#not to mention that said devotion was reciprocated | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lucyandthepen · 1 year ago

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salted caramel | lmh ( m )

you hadn’t been aware that mark’s jealousy followed the rules of baseball — three strikes, and he snaps?

read the first part here!

pairing: barista!bf!mark x reader verse: college!au rating: r warnings&tags: unprotected sex, mentions of creampies (although not an actual one), hickeys, possessiveness and jealousy, exhibitionism, sort of phone sex in conjunction with said exhibitionism, oral (m!receiving), mark has an understated but unending obsession with mc’s stomach, tummy bulges, we always love an implicit bigdick!mark, donghyuck is kind of a little shit and basically he has to cross a few lines for this “plot” to get to where it gets word count: 20.3k

a/n: this is a bit rushed and panicked because I basically wrote it in a feverish 2.5ish days… i’m so sorry that the pacing might be a little off, especially since I can never tell if it’s actually too fast or not. this is also unedited and unbeta’d but oh well because i never edit my stuff before posting and just re-edit when I re-read! regardless, i hope it’s something that you can enjoy, and i couldn’t pick between sweetest bf ever!mark and hottest mf ever!mark, so i guess you get a little bit of both!

if you liked it, please consider reblogging to support (especially because this may get flagged for mature content)!

You should have noticed it the first time, but in your overall defense, you find most things that you take note of about Mark Lee to be more on the highly positive and greatly endearing side — or, maybe, you just have a tendency to paint him in that kind of light.

You can’t really help it; he’s still got that halfway shy, softly adoring look in his eyes whenever he sees you, which is more often now than ever before, and you just can’t do anything but reciprocate, if only to see his eyes grow a little brighter. You wonder if Mark’s aware that if this were a Shakespearean scenario, you’d easily fall on your sword for him without question, for as long as he asked, but you don’t think there’s any pressing need to remind him — not with the way you spend most of your free time figuring out ways to be with him. You’re certain he should know, what with the fact that every time he looks at you, even just a glimpse, your gaze is always on him, ready to make eye contact whenever he turns his head — something he often acknowledges with one of those signature blushes that spread like wildfire across his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears.

It also should be unmistakably clear that you’re head over heels for him, given how at least once a week, he’s got his face buried between your legs in an attempt to hear the thing he wants you to say the most (see: his name, in varying pitches and decibels) — but if he doesn’t notice then, you can’t hold it against him; Mark’s mouth is so attentive that you doubt his mind is anywhere else apart from what inch of you his tongue is going to meet next in that moment. At least, that much is true for you.

He should at least know, what with you waiting for his classes to end so you can walk to Starbucks for his afternoon shift; you even race the twenty-minute distance to the Department of Mathematics, still holding your European Renaissance History textbook from your last lecture, just to make sure you’re there right as he gets out — a fact he has to know is an act of devotion, considering how often he finds you heaving for air and leaning your back against the brick wall outside the Accounting 150 Lab. Even his professor knows you as Mark Lee’s admirer, which is all well and good, but if you had the breath to spare, you’d correct his terminology for accuracy. Girlfriend. You’re Mark Lee’s girlfriend.

It’s a fact you don’t mind reminding him of but that you actually have to do quite often, because when you call Mark the appropriate counterpart — boyfriend — his eyes still widen, like he’s hearing it for the first time. It’s cute, just like everything else about him. You just have to wonder, at times, if he doesn’t believe you.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter; you’ll just keep telling him.

You don’t have any classes with Mark this semester, which is a shame, considering your favorite pastime over the last few months had just been to stare at his side profile and wish he’d look over so you could kiss him, but the fact that you spend almost every day with him now, using that time to remind him of how much you want to kiss him and actually getting it to do it right then and there, pretty much more than makes up for your previous schedule of daydreaming.

However, hanging out with him doesn’t always mean you’re just with him; you came to learn this after the first week of the new semester, and you’ve now gotten used to the fact that with Mark Lee sometimes comes his band of tall, often loud friends.

The loudest by far is Lee Donghyuck, the mysterious figure last semester that you’d only known by one syllable, now easily recognizable (and no longer enigmatic by any means to you) by his booming voice and even more demanding personality. He’s supremely outgoing, a trait you can’t say you mind, but there’s an interesting contrast between Mark, who tends to say things after carefully considering his ideas, and Donghyuck, who seems to just burst out in fits of impulsive rambling that often leads to some kind of semi-structured debate. It kind of gives you whiplash, in a funny, slightly perplexing way.

The whole friend group likes to meet up at Starbucks while Mark is on his shift, and now that they’ve come to know you as that girl Mark didn’t teach a single thing in College Algebra to but still somehow got lucky with (something you’ve wasted immense efforts into correcting but have ultimately failed to do so), you now find yourself sitting with them, all somehow waiting for who appears to be the nucleus of this group to stop taking coffee orders and hang up his (cute, but you’re the only one that thinks so, actually) green apron.

Again, you don’t mind it; new people aren’t an issue to you, and you’re also interested in finding out more about Mark through those closest to him. You get to see the few ways they’re alike in contrast to the staggering number of things that make them amusingly different from one another. Despite the broad spectrum of their intersecting interests, you’ve come to learn, through the conversations you’ve had to sit through over the last month, that they have varying opinions on said interests. For instance, you know they’re all into video games, Japanese manga, and long-winding fantasy movies, but every conversation takes flight the moment there’s even a spark of dissent from one person — and the source, usually (and quite unfortunately), is Lee Donghyuck himself.

Today is no exception.

“Dude, you’re crazy,” Zhong Chenle practically seethes. Whether by sheer coincidence or actual desire, he’s the one who most often finds himself staring Donghyuck down, trying to bend the latter’s will into admitting defeat. Donghyuck, on the other hand, has mastered the art of looking supremely unperturbed, especially when Chenle is in the heat of his rage. “The ninth was the worst, hands down.”

“Art and rendering were so solid.” Donghyuck raises a finger, and you’re not sure if it’s to start off a list or to shut Chenle up. You don’t want to ask, anyway, too busy finding amusement in the shifting expressions of despair, rage, anguish, and murderous intent on the latter’s face to speak up. You presume that’s why everyone else isn’t stopping them — or maybe they’re just preparing their own defenses and points to raise. “Intuitive combat and flawless combo chains. The fucking open world? Which other installment in the franchise offers that much depth in the gameplay?”

“Depth? Do you even hear yourself right now?” Chenle grips his head so tightly that when he pulls his hands away, there are actual red marks across his forehead and temple, and his bangs are askew. “What kind of depth comes from cloned movesets? The character designs are so stupidly traditional too. And—”

“There’s a unique kind of beauty in familiarity.”

“The open world was a disaster,” Chenle plows on. “It was so empty, and the map was the farthest thing from intuitive. It’s quite literally the worst thing KOEI has ever done. That’s exactly why they went back to the limited map strategy in later installments. Even the spin-offs.”

“I thought the grappling and ambush systems were pretty intuitive. Ingenious, even.”

It’s a singularly amusing sight — Chenle is one insult to his pride away from imploding, and Donghyuck is just checking the dirt under his nails like he’s waiting in line to take his school ID photo. Park Jisung, one of the quieter ones in the bunch, tries to diffuse the tension by clearing his throat and going ‘I actually really liked the Age Of Calamity Zelda one they released with all the different campaigns,’ but that just goes unnoticed by either party.

“You once failed an ambush play just because you were stuck behind a wall you couldn’t scale. Don’t say shit about the ambush and grappling mechanics.”

“Unlike some people sitting around this table, I learn from my mistakes. That’s also probably why some people — not naming names — just can’t appreciate the artistic beauty that is Dynasty Warriors 9.”

Donghyuck doesn’t even look up from his cuticles when Chenle explodes.

“You’re fucking impossible!”

“Can you guys relax?” Lee Jeno, who had somehow miraculously found the space and silence in the breaths between the entire argument to doze off, opens one eye, only slightly irate. “You’re making a scene over a dead game franchise.”

“It’s not dead; they’re on hiatus,” both Chenle and Donghyuck chime in together, apparently finding a moment of unique solidarity to shoot Jeno down before going back to glaring daggers at each other. Jeno shrugs, gives everyone else at the table an I tried kind of exasperated expression, and settles back into his seat, the one eye already closing before he’s fully folded his arms across his chest.

