun to stop him talking with your mouth. 

He gives you sparse instructions (‘hands where your mouth can’t reach’, ‘suck harder’), but when his dick hits the back of your throat, he pulls you off.

“But…”

“No,” he states, reaching for a condom. “I won’t last much longer if you keep that up. Damn, you were good.” He slides the condom on in record time, then places a pillow under your lower back. He pauses when you cup his face in your hands, needing his mouth. He sighs at your kiss, his tongue entwining with yours, his hands gripping your thighs, moving them so they’re wrapped around his hips. Still kissing, he pushes in; it’s still a stretch, but it doesn’t jolt you. It feels:

“Decadent.” 

He retreats slightly. “What?”

“You feel decadent,” you say, uncaring that you’re breathy and needy. You trace along his shoulders and chest. “Hedonistic.”

He doesn't say anything, sheathed entirely in you, letting your body adjust to him. You’re smiling, eyes half-open; your ability to filter eradicated. 

“I always think of decadent…for like, sweets.”

You rub noses with him, delighted. “A very very excellent dessert, Christopher. Can’t stop from having another bite.” You punctuate this with a nip on his neck, causing him to shudder. He pulls out of you to thrust back in. You’re wrapped around him, hooking your ankles together at the small of his back. “So. Fucking. Good.” Staccato, nearly in time with his thrusts. You clench when he lifts your leg to his shoulder, the angle changing. “Oh god.”

“Almost there, baby?” he pants out, the drag of his cock along your walls making you to tense even more.

You nod frantically, seeking any skin to kiss, bite, taste, your hands scrambling for purchase on his back, nails digging. His works your clit, fingers practiced and you feel the drop in your stomach chased by the spread of elation through your limbs; you feel drunk and you force your eyes to stay open, watching as he thrusts faster. You smooth his hair as he stutters, spilling into the condom; his weight heavy on top of you. 

You draw your index finger up and down the middle of his back, relaxed and sated. 

Eventually, he lifts his head, setting his chin on his hands that rest above your breasts. You wonder if you both wear identical sleepy smiles and tired eyes. 

“Hi,” you whisper into the quiet of the evening. 

“Hi yourself.” He raises his head just enough to meet your lips before returning. “Am I too heavy?”

“No. Feels good.” You let your other hand drift down to the curve of his ass. He jumps at your grip. “Very good.”

He chuckles. “Not so timid now. Confident woman.” He takes a deep breath, words a little slower. “Wanna shower with me?”

You’re hesitant, but the looming deadline of this escapade is making you bolder, so you say yes. To have Chris wash your hair, his big hands massaging your scalp…shoulders and back with a loofah…

Still decadent. 

“So…since you seem like the expert.” You soap up his hair, returning the massage. He rests against you, his back to your front and you use the shower wall to hold you both up. 

“Hmm?”

“Shower sex? As sexy as it sounds in books or is it an accident waiting to happen?”

You wish you could record his gleeful laughter, uninhibited. 

“Um. You have to be really careful. Would recommend bathtub mats.” He turns to you, your hands still in his hair. “Is that a suggestion?”

You can’t help it, you glance down to see he’s already half-hard.

“Wow. You were half-asleep ten minutes ago.”

He leans close to you, kissing you softly. “You can’t beat the clean up when you fuck in a shower though.”

Now you’re laughing, then gasping because he’s slipped his fingers into you, mouth on yours. You don’t protest, you just hold onto his shoulders as your muscles tighten and tighten–

He swallows your moan, holding you up as you tremble. When you can stand on your own, he moves you both under the spray of water. He tilts his head to you, rinsing it, and you shakily run your hands through his hair to rid it of the shampoo. He flips it out of his eyes before reaching to turn off the water, but he freezes when you encircle his dick with your fingers.

“You don’t have to–”

“Easy clean up, right?” It’s empowering to feel how he stiffens at your touch, how stroking, gently squeezing works him into short breaths and his head thrown back. You keep playing with him as you eliminate the distance between you, mouth to his neck, sucking and licking.

“Fuck…I’m…”

It’s messy, but the shower washes it away. He slumps against the wall, energy depleted. He opens one eye to look at you. 

“Very confident.” 

The shower is turned off, and you both wrap up in towels. You rub his hair dry, smiling at its wildness. He tugs your towel off in retaliation, and makes a plea for you to sleep naked with him. 

“Or the lingerie?”

“I can’t imagine that’s comfortable to sleep in,” you retort, still naked, but pulling on your pajamas quickly. He’s pouting on the bed, your towel in his hand. You plop next to him, toying with his towel, wrapped around his waist. “But feel free to sleep naked.”

He makes a not-really-chagrined face at you before finding his own pajamas. Teeth are brushed, your hair is somewhat dried, and you both are in bed with the lights off. The dark and quiet take over. You look at the clock on the nightstand, time continuing to move toward his departure. It hits you again, in this moment, how much you like this man.