Your eyes wander away from the group over to the counter. You’re thankful for the fact that most of the time, you just get invited to share a table with them without necessarily being trapped in the middle of a conversation — especially one as heated as the one Chenle is prolonging while jabbing his finger accusingly at Donghyuck, as if he’s trying to pin a crime on the latter instead of just explaining why Donghyuck’s opinion is ‘borne of ignorance.’ When they’re all caught up in their business like this, you end up being able to revel in your more or less unobstructed view of Mark behind the barista’s station, where he’s busy piping an extra helping of whipped cream on top of a strawberry frappuccino for a kid that’s already jumping up and down next to the pick-up station.

The biting winter had already given way to the first signs of spring, and the Starbucks Mark works at has a supremely effective central heating system that allows people to shed their coats. This works in your favor, considering Mark wears nothing but a button-up shirt over his apron while he works, and he’s got this habit of rolling up his sleeves so they don’t catch any stains. You’re pretty sure he has a second motive, though; surely, he’s aware of how the view of his arms, muscles tightening under his skin whenever he even lightly grips something, drives you crazy. You’d bet a month’s allowance he’s doing it on purpose so that you start entertaining the thought of yelling at everyone in the branch to fuck off so you can grab him by the front of his stupid shirt so you can kiss his stupid face. Or ride it.

And for some inexplicable reason, he still has the audacity to act like there’s nothing amiss. When he looks up at you right after pushing the frappuccino towards the little girl, his eyes still brighten, almost innocent in their gaze, the corners of his lips turning up surreptitiously, hiding the smile he seems to save for only you from everyone else in the room.

You smile back, but when he turns away to take someone’s order, you let out a heavy sigh and take a long sip of your vanilla sweet cream cold brew until you start reaching the last dregs of it under the ice. Your brain pretty much cries out in protest, but you know it deserves as much as a mental cold shower for entertaining the thought of asking him to bend you over the counter at five-thirty in the afternoon in a Starbucks.

Stupid Mark. Stupid brain. Stupid fucking people in the room.

The warm breath in your ear alerts you to a slowly approaching presence, but you don’t have the reflexes to turn back to its source before it starts talking.

“Got anything to add to either of our cases, ___________?”

“What?” Your palm comes up to rub your ear as Donghyuck pulls away, laughing lightly. You’re sucked back into the foreground of the conversation, but you’re just as lost now as you had been before you started tuning them out in favor of your lust. “Uh — no. Sorry. To be honest, I know nothing about… sorry, what were you guys talking about again?”

“See, that’s how normal people act,” Jeno grumbles, both his eyes flying open this time. “Instead of hosting a presidential debate about Dynasty Warriors.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” You’re quick to add, and Jeno looks mildly amused at your attempt to still mollify the rest of the group. “I’m sure I would have liked it. If, you know, I actually had been introduced to it at any point in my life.”

“And if you had, I’m sure you’d have the taste to assert alongside me that the seventh installment was revolutionary,” Chenle sniffs, but he’s looking more pointedly at Donghyuck, who’s still ignoring him, save for the fact that he’s now looking at you instead of at his nails (which doesn’t feel like such a great upgrade).

“Nah, she’d be on my side. ___________ looks like she’d appreciate a good, scenic open world and grappling system. Right?”

“Uh…” you say smartly.

“Man, shut up.” Chenle throws his hands in the air before he stands up, his chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back with astounding force. “Got me so pissed off I need to pee now.”

You have no idea what the correlation is between getting annoyed and needing to use the bathroom, but even if you wanted to bring up your doubts — which you don’t — Chenle is long gone before you can get your thoughts together. It’s only when he’s out of earshot that Donghyuck leans in, almost conspiratorially, to whisper to you again.

“Actually, I think the ninth sucks too. But isn’t it kind of funny how worked up that fucker gets?”

“To be honest, I’ve never known anyone with quite your talent in riling people up,” you admit, and even though you’re not sure what kind of meaning you want attached to that, you notice that he decides to take it as a compliment all on his own, his chest puffing out in pride. “Too bad I have no idea which opinion is really right, or I’d weigh in, too.”

“Not a Dynasty Warriors kind of girl, then?”

“No one is, Hyuck,” Jeno snorts, shaking his head. “You two are the only people I know who still played that past the fifth installment.”

“Fair. I nurture a love for old franchises.” Donghyuck leans back, looking supremely satisfied at how he’s managed to tick off one of his most important ‘to-do’ points of the day. “So what’s your poison, ___________?”

“What’s that mean?”

“You a Gardenscapes kind of girl? Tekken? Maybe you like some good ol’ fashioned LoL?”

“I honestly don’t have the hand-eye coordination to play,” you confess. “I know Mark likes to play PUBG from time to time. I mostly just sit and ask questions, though. The few times I tried playing with him, I swear any normal person would’ve cried. He had to babysit me like crazy. It was a miracle he didn’t throw me out.”

“She even tries to play with him,” Donghyuck whistles lowly. “Dude, how’d Mark get a chick like you?”

“Meaning?”

“You’re way too good for that dope.” His laugh is light and good-natured. “Never thought a moony-eyed weirdo like him would actually wind up with his dream girl — which he’s called you, more than once, by the way. Fucking disgusting, but… I get it. Doesn’t make it less crazy or weird to hear, though.”

“Sorry to put you through that.” You smile, using your straw to stir the contents of your cup. A warmth spreads through your shoulders and down your arms to the tips of your fingers as you digest what Donghyuck’s just said to you, and you find your eyes trailing back to Mark, who’s pulling off his apron. His eyes are already fixed on you, and when you lock gazes, he mouths a wait for me that makes you want to squeeze the life out of something in pure joy. You settle for a soft sigh. “I guess it won’t help if I say your friend over there’s my dream guy.”

“It absolutely will not,” Donghyuck groans, faking a gagging noise that has you laughing. “But tell you what — if you ever get tired of Mark playing PUBG and ignoring you like the clown he is, I’ll find you someone else more your speed.”

“No thanks,” you snort, taking the last sip of your drink. “More than that, I’d just want to be some kind of helpful to him if I ever play with him again.”

“We can help you with that too,” Jisung volunteers. “Jeno taught me the basics. I’m sure he can teach you too.”

“Yeah, and I’m guessing you’d be a better student than mister “how come you didn’t tell me I had to focus the crosshairs myself” over here,” Jeno chuckles, surreptitiously pointing at Jisung when you cast him a questioning look.

“I’m pretty good at sneak attacks myself.” Donghyuck makes a show of pretending to slice your neck before grinning smugly. “We’ll take care of you. Mark won’t know what hit him next time.”

“What’s happening to me next time?”

You feel Mark before you see him, his hand landing on your head lightly and smoothing your hair back in an idle, gentle motion to announce his presence. You look up at him, already beaming, and he returns the favor as his hand settles on your shoulder.

“We were just talking about replacing you. Both as a friend and as a boyfriend, for your poor little dream girl here who’s just too nice to turn you down.” Donghyuck lies like it’s second nature; you wonder if that’s a Finance major thing or just a him thing.

“And you’re offering that to someone who didn’t ask for it?” Mark snorts, nudging Chenle’s bag over so he can sit in the empty spot.

“She’s so caught up in your sticky little web that she can’t struggle against you.” Donghyuck feigns a heavy sigh that suggests he feels sorry for you before he puts a hand on your free shoulder, shaking his head in a convincing kind of pity. “I’ll save you, so don’t worry. Mark can’t keep his grubby hands on you forever. Whenever you need to be saved, I’ll come a-running to free you.”

There’s a tightness on one shoulder that disrupts the balance of your torso, and you find yourself leaning closer to Mark. Your hand finds its way to his knee, giving it a light squeeze under the table, and his grip loosens by a fraction. Donghyuck’s as quick to let go as he is to hang on.

“We were just talking about PUBG,” you correct, and Mark’s eyes snap to you. “I was asking for help — you know, so I won’t drag you down the next time I join in?”

“I don’t mind whatever you do in-game.” He’s quick to comfort you, even if you don’t actually need it, but it feels warm and cold “I’m just glad you wanna try it with me.”

“No, but I kind of want to learn too. So it can be fun for both of us. Also so you don’t have to keep avenging me after five minutes,” you laugh. Mark cracks a smile then, and you don’t realize his expression had been slightly harder until it softens under your gaze.

“Then I’ll teach you next time.”

“No, I want to surprise you with how cool I get. And then next time, I’ll even beat you.” You turn to Donghyuck, slightly unsure. “Uh… I can beat him, can’t I?”

“If you play different teams, yeah,” he confirms. “Trust me. I’ll help you kick his ass.”

“Or we’ll both kick yours,” Mark chuckles, his grasp now tightening and loosening intermittently. He’s massaging your shoulder lightly, and you end up sinking deeper into his side. You don’t miss the slightly nauseated amusement that passes across Donghyuck’s face nor the way he mouths ‘sap’ to Mark, who ignores this comment in its entirety.

“Yo, hotpot at seven? Renjun’s asking,” Chenle announces as he returns to your table, his phone in one hand and a crumpled paper towel in the other. “Jaemin can’t make it, though. Study group or whatever shit he always says.”

“I’m down,” Donghyuck immediately replies, and Chenle’s eyes shoot heavenward, like he’s already asking for the divine strength to not sock Donghyuck in the face later.

“Can’t,” Jeno yawns, both his arms outstretched as he tries to move the sleep out of his spine. “Pre-test tomorrow.”

“Dude, it’s a pre-test,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to study if they’re just testing how much you know before studying.”

“Gotta study all the same.”

“I gotta pass too,” Jisung looks actually apologetic. “I promised my mom I’d help her move some stuff to my aunt’s place tonight.”

“Boring,” Chenle grumbles before turning to the both of you. “Lovebirds?”

“Rain check,” Mark shakes his head. “Family dinner. My brother’s home for the weekend. How about Monday instead? Most of us can’t make it anyway. At least Jaemin doesn’t have study group either.”

“If that’s even what that weirdo’s doing,” Chenle sighs, already punching in a message to send to Renjun. “Fine; I’ll ask about Monday. You guys better actually reply to the goddamn group chat. I can’t coordinate in six different private chats ever again.”

“You can put my name down already,” Mark casts you a sideway glance, and you nod immediately. “Two names, actually.”

“I’m good on Monday too. When we see each other again, I’ll bring some prospects for you to sift through,” Donghyuck adds to you, and you laugh. “Cool guys. Jocks. I know this upperclassman all the girls say is really hot. I think I still have his Messenger from when we did a group discussion last semester.”

“I’ll have Mark look at them so he can reject them all for me,” you promise. Donghyuck feigns affront before looking at Mark in utter disbelief.

“How the fuck did you snag a girl like this, man?”

“I’m pretty sure she once told me I… what did you say?” Mark glances at you amusedly. “I had some moves, I guess.”

“You mean stutter and blush in her presence?” Donghyuck can’t decide how to look at you without being even the slightest bit offensive; he just settles on incredulity. “And that won you over?”

“Most powerful move in the Mark Lee playbook,” you shrug, grinning. “Had me from the first ‘um,’ and he’s had me ever since.”

“You lucky son of a bitch,” Donghyuck snorts, and neither of you misses the slightly abashed but unmistakable smugness in Mark’s face when you lean in to rest your head on his shoulder.

The second time it happens is on that Monday, in a far more noticeable capacity. You just aren’t quick enough to read the signs, as usual.

But in your defense (again), it hadn’t felt all that significant.

“Fuck, this is spicy,” Na Jaemin sucks air in through his teeth and lets it out in a sharp whistle that’s broken by a laugh that’s not necessarily at anything funny. Maybe he’s just laughing at the sheen of sweat across his forehead that he has to wipe off with the other side of his napkin.

Miraculously, the hotpot plan pushes through, with no small amount of effort in coordination on Chenle’s part; he’d even texted you just to make sure he’d gotten the head count right, despite the fact that Mark had already confirmed your attendance twice over. Even the often elusive Na Jaemin, who always seems to have one or another study group to attend on most nights, manages to come and is currently busy mixing his peanut sauce in his little bowl with such vigor that you can’t help but wonder if he’s not trying to drown the mala-flavored strips of meat in it completely.

“That’s why I said you need a bowl of water for dipping, you dimwit,” Donghyuck points his chopsticks at Jaemin’s messy plate in a way you can only describe as nagging, even if that’s actually impossible. “You’ve got super mala breath now.”

“Don’t know about me, but I can smell yours all the way from over here,” Jaemin quips back with an easy kind of nonchalance, hastily ducking the balled-up napkin that goes flying across the table. It lands on the floor behind his chair harmlessly.

It’s nice, you think, that Mark’s friends like to invite you to their outings now; despite all the jokes they’ve made at his expense, they’ve been consistently open to having you around. You’re not necessarily the type of couple that acts in a way that disgusts people into moving to a completely different table anyway, and you allow their conversations to unfold easily without ever interrupting, so you think that this arrangement works for all parties involved.

They’re even louder outside Starbucks, you’ve come to note; the restaurant is significantly busier than the cafe anyway, filled with people on their company dinners, so Mark’s friends all seem to want to rival that boisterous energy. Weirdly, you like it, even when they’re already half off their seats and one (Chenle) is just about to strangle the other (Donghyuck). The laughter flows freely, and there’s a messiness to the whole affair that makes it impossible to feel uncomfortable.

Even Mark pipes in occasionally, offering his opinion on topics he knows much more about than you, and you can’t help but admire how everyone listens to him when he starts to speak, even if he has nothing realistically important to say. His friends might find it odd that you’d been so drawn to him, but they just don’t know that even they’re victims of Mark’s natural magnetism, also falling quiet and eager to hear his voice, his light-hearted laugh, in response to the things they say.

But even when he’s mostly distracted by conversation, there’s a part of him that continuously pays attention to you in his own way. He nudges his ginger and soy sauce bowl towards you with the side of his wrist so you can dip your beef in, even if you’d adamantly declined him giving you your own bowl of it in the first place (you’d always thought you were peanut sauce or nothing kind of girl, but one sneaky venture into Mark’s sauce proved you wrong). His hand hovers over your head when you drop your chopsticks and bend over to pick them up from where they’ve rolled under the table, making sure you’re bump-free when you resurface.

And his palms always, always settle somewhere on you, no matter what he’s doing. If one hand is busy feeding himself, the other is intent on warming your thigh, passing over the denim in slow, steady strokes. His fingers tickle your knee when you laugh, just to make you laugh a little harder — you’d even almost kneed the table at one point, much to Huang Renjun’s alarm. But the most common place for his arm is around you, fingers lightly bunched into the side of your shirt, like he’s worried loosening his grip on you further will cause you to vanish. It keeps him close to you, keeps his scent and warmth washing over you in gentle waves, so much so that you often have to remind yourself that he’ll be the target of much light-hearted mockery if you so much as lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder.

But it’s hard to resist it, especially when his hand seems to be intent on outlining every curve on that side, passing over your hip and dipping into your waist. The motion allows him to slowly but surely lift the fabric of your shirt, up until there’s just enough of an opening for his palm to slip under, and suddenly it’s much warmer on that side, with the light roughness of his hand grazing at your skin. His fingers always stretch apart, like he’s trying to feel as much of you as he can, and the pads of his digits have a tendency to graze the plane of your stomach — his nails sometimes even travel featherlight just next to your navel, etching out words you can’t really decipher. Like he’s writing a message just for you.

It makes you feel like no matter what he’s doing, a part of his mind is always on you.

“You guys want to see that new horror movie? The Ghost Within, I think it’s called,” Jisung asks the group from over at the other end of the table, having to raise his voice significantly to make sure it isn’t swept away by the raucous laughter from across the restaurant. “I think it’s coming out in a week or two.”

“I’d be okay with it,” Renjun shrugs, although he doesn’t look enthused. “Kind of looks like a cliche horror with all those cheap jump scares and shit, but I’m down if you all are.”

A wave of assent passes over the group in general, but you notice Mark doesn’t immediately respond. You take this opportunity to lean in and confess your stance.

“If I have to sit around and watch a ghost pop out at me from a big-ass movie screen, you may never again see me in the same wonderful light you do today,” you warn. “Remember me as I am, not as I will be, Mark Lee.”

He snorts, coughing lightly as a mixture of ginger and fishcake sticks in his throat. “Yeah — we’ll pass, I think.”

“Scaredy-cat,” Donghyuck teases, and you’re surprised that Mark doesn’t come to his own defense. There’s something romantic in him not wanting to be the one to sell you out, but you suppose there’s also a kind of chivalry in being the one to take the bullet.