Chris drapes his arm over your middle, curling closer. “Good?”

“Yes, good…good night, then.” You work hard to not let any tell-tale emotion into your voice, and though you have been more open with him in these two days than anyone outside of your closest friends, you are adept at hiding how you feel. It’s a way of surviving and that’s what you need right now.

He nuzzles you. “No kiss?” The playful teasing lilt to his voice has you hesitating, but you turn your head and kiss him, languid. “You’re really good at that.”

“Kissing?”

“Mmmm,” he affirms. “I like kissing you.”

You swallow, shoving down the incessant ache of feelings. “I like kissing you too.” You can barely see in the lack of light, but you know he smiles at you. You can sense it, attuned to him. 

When his breathing seems to slow, you turn away carefully. You don’t move his arm from your stomach, but you don’t cover it either, lace your fingers with his. Half your brain is saying, ‘do it! Take this moment, this affection and enjoy it. You’ll never have it again!’. The other half, the stronger half that is built from the past, experiences and disappointments, doesn’t yell. Doesn’t need to. The voice is unrelenting and mocking; ‘don’t enjoy too much, because when he leaves tomorrow, you’re gonna hurt. You absolute idiot, you’ve gone and fallen for him. Keep as much distance as you can, because maybe then you won’t be devastated tomorrow in an empty hotel room, in your empty home.’

You hate that voice, the one that tells you the truth. You didn’t think there was danger of actually becoming attached to a man you hired for sex. Yes, sex produced oxytocin which gave anyone cuddly feelings, but this is no longer about the sex. You’re more devastated by the warm smile that wasn’t trying to seduce, the laugh, the hand-holding while walking in the park, the furrowed brow when you talked about books he hadn’t read. The compliments that had nothing to do with your looks, the compliments that did. 

You feel your eyes burn with impending tears, but you force them back and down. There will be time for that tomorrow. When you’re back home, in reality. 

–

It’s hazy, the sounds you hear. Rustling, movement. Something being zipped opened or closed. Then there’s a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m gonna go grab some coffee, okay?” whispers, soft and low. You mumble something before hearing the door. You blink open your eyes to see that it's very early, before seven.

Seven.

When he arrived.

You bolt up in bed (it’s not quite that as you’re still seventy-five percent asleep), nearly falling as you scramble to the bathroom. He isn’t exactly paid by the hour, but you bought two days, forty-eight hours.

That forty-eight is over in fifteen minutes. 

You wash your face, brush your teeth as quickly as you can, then stumble back out into the bedroom, wondering about changing. Do you want Chris to see you in just your pjs as his last image of you? You are really overthinking this. It’s not cold, but you slip on a soft sweatshirt for coziness. You open up your purse for chapstick, a regular morning routine, and as you do you see the small stack of business cards. Your business cards. 

You rarely use them. You aren’t much good at promoting yourself and your skills, even worse your workplace. But the employee handbook insists on having them, so there they are in your purse, metaphorically collecting dust.

You look at Chris’ bag, unzipped, open. 

Surnames are not shared from the company, for confidentiality purposes obviously. You do not know his. He does not know yours. You imagine that during an engagement, assignation, whatever one calls this, the escort or the client could share their last name, their actual place of work, their town or city, anything that grounded them in actual reality. 

But Chris never offered his. You aren’t about to cross that line and ask. 

He might not want to know. He might not feel anything close to what you’re feeling. It’s his job. He might be incredibly good at connecting with his client every time, and you’re only another client. 

But you’re bad at letting go. 

So you drop one business card into the open bag. It could never be found, crumpled after several re-packings for his many trips…his many jobs. 

But you’re no good at letting go.

You hear the sound of the key card scanning and the door opens with Chris, dressed in a black henley and dark jeans, his hair as fluffy as air-drying makes it. He smiles to find you sitting on the bed, hands clasped in your lap. He offers you one of the two to-go cups.

“Morning,” he says as you take it, dropping his head to kiss you softly. 

“Good morning.”

He tilts his head toward the large window and seating area. “Come.” Your hand finds his as you walk over to sit on the couch, looking out at the waking city. 

“What did you get?” you ask, gesturing to his cup. “Since you don’t like coffee.”

“Tea…I need something this morning,” he replies, shooting you a wink. The reference to last night’s activities and their endurance normally would embarrass you, heat your skin and cause you to drop your gaze from him, but you stare at his profile as he looks out the window, your mind full of saying goodbye. He takes the lid off his cup and blows on it. He glances at his watch. 

You wonder if he’s as hyper-aware of the dwindling minutes as you are. 

“Do you have a break before your next job? Or is it all work, no play?”

He half-grins, looking over at you. “Do you really want to know?”

He’s got you there. 

“Do you get enough time off?”

“I do. If I don’t, my friends make sure I do.”

“They sound lovely.”

“They can be.” He sets down his tea, leans toward you. “You good this morning?”