“Actually, I’m the one who can’t handle it well,” you smile in apology. “Sorry. I don’t have much of a reputation, so to speak, but what elegance may be attached to my name, however misplaced, is something I really want to maintain. At least until I graduate.”

“In short, you don’t want Mark to see you scream and cry,” Chenle deduces. You can’t even find fault in him figuring it out so quickly.

“Bingo.”

“Well, we can solve the problem,” Donghyuck claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention for no good reason. “__________, you sit beside me, and Mark can sit on the far end of the row. With how dark it is, he won’t see anything, and I get to sit next to a cute girl in a movie theater. Win-win.”

“Thanks for the offer,” you laugh, shaking your head. “But it’s not a win-win if I accidentally grab your hand out of instinct.”

“It is to me,” Donghyuck winks, and you feel Mark’s hand stop brushing over your stomach. His fingers curl in lightly, almost like he’s trying to make a fist but can’t quite get to that point out of personal restraint. “Or better yet, you could do what we all think you should do and dump Mark for someone you won’t be ashamed to cry in front of. I, for one, would not even bother to comment on whatever emotions you’re going through in the middle of a movie, so what do you say? It’s a pretty sweet deal, in my humble opinion. Me versus Mark Lee. The showdown of the century, right here in Hai Di Lao.”

You’ve noticed that the more Donghyuck piles onto his little teasing rampage, the more forcefully Mark tugs you over; his fingers aren’t just skimming over your skin but have now grown into the habit of gently pinching it, as if begging for your attention. It feels nice but also a little urgent, although it’s hard for you to understand why; the whole foundation of this group is built on teasing each other until someone (Chenle) snaps and lobs a bottle cap at someone else (Donghyuck), so it should be normal for Mark to be at the receiving end of some light banter.

“Should we ask the hostess to referee the match, then?” You ride along with the joke.

“No way. You’re the one calling the shots.” Donghyuck sits up a little straighter, putting on a smug face. “Okay, pick, __________. Me or Mark; who’s got the better punches?”

You make a show of acting thoughtful, even tapping your chin to pretend considering it deeply, but there was never any doubt on your choice. Still, you can’t really decipher the sudden slowness, the light tremble in Mark’s palm as it travels to your hip, where it settles, heavy, over the curve.

“It’s a complete knock-out,” you finally announce, grinning. “Championship belt goes to Mark.”

“Man, if I had a girlfriend as straight-shooting about her feelings for me as you are about your feelings for Mark, I’d propose in a day, max,” Jeno groans, half-exasperated and half-amused all at once.

“Man must’ve saved a nation or something in his past life,” Donghyuck grimaces. “No way he deserves a girl this hot and crazy about him. Hey — got any tips on stopping natural disasters or something? I could use a sexy, loyal girlfriend in my next life. Or maybe I’ll just poach yours in this one and see what it feels like.”

“I would actually deck you, so don’t even try it,” Mark snorts, his arm now winding full around your waist. You’re flush against his side, and he uses this opportunity to do something he doesn’t often do in front of his friends: show explicit affection by pressing a light kiss just behind your ear. It tickles, his breath grazing your earlobe, and you giggle, squirming in his hold. All he does is smile and pull you in tighter.

The bill’s split eight ways, but Mark’s fishing out cash to pay for your share even before you can get your wallet out from the bottom of your bag; it’s one of those quick, instinctive moves he likes to use on you, where he pushes the money and sends the bill back to the staff before you can even protest in full, so you have to settle on thanking him by returning the earlier favor — landing a peck on his cheek, which flushes a warm and contented pink the moment your lips make contact.

You just pointedly ignore the snickers that run around the table, particularly from Donghyuck and Jaemin.

The group splits ways at the front of the school dorms; most of them head in after their goodbyes, while Chenle backtracks towards his apartment building off-campus, mumbling something about how he hopes his roommate’s in because he accidentally left his key in the bowl next to their doorway. Mark should be piling in with the rest into the dorms, but he has a habit of insisting that he take you to the subway station; you’ve long since given up on convincing him against tagging along, mostly because he looks slightly hurt whenever you try to get him to stay put. You’re not going to complain anyway; for as much as you like being around Mark’s friends, it’s even better when you have this little slice of alone time despite the hassle it brings him.

Your fingers are linked when you walk under the street lights, the campus road leading to the station entrance significantly less busy at this time of evening; it’s cool enough for you to have an excuse to press yourself into Mark’s form, and he accepts this additional burden with an immense amount of grace, his arm finding its way around you again. Two minutes later, his palm is pressed against your bare skin once more, rubbing small, gentle circles just above your pelvis.

A part of you wonders if you’ll be able to do this — lean in, flush against him — when the summer heat starts to stick, but rather than really worrying about the logistics, you realize you’re more hung up on the idea of spending this summer with him.

“Sorry,” Mark murmurs out of the blue. Your eyebrows shoot up, and he looks down at you sheepishly. “Isn’t hanging out with my friends kind of driving you crazy?”

You hum in thought before shaking your head in resolution. “Not really. Not in a bad way, at least. I like how close you guys all are — and how big the group is. It’s usually just Yeji and Jisu with me, and they’re definitely not as rowdy. The change of pace is pretty fun.”

“Yeji and Jisu,” he echoes. “Your best friends. I haven’t met them yet, have I?”

“Not yet. Jisu started a part-time job across town, so we can’t get our schedules to align right just yet.” Your hip collides gently with his. “Should I let you, though?”

“One day… I think it would be nice to hang out with a less migraine-inducing crowd for a change.”

“I’ll tell them, then. They want to meet you.” You crane your neck up slightly, lowering your voice into a hushed whisper that’s completely unnecessary. “They want to know if you’re as cute as you look in your pictures.”

Mark draws back, laughing incredulously. “How do they know what my pictures look like?”

“I stalked your Instagram and showed them,” you answer simply. He throws you a funny look that’s equal parts disbelief and amusement. “They liked that one with the Spider-man costume.”

“Please don’t,” he groans, passing a hand over his face. “I should have taken that down, but I didn’t think anyone would care.”

“Why? I like it.” Your hand’s the one that manages to slip under his sweater this time, fingers trailing down his stomach; you feel him suck it in for a second in surprise before he lets out an exhale.

“I can’t ever understand what’s going through your head,” he chuckles, and you think it’s unfair that he manages to extract your hand from under the fabric while his is still firmly pressed against the side of your stomach. “You saw that and still wanted to date me?”

“Mark Lee, you simply underestimate how much I adore you. It’s kind of hurting my feelings at this rate.”

You’re just a few inches shy of the circle of light cast by the subway station sign. Your feet try to bring you forward, but Mark lingers behind, just outside the curve of soft white on the pavement, and his hand slips from under your shirt. You turn, and his hand skims down your arm instead, fingers locking around your wrist. With the slight distance between you, it looks like you’re caught in motion.

“I still can’t wrap my head around it sometimes.”

“What?”

“I just look over at you and feel like it’s not real. Like you’re going to disappear, and I’m just going to wake up from a dream and see you the next day, just some other stranger who doesn’t even know my name.” He licks his lips, and you want to reach out and kiss him already, but you know he isn’t done talking. “And I’m going to remember how much I liked you in that dream, but you won’t ever feel that same way.”

“You know I’m right here, though, don’t you?” Your fingers mimic his, squeezing around his wrist. “You can feel me. I’m here with you.”

Hesitation flashes across his face even when he nods, and you notice his eyes flit down to his shoes before looking back up at you — a habit of avoidance you know he’s trying to correct. “Sometimes I have to wonder if they’re right.”

“If… who’s right?”

“Them.” He jerks his thumb back in the general direction of the school dorms. “The guys. You know — when they ask me how I got a girl like you… the truth is, I don’t even really know. They can’t believe it, and it’s so crazy to me that I still sometimes can’t myself. So I start wondering if—”

You don’t let him finish this time; it’s rude to interrupt, you know, but you also know that what he’s about to say is probably something neither of you wants to hear anyway. Your lips connect with his, firm and demanding, and his words die in his throat, melting into a soft groan that vibrates against your skin. When you pull away, you don’t create the same distance, and Mark’s hands find their way to your waist, slightly trembling.

“They’re wrong,” you murmur, a quiet strength in your voice. “So stop wondering and just be with me.”

A smile starts tugging on the corners of his mouth, and the next moment, he’s nodding in assent, in wholehearted agreement, and the next kiss you share is one he starts, far more gentle than earlier.

“Next time I catch you entertaining nonsensical thoughts, there’ll be consequences.”

“Are you threatening me?” His laugh is colored with incredulity.

“Yes.” Your tone is firm, but your grin gives away too much of the jest. “Maybe I’ll ground you for a week, or something really childish.”

“I’d take it if you were with me.”

“That’s not how it works,” you snort, gently flicking the tip of his nose. He scrunches it on impact. “You’d be in solitary. You must reflect on your actions and all that nonsense. Meanwhile, I’ll be out having some good hotpot with everyone else.”

“If that happens, promise me one thing, then.” He maneuvers your stance until you’re both back in the blanket of darkness, just out of reach of the subway entrance. “Don’t sit next to Donghyuck.”

“And let him and Chenle give me an earful about how bad-slash-good the first Human Centipede movie was all over again? I think not.”

“No, really.” Mark buries his face into your neck, and you hear the quiet inhale as he breathes in your scent. On instinct, your hand comes up to thread through his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. “I don’t want you sitting there and hearing him talk your ear off about how much I don’t deserve you or that he’ll help you find someone better.”

“You know he’s just joking — and I’m just joking, right?”

“Just promise me.”

You pause, wondering if it’s in your best interest to tease him for whatever act he’s pulling, but there’s a shortness to his breathing that makes the whole situation feel weirdly tense. He’s really waiting for something — an answer. The right answer, maybe.

“I promise,” you finally say, and you know you’ve said the correct thing when Mark’s lips press a soft kiss to your collarbone, like he’s sealing in your vow.

On the third time, Mark pretty much gives up.

The strangest thing is that it starts at a time when you’re not even actually together; if you had to pinpoint the exact moment, it probably had to be when Donghyuck had walked you to the dorm from library. No — maybe even before that. Somewhere in the time you’d spent in there, he’d thought up yet another way to push Mark’s buttons. You just didn’t really know the exact minute he’d first seen you with Jung Jaehyun.

You don’t know how Jaehyun does it; he skips half his classes and somehow doesn’t even get in trouble, let alone fail. You’d only met him last semester, but he was just about the only person who was halfway familiar in your Anthropology 120 class, so you thought you could at least feel comfortable enough to chat with him about the weather or what had happened in the last meeting. You don’t expect him to strong-arm you into being something of a literal proxy for him; the first week of the semester, you’d spend almost each lecture period gnawing on your nails and fretting over the fact that your signature for attendance looked nothing like his. By the second week, you’d already come to realize that it doesn’t matter because he had only attended one lecture — the first one — thus far and your professor was as clueless about Jaehyun’s handwriting as you. By the fourth week, you had resigned yourself to being his slightly unwilling associate for his random escapades, allowing him to copy off your notes and turning in his homework for him.

Now that you think about it, that’s probably how he does it.

You sacrifice your free time for him today, caged up in a library for pretty much the afternoon. You can’t help but resent him, not just because the whole room is stuffy and the librarian keeps passing by, clucking to remind people not to litter between shelves, but also because you’d much rather do things that are important to you — like pretending to flirt with Mark for the first time when you place your order and watching him act like it’s the first time you’re saying something so sweet to him, except he’s definitely not pretending. Instead of watching Mark’s face color that cute shade of pink and that sweet little smile pull at his mouth until he’s basically biting his lips back to stop himself from grinning, you have to bore yourself with the sight of Jaehyun trying to decipher your handwriting.

“You should really be more legible with your strokes.” He has the audacity to chastise you as if he’s the one doing you a favor by giving you constructive criticism.

“You should really come to class more often,” you bite back, although there’s no real heat to your words. You just look out the window and watch the sun sink down behind the university hospital building, wondering if there’s a chance you’ll still be able to catch Mark before his shift ends.

“Would if I could.”

“You actually fucking can,” you say tiredly, and even the way he turns the page is so impossibly slow. “Can’t you just take a picture?”

“Nah; writing it down carefully really helps my retention of this kind of stuff.”

“So take a picture and then write it down carefully.”

“With your ridiculous handwriting? I’d probably fail.”

“So come to class and write it yourself!”

Your hiss increases in pitch, and it calls the attention of the librarian over to you. She swoops in, clicking her tongue, but she’s not even looking at you. Her eyes are zoned in on Jaehyun, who meets her gaze with so much innocence it’s hard to imagine you’d wanted to smack him two minutes ago.

“Jung Jaehyun,” the librarian snaps in an undertone. The slow, punctuated way she says his name suggests she knows him fairly well — and not in a great way. “I see you’re back in here after your probationary period.”

“Sorry for the trouble, Mrs. Park.” He grins up at her, looking anything but apologetic. “I promise I won’t get in your way again today.”

“And this one—” She points to you, and you point to yourself in shock at being pointed to, and Jaehyun’s pointing at you and mouthing ‘this one’ with excessive mirth in his eyes. “Isn’t another one of those girls you plan on defiling my sacred space with?”

Jaehyun says ‘we didn’t defile anything’ at the same time you say I’m going to throw up, and the librarian just adds to the noise by shushing you on top of that jumble of words.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you two,” Mrs. Park warns before stalking away, tutting at a library assistant for wrongly shelving a volume of Encyclopedia Brittanica.

“Please, Jaehyun,” you groan, crossing your arms over the table and flattening your forehead against them. “Just hurry up. Release me.”

He ignores you, still leaning closer to your notebook to decipher your handwriting. “I would like to set the record straight and make it known I didn’t fuck anyone in the library.”

“What’d you get probation for, then?”

“Just making out.” You notice he has the energy to grin wickedly even without meeting your eye, even while he’s still scrawling on his own notebook, and you groan something incoherent and irate once again. “What are you in such a big hurry for, anyway?”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you grumble, raising your head. “That some people might want to do better things than sit here and watch you write stuff for ages?”

“No,” comes his simple reply. You bop your head onto your arms a few times in the hope that the impact will shake you out of this nightmare and you’d find yourself waking up in Mark’s arms instead, but you have no such luck. “By better things, do you mean fucking Mark Lee in someone else’s bedroom? That’s real defilement, by the way.”

“How’d you hear about that?” You squeeze your eyes shut and growl under your breath. “Fucking Youngho.”

“You doing that too?”

“Shut — please, would you hurry?”

He pointedly purses his lips in an effort to keep himself from letting out what you can only assume is, by the glint in his eyes, a witch’s cackle. “Almost done, man. Relax a bit. So did you guys get together — like, together together?”

You initially contemplate not telling him, but Jaehyun’s nosiness is probably going to reveal the truth to him sooner or later anyway. “Yeah. What’s it to you, though?”

“Nothing. You’re lucky.”

For the first time today, you feel like Jaehyun has finally said something right. “Yeah — yeah, I am.”

“I bet his friends don’t seem to think so.”

“Is this something you know because it’s a guy thing or because you’re so nosy that you just can’t help but listen in on every other juicy conversation around you?”

“A bit of both,” he chuckles. “Mostly just because I know Lee Donghyuck was giving him a hard time about it last semester.”

“I noticed that too — a bit, anyway. But it’s just banter, I think.”

“Probably. Imagine being his friend and getting a girlfriend; it’s like… the perfect ammunition for teasing. But I’m pretty sure half of the things that come out of his mouth are jokes meant to annoy.”

“What about yours?”

“I get it,” he sighs, shutting your notebook resolutely. It makes a thud that alerts the librarian two tables away, and she glares at you like you’re climbing onto Jaehyun’s lap in the middle of the References on the Korean War aisle. “I’ll set you free. Thanks, by the way, for letting me copy from you. Same time next week?”

“Or how about you look up the schedules for our classes and actually come instead of piggybacking off of my efforts and making snarky remarks about my handwriting while you’re taking advantage of my goodwill?”

“Sounds like too much effort on my end,” he yawns, waving you off as you stuff your notebook into your bag. “Later, ___________. Say hi to Mark for me. The normal way — not the girlfriend way, please.”

You stick your tongue out at him before you make a mad dash for the door, ignoring Mrs. Park as she shushes your footsteps on the marble. You’re so intent on fishing your phone out of your bag that you almost ram the door into the person standing behind it.