“Of course.” 

“I thought of waking you when I woke up, but I figured you needed your sleep?” He rests his hand on your knee, much like the first night, but so different from the first night. “I’m sorry we can’t–” He tilts his head to the side in apology, his silence filling in the rest of the sentence. 

“Having coffee…or tea with you in the morning for a few minutes is really nice.” You don’t know if you can explain to him how much of the non-sex parts of this weekend were as meaningful and special as the rest. Is that appropriate when so much of his job is sex?

His hand molds to your knee. “Yeah, it is.” You can feel his gaze as you sip your coffee, doctored like you like, which means he paid attention yesterday at the diner. 

Of course he did.

“Chris…” you begin, unsure of what to say. “Thank you.”

He waits until you meet his eyes before nodding. “You’re welcome.” He takes your cup from you, setting it on the table and cups your cheek in his hand. “You’re very welcome.” 

You try not to lean into his kiss too much. You try to memorize how he feels, tastes, smells; to tuck it away in your memory bank like an old photo album that you can look through from time to time. You savor for as long as it lasts. 

“So…is there a place that I go to, like Yelp, and leave a good review?” you murmur when he draws back.

You get his laughter, the bright sound of it, the image of shaking shoulders and eye-crinkles. Something else to add to that album.  

“I think the company does contact you with a survey.” His eyes sparkle when he looks at you, before he reaches for his tea. 

“It’ll be glowing.”

He shakes his head, amused and maybe a little embarrassed. That rosy hue highlights his cheeks and twists your heart in ways you don’t want to think about. He is the most devastating man. 

It’s quiet for a few, you sipping your coffee, him his tea. Then you hear him check his watch when something beeps. 

Seven am.

“You have to go,” you say before he can. He glances up from his watch, looking at you. You smile, probably tinged with sadness, but it’s a real smile at least. “Be safe.”

He doesn’t move as you do, to stand up. To walk him to the door and bid him goodbye. You walk to the bed, unmade and haphazard. You zip up his bag as you hear his footsteps follow. He’s very close when you hold out his bag. 

He takes it, but lets it drop to the floor before pulling you into his arms. He’d be a good hugger too, of course. You hug back, hands splayed against the breadth of his back, the ribbed henley scratching your fingers lightly. 

“You be good to yourself, okay?” he whispers in your ear. He draws back only a little. “Say a nice thing about yourself every once and awhile.”

You look up at him as he traces his finger along your eyebrows and nose, seeming to take you in. 

“You too.” 

He smiles at you, kissing your nose then your lips. You let go and he grabs his bag. He pauses at the door, looking back at you, then nods before opening the door and disappearing through it. 

You let yourself fall back on the bed the moment the door shuts. You don’t think you’ll be able to move for a while.

--

© yoongihan 2025. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans. 

[centaurianthropology]

Thoughts and Probably Overly-Thorough Analysis on Adaptation in ‘Murderbot’ Episodes 1 and 2

After discussing adapting a very internal book series to the screen in this post, I was excited to actually get to watch how the show tackled visually trying to tell the story, especially given that the episodes are only approximately 30 minutes long.  That is TIGHT, and requires some tight scripting to establish the world, the characters, and the stakes. 

So, non-spoiler thoughts above the cut: I liked it!  I feel like the vibe is right, while changing some necessary things to better establish the world and several important concepts for non-readers.  The first scene felt a little clunky as far as pacing/info-dumping/character intro went, but after that I do feel like the pace evened out into something I genuinely found enjoyable.  There is a lot of effort to start defining cultures, concepts, and characters, and by and large I think it succeeded.  I have a few changes I might question, but we’re way too early in the season for me to feel comfortable judging them.  So overall, as someone who has read the books and enjoys seeing how things have to change to adapt to a different storytelling medium?  I think it’s overall successful, particularly as the first two episodes are clearly the setup episodes (almost always the hardest episodes to really nail during adaptation). 

If you’re looking for a 1:1 translation of the books, and if you’re really sensitive to changing the original, this is probably not going to be the show for you.  Luckily, there are great books and audiobooks still there for you!  But if you’re open to the changes, if your vision of these books and these character is flexible and you might even be excited to see a different version than the one already told, you will hopefully find it as fun a ride as I did.

By the end of episode two, particularly after some really great scenes featuring Alexander Skarsgard (whose portrayal of Murderbot completely won me over) and David Dastmalchian (Gurathin was always one of my favorites, and he is doing such interesting things to deepen the character), I am hooked.

More spoilery thoughts on the episodes below!

So, what do you have to do in intro episodes?  You have to introduce characters, situation and, in speculative fiction, also concepts and setting.  And for half-hour sci-fi episodes you’re almost certainly requiring a lot of shorthand, a lot of quick ways to get information across, a lot of info in as little time as possible.  Both of the first episodes dropped at once, and that’s honestly good, because they more or less function as the introductory two-parter before the action kicks off. 

The pacing is fairly leisurely, focused on introducing us to the world, the characters, and how they got to the place they are for the story.  And even after the intros, I do feel like we will probably be devoting more time to giving some of the more underserved characters more expansive moments.  But for having to do a lot in about an hour’s worth of television, I think they accomplished what they set out to do with fairly minimal clunkiness.

S1E1: ‘FreeCommerce’

That said the initial scene is a bit clunky.  I get why it was necessary.  We have to establish several big concepts in a hurry: what a SecUnit is, what they are generally used for, a sense of the Corporation Rim, and the hacked governor module that lies as the basis of the whole story going forward.  Those are big sci-fi concepts to front-load, and I do think the scene could have maybe taken one more pass through editing to not make it feel quite so rushed (a few pauses and beats here and there would have been appreciated), but I also understand that the sense was likely to get the information dump over quickly to get on with the story.  So, less elegant than one might hope, but not a deal-breaker by any means.  Information conveyed, moving on.

The introduction to the PresAux team, in my opinion, goes a lot better.  Largely because the writers play it out over multiple scenes and scenarios, giving us perspectives on these characters in three very different situations (at Port FreeCommerce, setting up their base, and facing their first real threat in the story).  I think hard-cutting to the actual beginning of ‘All Systems Red’ briefly, before flashing back to show the team having to rent Murderbot is a great choice.  We get the nod to the book-readers for the in medias res cold open of ‘All Systems Red’, while still going back to help the non-readers really understand who these people are and how they got here.

Playing up the hippie vibes of the team is smart visual and storytelling shorthand.  We immediately get a good sense that they don’t quite fit in with the Corporation Rim.  I love that it’s pointed out that their clothing is hand made, that there are patterns and textures, that there is jewelry and accessories and fun bags.  Put that against the Company’s sales reps’ tech-bro synthetic aesthetics, and it works!  My one wish would have been that the sales reps were all a little more artificially hot, to really drive home how unmakeuped and natural the PresAux team looks.  But still, a solid contrast to let us know that these are not your usual group of spacefarers.

And it continues throughout negotiations, leading up to the humming consesus circle.  Again, I think this is a great choice, because it serves multiple purposes all at once.  We can feel how different their society is to the one that Murderbot understands, and even sets them apart from our culture, which unfortunately is a lot more like Corporation Rim culture than Preservation. 

And this, I think, is why amplifying the hippie commune vibes of these characters is such a great choice: we as the audience are mostly in Murderbot’s head, so PresAux comes off the way that it initially sees them.  They seem weird, quirky, naive.  And yet, I believe that throughout the series both Murderbot and we will have our expectations challenged.  Why can’t people be emotionally open, trusting, and kind, even be fairly far-out and kooky, and still be highly competent, intelligent individuals who manage to hold their own under difficult circumstances.  In our own particular cultural moment, earnestness and emotional openness and the general hopeful and sweet vibes of the Preservation team is viewed as “cringe”.  I think there are probably going to be some viewers who look at them and want them to be some cool, cynical rebel college communists rather than drum-circle having hippies who love decorating their surroundings, embroidering, and jewelry making.  But I am very hopeful that, over the course of the season, we are shown how much their culture of openness, trust, and kindness can be a strength.  We might be asked to confront our own biases against earnestness and ‘quirkiness’, which could blind us to how competent these people are, much as Murderbot itself was initially blinded.

The scene on Port FreeCommerce serves as our introduction to the vibes of at least some of the individual members of PresAux as well.  Pin-Lee is running point in negotiations, so we know they’re someone who either has negotiating, business, or legal expertise (something that is difficult to establish through the rest of the story).  Dr. Mensah is clearly in charge, but has no desire to make unilateral decisions.  She takes other opinions into account (even if she ultimately disagrees with them), states her philosophical and moral objections to SecUnits clearly, but still acts as a realist: if they are going to do this survey, they have to cooperate with the Company.  The hellish compromise.

But because the whole team essentially has to compromise their morals and ethics to do this survey the way that the Company is insisting it get done (renting what is essentially mandatory slave labor), she makes sure that her entire team agrees with her before signing their contact.  We see that the team is very cooperative, but Gurathin is a bit of an awkward outsider (though immediately invited to be an insider by Ratthi, so we also get a sense of his open and warm nature), although at this point in the episode we don’t know why he doesn’t seem to fit as seamlessly as the others.