“Oh, fuck— Jesus, I’m sorry, I wa— wait, Donghyuck?”

“Great to see you too, ___________.” He rubs his jaw where the edge of the door grazed it. “You in a rush?”

“I was just about to go see if Mark was still at Starbucks.”

“His shift’s probably almost over. I’m headed back to the dorm if you wanna tag along.” When you nod, he starts leading the way, breaking the silence again soon after. “Were you in a study group, or something?”

“No,” you jerk your thumb backwards towards the minuscule form of Jaehyun, who’s now busy wasting time and space playing something on his phone where you’d left him. Donghyuck’s eyebrows shoot up. “He’s my classmate who never comes to class. I was just lending him my notes.”

“Oh, Jaehyun, yeah.” Donghyuck snaps his fingers. “We were classmates last semester. He never went to class either, but I don’t know who he mooched off of to pass. You guys close?”

“Not really. I just fell into the trap of being too nice to him.”

“It’s funny,” he hums, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Jaehyun seems more your speed. On paper, at least.”

You can’t help but look taken aback, and Donghyuck laughs at your expression. “What do you mean, my speed?”

“Not sure.” He pauses, trying to find the right words to explain himself. “Someone who’d fit more into your social circles. Someone who probably likes Formula One and considers men’s health magazines to be classic literature.”

“That’s your impression of my social circle?”

“You know what I mean. People like Jung Jaehyun or Seo Youngho. I literally thought you were dating him last semester, so it was totally crazy to hear you asked Mark out.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Like… you asked him out. Not even the other way around. That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?” You know he doesn’t mean anything bad by it; Donghyuck has next to no filter, and something about him being unable to process your relationship is honestly a little funny. “A girl can’t ask a guy out?”

(You try not to think too hard about the fact that up until you’d cornered him in Youngho’s room, you had been praying to whatever god could hear you to convince Mark Lee to do the romanticist thing and ask you out.)

“Nah, dude. Like… a girl like you asked a guy like him out.”

“I didn’t ask him out because he was a guy like that,” you say pointedly. “I asked him out because he was a guy I liked. I wouldn’t have asked anyone else out if it weren’t him.”

Donghyuck falls quiet for a while, and only the crunching of the leaves underfoot accompanies your walk. “You really like him that much, huh?”

“I’m crazy about him.” His nose scrunches up like he’s been hit with a horrible smell, and you laugh. “Can you stop giving him a hard time? Or tone it down? I know you probably don’t like it—”

Donghyuck’s chuckle is light and easy. “I’m not teasing him because I hate it; let’s be clear on that. I actually really like that you guys are together. I’ve never seen him this happy with anything or anyone.”

“Then why are you—”

“Because he’s Mark.” A devilish grin creeps up his features as he holds the door to the dorm lobby open for you. “And teasing him is my favorite thing to do.”

You shake your head; you can’t help your amusement, but you’re not sure you fully understand this kind of friendship. You suppose if Mark is okay with it in its totality, then there isn’t much you can say to change it either.

The next twenty minutes pass in comfortable back-and-forths; Donghyuck is, as you already have learned, an expert conversationalist, and while he doesn’t aggravate you the way he does Chenle, he does manage to navigate a quick-fire kind of exchange of thoughts and information that allows you to see the speed at which he thinks. There’s barely any lag between when he digests what you say and when he responds. You suppose there’s a measure of wit in that, but it’s also a little bemusing to see someone speak without at least running it through the conscience checker every once in a while. You decide you’ve never met anyone quite like Lee Donghyuck before.

He’s in the middle of asking you what the Anthropology professor is like because he’s planning on taking it as an elective if he can when you notice a familiar figure pushing into the lobby, backpack swinging on a folded elbow.

“Mark!” The brief confusion on his face morphs into a surprised joy when he spots you on the couch, even though a bit of it lingers upon recognizing that Donghyuck is seated next to you. He walks over in long strides, and your posture straightens to meet his palm as it comes down gently against the crown of your head again; it bumps lightly, causing the both of you to laugh.

“Hey, you.” His voice is warm and fond in its greeting, and you beam up at him. “Did you have a busy afternoon?”

“Unfortunately. Did you just get back from your shift?”

“I passed by the co-op to check out the new university letter jackets. Design’s pretty dope.” He nods towards the elevator. “You wanna head up for a little bit?” You almost get to respond before your companion cuts in instead.

“Hey. Can’t you see we’re having a riveting conversation over here?” Donghyuck sniffs, making a show of hitting Mark’s shin lightly with the heel of his shoe. “Have some respect.”

“Is the conversation so riveting that I can’t take my girl for the evening at all?”

You mouth out a no, but Donghyuck’s flair for dramatics has him humphing and shoving Mark’s hand away from your hair. “Yeah, man. At least let us finish up.”

“What’s this even about?”

“How Jung Jaehyun asked her out in the library today,” Donghyuck replies easily. You start, shaking your head immediately, but Mark’s jaw slackens a little upon hearing this. Donghyuck continues loudly over your protests, and you can’t keep your voice straight because you’re adamant and yet, somehow, still laughing incredulously in your shock. “Oh, dude, let me tell you. He had his arm around her like this — and he was giving her the bedroom eyes… I wouldn’t have blamed her if she folded, honestly.”

“Mark, no,” your stupid gasp comes out as half a giggle as a result of Donghyuck trying to reenact his imaginary scenario. He’s slung his arm across your shoulders and pulled himself in, doing his best expression of a pleading dog’s gaze, which is both perplexing and hilarious. “He’s just kidding—”

“Then he got all close like this—” Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, and the view he allows himself blocks him from having to look at Mark. You, on the other hand, are still trying to resist a misunderstanding, your palms up and every part of your body that can move shaking vehemently, but you can see Mark’s face turn a violent shade of red you can’t remember having seen from him before. “Spoke all low — you remember he had that sexy, husky voice, right? ”

“He’s just messing with you,” you wheeze out, trying to extract yourself from Donghyuck’s hold, but he only tightens his arm around your neck, almost to the point where you can’t inhale properly.

“And he said ‘you’re the hottest chick I’ve ever seen—’ then you know what he did, Markie?”

Mark doesn’t respond; you’re not even sure if he can, considering his Adam’s apple is bobbing dangerously like he’s one misstep away from exploding. You laugh again, stupidly, because you don’t know what else to do; you know Donghyuck’s teasing him, and you know Mark usually takes it in stride, but you’ve also never seen the latter look so focused on anything that didn’t involve a math problem or eating you out. “No, really, nothing hap—”

You don’t even have the space to finish your sentence. Donghyuck’s too quick when he grabs your face and plants a comedically sloppy kiss on your cheek, bursting out in laughter when he pulls away. You can only sit there, probably as stunned as Mark looks, raising your hand slowly to wipe the spittle Donghyuck left behind in his wake.

“Oh, Jesus,” Donghyuck rasps out between snorts. “Your face is priceless, man.”

“Not funny,” Mark grumbles, and there’s a hoarseness to his voice that makes you feel like it’s barely controlled.

“Also not true. I just bumped into her on the way from the library. We were talking about one of her classes or whatever.” Donghyuck dramatically wipes the tears from his eyes, and you sigh, nudging him. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist. Man, don’t even worry. She’s downright crazy about you. Even if Jung Jaehyun had asked her out—”

“Anyway.” Mark reaches down, lacing your fingers together, pulling you up and closer to his side like he’s worried you’ll catch Donghyuck’s crazy. “If that’s all of it…”

“Yeah, yeah. You two lovebirds go moon over each other already. I just love seeing your face like that.”

Mark snorts, yanking on Donghyuck’s earlobe punitively, and the latter cries out sharply (and a little exaggeratedly) at the pain. Mark doesn’t even seem to care; he leads you to the elevator and punches in his floor. You barely have time to call out a belated ‘bye’ to Donghyuck, who acknowledges it with a raise of his palm, before the doors slide shut.

It’s a slow elevator, given that it’s an old building, and the first couple of floors pass without much noise between the two of you. You’re not unaware of how tight Mark’s grip is on your hand, but you don’t comment nor take it against him. By the fourth floor, you’re raising his hand up to your lips and pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

“Nothing happened.” You confirm his unasked question, and you see a modicum of tension leave his shoulders. “He was just messing with you because he thinks it’s funny.”