Moving to the survey planet and the team’s habitat is also a scene that pulls a lot of multilayered weight.  It establishes all the important components of the habitat, it establishes Murderbot’s disgust of human bodily functions, and further expands on the team and how Muderbot responds to them.  These are important moments because these are the initial impressions that will go on to be confirmed or subverted throughout the season.  While it’s a bit on the nose to just do a verbal intro of everyone, it’s also a good use of time in a 30-minute episode to just get everyone’s names out there, base-level relationships, jobs, and at least one individual facet of them (Mensah has 80 million seven children, Arada and Pin-Lee are married but might be going through a bit of a rough patch, Ratthi flirts with All The Things, Gurathin is an augmented human, and Bharadwaj is hoarding soap for unknown reasons).  We see them decorating their habitat, growing plants inside, playing music (again, more cultural establishment and ways of making both Murderbot and the audience initially confused by this bunch), and being … really sweet with one another, honestly.  I felt immediately endeared to them and wanted to know more (why are you hoarding soap, Bharadwaj??).  We get tiny character beats like Arada running up the stairs to call dibs on rooms, followed by Ratthi and Pin-Lee, and we get a moment of Pin-Lee pausing as they run past SecUnit to smile at it and seem to try to engage with it, if only briefly.  We get Ratthi painting the habitat, and Gurathin fretting over if the paint washes off (they’re never getting their deposit back …).

We also get that Murderbot Does Not Want to Be Here, and see it grappling with humanity as a whole.  It seems to find actual human relationships offputting and confusing, but loves the melodramatic interpretations of relationships on ‘Sanctuary Moon’.  Reality makes it deeply uncomfortable, but unreality has become its comfort and what it mostly spends its time focused on.  Through its avoidance of them and their oddities, we get a sense both of its fear of being found out, and we get a Chekhov’s gun of emotional attachment.  It doesn’t want it, but it’s also deeply fascinated by its facsimile.  And given how open and loving this group seems to be in general (with one notable and delightfully bitchy exception, love you Gurathin), we can already see how it’s going to be loved whether it wants to be or not.

The final establishment of character, situation, and place, occurs with the return to the cold open of ‘All Systems Red’, now armed with enough information to actually care at least somewhat when Bharadwaj gets attacked by the worm, as well as somewhat understanding why she and Arada might initially not listen to the SecUnit (they know it’s refurbished and all the rest of their Company equipment is a bit shit, they’re scientists excited about their work, the planet was rated safe). 

The worm attack works fairly well.  The CG of Murderbot jumping down feels a bit floaty, but as soon as it closes in for combat the visual effects are on point, and the pacing of the scene is frantic and fun.  The use of the ‘Sanctuary Moon’ clip to give Murderbot a means of trying to comfort Arada to get her walking was great, and it was really this scene that sold me on Alexander Skarsgard as Murderbot.  After hearing its snarky internal monologue, hearing the awkwardness of its actual attempts at a social interaction is delightful!  Internal-Monologue!Murderbot is quippy and witty and sarcastic.  Outside!SecUnit is awkwardness and social anxiety personified.  And I feel like this disconnect can really hit home for a lot of people with bad social anxiety. 

This is also important to establish the initial character reactions to a majorly tramatic and shocking moment for them.  Arada goes into shock, but after that gets forceful and defensive of both SecUnit and her field of study (her lines about animals were actually great, and really set her apart in her own unique way). 

Pin-Lee demands action.  They can get loud and abrasive, and they clearly need to have control over their circumstances or they start to get very twitchy, but they are also caring, careful to correct themself when they say something that could be genuinely insulting. 

Ratthi is concerned for everyone, but also has a base-level chill nature that means he can’t stay worked up to the intensity that others can.  It makes him a sweet and leveling presence in tense scenes. 

Gurathin has to be useful.  He preps the medbay.  He stays with Bharadwaj until she wakes up, monitoring her vitals and the equipment, even though there isn’t much he can do.  But the equipment is his thing.  The tech is his thing, and he’s going to make it work.  Which is why, of course, he’s also the first to notice something is off with their SecUnit.  Not only is he focused on the equipment (and at this point viewing SecUnit more as faulty equipment than a person), but we find out that he’s the only one of the team who might have actually had prior experience with SecUnits, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

Mensah stays cool under fire, staying at the heart of the discussion while taking everyone’s thoughts and feelings into account.  She keeps everyone directed, focused, and calm.  And then, when she is alone, she falls apart, slipping into a full-blown panic attack over almost losing Bharadwaj.  And honestly?  I love them giving her a panic disorder.  Giving a character a panic disorder while still showing that she is competent, a respected leader, and tries her damndest to push through the panic to reassure and care for her people is a lovely touch. 

With these three data points we actually get a good baseline for these characters in their element, out of their element, and in danger.  They already feel human and flawed, despite not knowing any of them deeply yet.  It also means that we’re already able to read more into their interactions than Murderbot is grasping quite yet.  After all, it’s not great at this social thing, and it REALLY doesn’t get them and their culture.

This gets highlighted when it has to come out and talk to the team out of its armor.  Again, Alexander Skarsgard does a fantastic job of radiating the incredible social anxiety of a being that would vastly prefer to only ever have to interact with other people safely behind a helmet.  Being so exposed, with its feet and its face and its hands all on gangly display in one of the crew jumpsuits, is so clearly an existential nightmare to it.  And the more most of the team try to thank it, welcome it, treat it like a person, the more uncomfortable it becomes.  The speech is hilarious, but also a great bit of disconnect between its social comfort zone and that of the Preservation team.  And in that moment, we realize that, even if some of them are trying to embrace it, to invite it to be more integrated with them, to give it a chance, they understand Muderbot as little as Murderbot understands them.