“Yeah, I know.” Even if he says it like that, there’s still lingering doubt in his voice. “Were you with Jung Jaehyun today, though? Is that why you didn’t show up?”

You nod. “He was copying my notes for Anthropology. Guy barely shows up to lectures, so he borrows my stuff. I can’t believe he hasn’t been suspended yet. Or punched in the face by the people he leeches off of.”

“No kidding.”

You step out on the sixth floor with him. Even if you already know where Mark’s dorm is, you let him lead the way, and he ushers you into an empty and dimly lit living space while taking his shoes off. His roommate barely seems to be around; you’ve seen him all of two times, and it doesn’t look like he’s here either right now. You pause anyway, listening to any signs of life just to be sure, but when you both confirm that there’s no one but the two of you, you busy yourselves with turning on the lights and plugging in the water dispenser.

You work in relative silence; it isn’t anything unusual since you’ve done this a million times, and you’ve come to learn that small talk isn’t necessary when you’re just washing your hands or opening the refrigerator aimlessly even if you know you both plan on ordering in. But there’s a weird aura around Mark that you’re not sure how to place; he doesn’t seem like he’s mad, but there definitely seems to be something off — a problem, at least, that you’re not sure you know how to ask about.

So you just try to diffuse whatever it is by completely ignoring it.

“Pizza or Chinese?” You ask, flopping onto the couch as he plugs the television into the outlet. He looks up at you, and you notice his eyes are slightly dazed, like you’ve just woken him up from a dream. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse the first time he says it, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, sorry.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“We just had pizza, so I’m thinking Chinese is the better option. Cream shrimp? Fried rice? Not the salted fish one, though, maybe.”

You hum in assent, but when he straightens up from behind the television, you extend your arm to him, attempting to clarify yourself. “I mean, what are you thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing.” His answer’s a little too quick. A moment of awkward silence passes where you telepathically tell him you know he’s lying and he has to come to terms with his horrible lying skills, and he sighs, crossing over to the couch and settling beside you. Immediately, he tangles your fingers together, belatedly returning the favor from the elevator and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “He didn’t ask you out, right?”

You know he knows the truth, so you decide to bat your own question back at him in an attempt at rhetoric. “What would it matter if he did? The answer would have been the same, real or imagined.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly. There’s a red flush on his neck that’s only started fading, it seems. You reach out and skim your finger along the vein that runs down the side of his throat. “I know. I don’t like it all the same. I hate… even thinking about it, actually.”

“Really — nothing happened. If you don’t count the fact that I almost strangled him for keeping me there — which I’m sure you’d agree doesn’t count as anything in favor of him.”

“I heard Jung Jaehyun’s kind of a playboy.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.” His head lolls to the side, and his eyes hold a sadness that pulls at your heart. “It means he really could have made a pass at you. Or you could have — I don’t know. In the end… I just worry.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Your lower lip juts out, and his eyes widen slightly, his head shaking before his mouth can even work out a proper response.

“No — I mean, yes, absolutely. It’s — I mean, it’s just—” He inhales again to gather his wits, two fingers still rubbing his forehead. “I trust you, without a doubt. I don’t trust other people — not around you. Not Jaehyun, or Youngho, or—”

“Or Donghyuck?” You smile a little apologetically at his embarrassment, clear on his face when his eyes stray from yours. “Mark, you know he’s only messing with you, right? I thought it was a funny thing for you guys.”

“It’s not funny if it’s about you,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He looks up at you again, chewing on his bottom lip. “I know. I’m trying to control it. Sometimes… I don’t know why it gets under my skin. I guess it’s because it could happen — you… finding someone else. I kind of hate the thought of that.”

“And if I said I hate it even more than you?”

His gaze softens, something like relief passing over his features, but the rest of his body still holds a significant amount of tension; you know by the way he’s running agitated circles on the back of your hand. You gently tug on his arm, allowing yourself to use it as an anchor to shift your weight. Mark makes a soft noise of inquiry but says nothing more, waiting until you’ve maneuvered your body to settle on his lap.

The view is reminiscent, and you can see that the core memory you share flashes through his mind too. A small smile, still somewhat reluctant, plays on Mark’s lips, and you hate that it’s all you get right now, so you rectify this by leaning down and leaving a small, chaste kiss on them. You pull away much too soon, and his head follows in response to the distance, chasing your lips until you’re realistically too far to reach. His arm extends instead, swiftly tucking your hair behind your ear.

Your fingers close around his wrist, and your head turns, continuing the kiss against his palm — short and firm.

“Stop doing that.”

His eyebrows fly upward in questioning, his other hand freezing in its trail up your thighs. Even his breath seems to catch, and what’s left of it comes out as a raspy whisper. “Stop being jealous? I’m… I’m trying.”

You shake your head. “Stop being sexy when you’re jealous.”

The ‘what’ he seems to want to ask dies in his throat, his mouth only able to form half of the word before you interrupt, your lips taking in the rest of the syllable. When you kiss him this time, there’s a slow hunger to it; your teeth find his lower lip even before he’s able to get into the rhythm of kissing you back. You just want him to know — everything about him drives you wild, even when he doesn’t know it.

You’ll never grow sick of the taste of him, you’re sure; today, he tastes even more enticing, the hint of something rich mixing in with the stronger flavor of coffee on his tongue. It’s familiar and comforting, and it’s only when you break away, both your faces flushed from a prolonged lack of air, that you puzzle out what the taste is — the lingering aftermath of a vanilla sweet cream cold brew, one he must have prepared in anticipation of you this afternoon.

You briefly squeeze your eyes shut and thank whoever’s listening for the gift of Mark Lee.

“Mark,” your murmur, your voice much softer, intent on coaxing him into releasing his worries. “You know, right?”

His ‘hm’ is only half-there in focus, the rest of his attention on his hands, which have found their way to your ass and have started digging his fingers into the flesh beyond your jeans. You have to tilt his head up with one finger under his chin, and there’s a whirlpool of emotion in them: curiosity, desire, and, interestingly, a quiet, almost suppressed kind of anger.

“If it isn’t you,” you whisper. “Then there’s nobody else.”

You see his jaw tighten, feel his grip against you do the same, and his brow furrows, like he’s trying — much too hard, and for no good reason — to stop himself from tipping over. You don’t like that either; if he’s there, you think, you should take him over the edge.

“But if you want them to know so badly, then…” You tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck, bringing the expanse just a little closer to his mouth. “Why don’t you go ahead and put your claim on me?”

You swear you see his pupils dilate right before he presses his mouth to your skin. With a low, almost pained groan against your neck, he latches his teeth in lightly, and you feel the soft sting, the increase in pressure the moment he starts sucking a mark just above your collarbone. There’s a wet, messy pattern to his movements, always punctuated by the sweep of his tongue to soothe your flesh. Even with that, his movements are slow and careful, still gentle in the way he’s handling you, but you feel it anyway — all of his tension’s concentrated in his grip, the way he keeps you close, hips pinned against him as if he’s worried anything less will cause you to disappear.

“Every time you worry, remember you can do this.” You pause, your breath catching in a lilt as his teeth dig in a little more fiercely. “You’re the only one that can.”

His lips detach with a soft groan, fingers squeezing your ass tight for a moment. Warm breath cools against the damp patch on your neck, and a second later, you feel his mouth graze against the few inches of skin, sensitive and slightly raw. “I know. It’s just not fair.”

You hum in questioning, but he doesn’t answer immediately; his mouth busies itself just under the mark he’d surely left, already starting up the same routine. You’d let him, and you want him to, but you want to hear his voice more. Your fingers tangle into his hair, and you use that hold to ease his head back, urging him to look up at you. It’s almost a mistake, seeing him like that — lips slightly swollen and definitely slick with his own saliva, parted just a little to reveal teeth he’d been desperate to nip your flesh with again. It crosses your mind that Mark has a mouth made for kissing — no, that isn’t accurate.

A mouth made for you to kiss.

“What’s not fair?” You ask softly. Even now, he takes his time in answering, his eyes falling close for a second; you watch him swallow, lick his lips, breathe in before he speaks, and all of those mundane things he does somehow make you lose your mind all the more.

“How badly I keep wanting you,” he breathes out, his eyes slowly opening. “And how it makes me think everyone wants you just as much.”