I have seen some people not liking part of this scene because Arada misgenders Murderbot by calling it ‘he’, but I think this is actually an important part of character building for her, Murderbot, and the story.  My guess is that the writers are going to Rule Of Threes Murderbot’s pronouns, as many viewers have likely never encountered someone who uses it/its pronouns.  This scene serves as the Introduction: Arada is well-meaning, but accidentally misgenders it because she is reacting to the face she saw (as many well-meaning people can do).  Gurathin immediately and vehemently corrects her … for the wrong reasons.  He’s thinking of their SecUnit as a malfunctioning piece of equipment, while Arada is thinking of it as a human, so he is dehumanizing it.  They are both wrong, but also both a bit right.  Arada is right that Murderbot is a person, but she is wrong in immediately defaulting to Human Male when she thinks of it.  Gurathin is right in that it has no interest in being human and is, in fact, quite attached to being a construct and having no gender, but he’s wrong in treating it as equipment.  I imagine that, per the Rule of Threes, this topic will be Reinforced later, and then Confirmed in a final scene so the audience learns its pronouns properly, even audience members who might initially struggle to use the right pronouns or do the same as Arada by seeing Alexander Skarsgard and making assumptions.

And speaking of assumptions, the audience also gets its first hint that perhaps ‘Murderbot’ wasn’t simply a cool name it plucked out of the aether, but ties much more intensely into the fragments of memories it has.  We find out that SecUnits are routinely memory wiped, but a few seconds of something awful have leaked through.  It sees people screaming, running, and dying, and it has the feeling it might be responsible.  And despite its general misanthrope, it doesn’t seem at all pleased by this memory.  If anything, it seems horrified.  It’s one thing to idly speculate about killing humans, but another to realize it might well have already done precisely what all the SecUnits on the entertainment feeds do: go crazy and kill all its clients.

Introducing that memory and then having a one-on-one with Mensah is an interesting choice, because it adds layers to the scene.  She is clearly trying to thank it again, maybe reach out, but she’s also trying to figure out what’s happening with her clearly incredibly anxious SecUnit.  It’s terrified she suspects it’s hacked its governor module, but it’s also afraid she’s getting attached, which could be worse.  After all, if it’s done something awful once, there’s nothing stopping it from doing so again. 

The memories keep playing even after she leaves, and it says the same line it lifted from ‘Sanctuary Moon’ to itself: “Stay calm; it’ll be okay.  You have my word.”  It’s honestly creepy, and it’s clearly meant for the audience to read this initially as a threat to the scientists.  But looking at it again, considering how traumatized it seems to be by this fragmented memory, the line takes on an almost self-soothing quality.  Is it speaking to the people in its memory?  The PresAux team?  Itself? 

The first episode does a workmanlike and occasionally inspired job of introducing us to all the things it needed to.  And for all that this first episode is fairly direct in its storytelling, I feel like there are layers that will feel deeper on future viewing after the whole season is out.

S1E2: ‘Eye Contact’

The second half of our introduction to this show had two major jobs: reinforce themes from the first episode, deepen character beats, and get us to the point where the plot kicks off.  The show does this by splitting the episode into two subplots that both kick off with the opening scene.

We open in the hopper, and it’s clear from the first scene that this episode will, at least in part, focus on better establishing and characterizing Gurathin.  I’m hoping each of the characters gets this treatment going forward, because I really have to commend the episode for how much we learn about him throughout.  There are a lot of layers at play, both in the writing of his character and in David Dastmalchian’s performance.  This is a guy with anxiety to rival Murderbot’s, even if he can cover it better.  He’s trying to keep their conversation out of its purview, because he doesn’t trust it.  He doesn’t trust anyone outside of this small friend group he’s got, and he especially doesn’t trust anything coming from the Company.  And even though the group thinks he’s being overly paranoid, it’s really nice to see how immediately they confirm that he has good reasons for not trusting the Company, and they all love him (and Ratthi calls him “Gugu”, which … chef’s kiss).  We now get our first big hint of what makes him the outsider of the group: he’s not originally from Preservation.  As we learn later, he’s almost certainly originally from the Corporation Rim, and whatever happened to him there has fucked him up badly.

Mensah once again comes in as the tempering force.  She mentions her conversation with SecUnit.  She wanted to see if she could trust it, and she FEELS like she can, but THINKS they should be cautious.  I like this slight change from the books, as all the Preservation natives feel the immediate desire to trust and befriend SecUnit, but in this they are a bit more cautious because they aren’t certain if they can trust anything supplied by the Company. 

I think this is the benefit of the visual medium expanding out the story.  After all, while the audience is able to hear all of Murderbot’s internal snark, they only get the anxiety-ridden, clearly atypical external SecUnit.  And even if some of them are now seeing it as a person, they are also seeing that it works for a deeply untrustworthy company that may or may not be deceiving them.  So with the information and experiences they currently have, Gurathin is making a reasonable argument for leaving the SecUnit behind. 

And from a storytelling perspective, it makes sense to leave it behind.  It would be easy for this episode to feel like it was retreading the worm incident from the first episode, but having Mensah and Bharadwaj decide to go alone to survey the blacked out area in the map makes the stakes very different. 

And speaking of, though we don’t get a lot of time with her, I am LOVING Bharadwaj.  The actress is hilarious, particularly when the character is clearly high as balls on stimulants and pain meds is just fantastic.  I also love her little moment later of academic one-upsmanship.  Having known so many academics in my life, that was the most real moment of academic bullshit so far.  I cackled!

Their plot is primarily used to reestablish Bharadwaj, and to get Mensah into a dangerous situation (and honestly, I don’t think she should have gone alone trying to climb a fucking mountain, but whatever).  She ends up having another panic attack, and it’s a good beat to see her trying to force her way through it.  She doesn’t want to let the team down.  Even while she’s spiraling she’s trying to be so supportive and encouraging to her team.  I like that she doesn’t handle this situation perfectly.  I like that she struggles and sort of fails, and still keeps pushing.  One of the things the show has been consistently good at is giving the characters very relatable flaws.  She takes her role so seriously she’s going to put herself through hell to see it done, all while trying to mask how bad it’s getting in front of the people she cares about.  This is a good way of reinforcing what we learned about her in the last episode, and setting up an emotional arc for her.

And speaking of setting up emotional arcs, let’s talk about Murderbot and Gurathin, or what I like to call The Best Scenes in the Show So Far Holy Shit.

The scenes between them function on so many levels: comedy, drama, character development, worldbuilding.  We have it all right here!  Major concepts that will be important later (ComfortUnits, Corporation Rim vs Preservation culture) are established quickly and with deliberate discomfort for both characters.  Gurathin weaponizes Murderbot’s deep discomfort with eye contact and social interaction to try to interrogate it and figure out what’s gone wrong, but it doesn’t really go the way either of them wants it to go, because both of them are socially awkward disasters; both of them have conflicting motivations and desires; both of them don’t understand one another and understand one another way, WAY too well.

This leads to scenes that can be interpreted on multiple levels, all while setting up some meaty stakes.  Both characters are trying to do multiple things at once, and it’s really fun to see how well or poorly they succeed.  Gurathin definitely set up the scene to be at least a bit intimidating … and promptly fumbles it when he realizes that his chair isn’t a swivel chair and he can’t turn and do a cool reveal, but instead drags it around, scraping along the floor.  And honestly, part of him not only can’t be intimidating, but doesn’t want to be.  Part of him wants to understand this incredibly awkward being he’s now sharing space with.  There is a weird earnestness, almost a stream-of-consciousness strangeness to the way Gurathin is written in this scene that I adore, and that David Dastmalchian absolutely nails.  He seems even weirder than Murderbot in his own way.

They’re both such messes, and both ready to needle the shit out of one another.  Gurathin, especially, is clearly trying to provoke reactions, to test boundaries.  It’s almost like he’s conducting a stress test on a computer system, but with a sentient being instead, and his life potentially on the line.  He questions Murderbot about its capacity for emotion, for connection, by comparing it to ComfortUnits, but because, again, this is an interrogation conducted by and to the two most cripplingly awkward beings on the hab, it half comes off like he’s hitting on it.

And then there’s the reason for the episode title, and something that is both a deeply dirty trick on Gurathin’s part, and an absolute red flag waved in front of a bull.  He orders (likely suspecting that this SecUnit might be capable of disobeying orders) that they maintain eye contact throughout this interaction. 

And I think that red flag in front of a bull is the other level he’s trying to work at in this scene.  This is a systems stress test, trying to tease out what is happening and where what he sees as a malfunction lies.  But he’s also painting himself as a target.  He’s pulling out every nasty trick in the book to make sure that, if this SecUnit really is rogue and really is going to go on a killing spree, it doesn’t go after anyone but him.  Because as was established in the opening scene: Gurathin may be a paranoid dick, but he loves his weird extrovert friends so, so deeply, and he would absolutely die to protect them.

Because Gurathin, above all things, needs to feel useful.

Murderbot is trying to dodge questions, trying not to give anything away.  It’s trying to bear up under the sheer painful amount of eye contact required, and it’s trying to get Gurathin back (you make me look you in the eye?  I’ll make you see your friends making out with one another!).  And the funniest thing is that they’re basically just inflicting on the other what they already find uncomfortable.  Again and again, they parallel one another.  It was established twice last episode and hammered home now.

And at the same time, there is a weirdly heart-to-heart quality to this interaction.  Because as much as Gurathin is trying to be a hardass, and as much as Murderbot is trying to shut this interaction down as quickly as possible, Gurathin is also just trying to understand, and Murderbot can’t help but explain itself a bit.  It’s the awful moment of sympathy with someone you loath because they’re far too much like you, but you just keep reaching out.  And that layer of earnestness, of accidental vulnerability on both of their parts, adds such a lovely, bizarre tinge of sweetness to what is otherwise a fairly brutal encounter for both of them.

The choices in this scene are what sold me on the show, from the storytelling to the writing to the performances.  The actors fucking kill this scene.  Alexander Skarsgard gets to do a lot of subtle facial expressions as the internal snarky narration struggles to emerge under its facade of calm, and its deep levels of social anxiety keep kneecapping it from fully extracting itself from the conversation or getting the upper hand.  And David Dastmalchian brings all the conflicting motivations, all the half-aborted gestures of hostility and kindness and awkwardness and paranoia through to make Gurathin feel desperately, earnestly human.  I really can’t say enough about their performances; they bounce off one another fantastically.

And of course, these two storylines dovetail at the end of the episode as Mensah finds the Alien Remnant (really cool use of visual effects there!), almost gets eaten by a worm, and everyone realizes that either the maps are glitching out due to the Remnants’ influence, or someone is deliberately hiding them.  They try to confer with the other survey team currently on the planet, a small group from a company called DeltFall, but something is wrong.  And as the episode closes with bodies strewn over the darkened DeltFall habitat, I think we’re about to see the plot kick into gear.

Conclusions

So, what did I think about the first two episodes overall?  They were solid.  I want more establishing time with quite a few of the characters (Bharadwaj, Ratthi, Pin-Lee, and Arada especially), but episode two in particular made me confident this show is going fun places.  Because the scenes between Murderbot and Gurathin were added for the show; this is new material, and it’s exactly the sort of thing I was hoping we would get from an adaptation.  Those scenes struck the perfect blend of humor and danger and sincerity and anger that I read in the books.  That was what convinced me that the show really could pull off something new and fun and fresh both as an adaptation of a series of books I enjoy, and as a piece of science fiction media that feels defiantly hopeful and colorful and weird in the face of a fairly bleak and depressing sci-fi television landscape. 

Like I said before, doing set-up episodes is incredibly hard to do gracefully in television, and doing sci-fi setup where you’re having to explain places, politics, and concepts as well as characters and situations, is even more challenging.  And you’ve got two half-hour time slots to do it in.  And with those limitations in mind, I feel like the show currently ranges from Gets-the-Job-Done-Inelegantly-but-Fine to Holy-Shit-I-Want-to-See-More-of-That-Right-Now. 

I want to get to know all these weirdos on the same intense level I now feel we know Murderbot and Gurathin, and I feel like we will.  Will it be the perfect show?  No.  It will not.  Have I still watched both of these episodes multiple times, and am I super excited to see DeltFall and how much things are about to go to shit?  Oh hell yes.  I am so excited!

So, yes.  There are my scattered thought about this adaptation, where it mostly succeeds and occasionally feels clunky.  The cast is charming and occasionally electric, and I am eager to see more.

[sourle]

Imagine reader who likes to listen to people yap about their life but their only friend is Taph so they tried to be the one talking but fumbled badly [they suddebnly forgot everythibg that has ever happened in their life]

Yappology

Lalalalala|Okokokokok

WARNINGS: NONE

Note: Taph milestones when

You sat next to him in the boot in the restaurant like dining area, talking about your last round to him before in turns to you explaining how your gui used to work. using the paper on your clipboard to draw what you gui used to look like. You still can't remember what happens to your gui before being forsaken. You know it's still there with you, yet you don't have the guts to show it off.

Taph would just listen, nodding or shaking his head whenever you asks a yes or no question. His hand mindlessly draw on the blank paper on your clipboard. "So.. yeah, that how it used to work.. Oh and It also able to merge with my body, I think. I can also morph into anything I want! Fictions too, as long as I know what they look like."

Taph nods, his hand fiddling with the pink crayon in his hand. "OH! I've been meaning to ask, how does your subspace works? Did you make it yourself? Invent it?.. Does it really explode even with a small poke?"

Taph paused, staring at your curios expression. He just slowly nods, raising his hands to answer all your questions with hand signs. Occasionally he would freeze before continuing to sign a bit faster. He got a bit nervous due to your intense gaze at him and his hands. Slowly his hands moves a bit faster. You can't understand all of it due to his hands blurring to the quick motion.

"Hey Taph- Y.. You don't have to tell me all!" You placed a hand against his trembling one, he seems nervous since he's not one to ramble or talk a lot, you can guess why.

Taph nods, his hand slowly rising.

"Got more room for one more?"

You scream as Chance jumps at both you and Taph once more.