His hands leave the curve of your ass, traveling up your shirt, resting against your sides. He holds you like he’s careful in trying not to break you, his fingers spread wide to make sure his thumbs almost meet against your stomach, but there’s a smoldering headiness in his gaze that tells you he’s thinking a little too hard about wanting to break you.

“I touch you like this, and I think that everyone would kill to do the same.” His fingers squeeze against your flesh, inching upwards until they rest just under your breasts; his thumbs stroke the curved underline of your bra. “I think about kissing you and it feels like everyone’s thinking it at the exact same time. I look at someone next to you, even if you don’t know them, and I wonder if they want to pull you close, if they want to feel you against them just as much as I do. When I—”

He inhales sharply between his words, and the exhale comes out somewhat shaky. For a moment, he grits his teeth, jaw flexing in an attempt to keep himself in check. You worry he doesn’t want to continue — doesn’t want to let you hear it, but it feels so important that you can’t let it go. “Tell me.”

“When I think about fucking you,” he breathes out, voice barely audible. “Whenever I look at you and think about how much I want to feel you around me, feel you cum around me… I just know everyone else wants the same thing, and it’s driving me crazy because… because they can’t.”

It’s there again, flashing in his eyes — a determination that reads almost like fury.

“They can’t,” he repeats, his voice firmer. “I won’t ever let them. Never.”

You don’t stop him this time when his mouth reclaims your skin. You let his thoughts fuel the need in his movements, allow yourself to move only in reaction to what he does — the tilting of your head to give him more room, the tightening of your fists against his shirt to keep yourself steady. A surprised mewl leaves you when you feel his teeth pinch against your flesh again, and it’s harder, sharper this time, his quiet anger finally dictating his strength. You grapple for words, but they come out in weak gasps.

“It doesn’t — doesn’t matter,” you manage to whimper out. “How many people think that way, how much they want me that way. I only ever want you.”

His breathing is caught, warm, in the pocket of space just between you and his mouth; it tingles against your skin, tickles your senses into heightening. Your fingers unfurl, pressing against his chest, and you can feel his quickened heartbeat thrumming under your palm.

“God, please,” he murmurs, the soft peck of a kiss landing against your collarbone. “Please, tell me.”

“Mark, I’m yours.” There’s no teasing in how you say it; it was never meant to rile him up. It even escapes sweetness, the romanticism it usually comes with when you remind him on any other occasion. This is a promise to him, something you’re reinforcing as fact, something that can’t ever change. “I’m always going to be yours — no one else’s. I’ll never let anyone have anything that’s yours. Ask anything, take everything you want. I’ll never say no to you. Only you — always you.”

You know something’s different in a number of ways; his arms circle around you, but instead of keeping you firm and stable in his lap, they’re tight, squeezing a whine out of you, holding your torso flush against his. His face never leaves the crook of your neck, but you hear — feel — something there — a soft growl of need, of frustration that begs release. Suddenly, you find yourself off the couch; you barely have the presence of mind to wrap your arms around his neck and tighten your thighs against his sides before he’s carrying you to his room, kicking the door open and letting the rebound of the impact against his wall slam it shut behind him.

You’ve been in Mark’s room before, so there’s absolutely no need for you to take in the scenery when he sets you down on his bed. It doesn’t matter anyway, even if this were your first time; Mark’s crawling over you, his face flush and eyes sharp with hunger, and he looks so enticing that you wouldn’t want to pay attention to anything else around you anyway. His limbs cage you in, arms on either side of your shoulders and his knees just by your thighs, and you don’t really know why he’s already panting, but it just makes you want him all the more.

“Never,” he groans out, leaning down to nose against the patch of skin his mouth had worked on. “I’m never going to let anyone take you, ever. You’re all mine.”

His name fades on your lips, carried away by a moan when his mouth reattaches itself to your neck; it moves, almost frenzied, to renew the mark he’d left, make it a deeper red, a slightly bruised purple. You’re usually careful not to do anything that will require any attention or cover-up after, but Mark seems a little too far gone to care, and you realize you like him best this way.

Even with all the attention he gives your neck, his fingers are busy; they work on the button of your jeans, sliding them down with the help you offer by raising your hips. They only reach halfway down your thighs, his reluctance to come back up for air stopping him from peeling them off completely, but it’s all he seems to need for now.

Eager fingers ease between your thighs, two at once, pressing against your folds. You��re unable to spread your legs like you usually do, but this tightness makes you all the more sensitive, and you keen as his digits fit themselves into your slit. Frustratingly, they don’t move right away, and you have to raise your hips again just to get some sort of friction. Even then, Mark doesn’t take the hint — or, perhaps, the bait — keeping a light pressure against your clit without doing anything else. His focus is still on your neck, now slightly aching under his lips, and when he finally pulls away, you see a look of triumph on his face. He tilts his head back slightly to admire his work — the blooming dark patch you’re sure he’s left where your skin tingles the most.

“If I said I wanted to mark you all over, would you let me?”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t ask for it?”

He chuckles, tightening the pressure of his fingers against your clit; you say something that sounds halfway between ‘Mark’ and a sob.

“I want to, so badly.” He admits, gaze still fixed on your neck. “I’d want to see you walk out of here, walk into class covered in them. I’d want people to ask you how you got them, and who gave them to you. And I’d want you to say it proudly — that it was me who did it. That I fucked you all night and made you mine over and over again.”

“Why don’t you?” His eyes snap up to you, a small smile forming on his lips. “I want to say that too. Let me brag about having you. Let me tell everyone how good you always make me feel. Then you can tell everyone who doesn’t believe you, too — how I let you take me every single time. Show me off and tell them to look at how you made me yours.”

Another laugh escapes him, but there’s more disbelief than humor in it; he seems to find it amazing, that you can just agree with what he says, no matter how strange he thinks it is.

“Show you off? If I mark you in other places, do I have to show them every part?”

“Do you not want to?”

“I want to, and I don’t.” He pauses, slightly amused, and you know he’s remembering the first time you fucked. “I don’t them to see your body, but I want them to see what I did to it. I don’t want them to look at what’s mine, but I just want them to know it is.”

“Then you can fuck me in front of everyone and make them watch you ruin me completely.”

He shakes his head, even if desire flashes clear across his features. He busies himself with actions while he mulls it over, tugging your jeans down alongside your panties and casting them aside before he straightens up. His eyes rake over your form; you’re bare from the waist down, your shirt halfway ridden up, the underside of your bra peeking out from under the hem. Again, his eyes land on your neck, and his smile widens slightly.

“Can’t.” He decides finally. “You’re too pretty for that.”

You hum thoughtfully, and he raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t move, even when you sit up, shifting yourself so you can tuck your calves under your thighs — not even when you reach out to undo his belt or tug down his zipper. He only reacts a little when your hand presses against his hardness through his boxers, the girth now easily familiar to your palm.

“What about something like this?” You ask, inching closer to the edge of the bed. You’ve started slow strokes against him, the fabric creating extra friction, more heat under your palm, and you watch his jaw clench as he swallows back a soft grunt. “Would you let them watch me do this for you?”

“Let me think about it,” he chuckles softly, and you nod, letting your fingers work to make your point. You don’t have to undress him completely to get what you want; all you need is to tug down the front of his boxers to free him, and you already have him wrapped in your palms, stroking his shaft to full hardness.

“Think faster,” you urge, and he shakes his head, slightly bemused. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t even want them to watch me jerk you off?”

“At least give me a full minute.”

You laugh lightly, whispering a ‘fine’ before you press a soft kiss against tip. He inhales sharp through his teeth, already sensitive, and you waste no time in letting your tongue flick out against the smooth head. He doesn’t need the lubrication, realistically; his precum’s already leaking from the tip, mixing in with your saliva as you run your tongue around it. All you do is make him a little messier, a little slicker, your spittle running down his length.

Taking Mark in your mouth is a demanding task, but one you’re always up for; there’s something uniquely satisfying about letting him fill your mouth, inch by inch, and watching his breathing hitch and stutter until your lips are closer to the base than to the head. What you can’t reach, your hand always squeezes around, eager to make sure he feels good completely. His expression is sublime when you draw your head back the first time, sucking as you do so — his eyes are half-lidded, and he doesn’t stop the moan that falls from his lips. His gaze is fixed on you, hazy but still able to drink the sight of you in, and you’re not sure how, but you almost feel like you could get off to watching him watch you taste him.

You try, somehow, vaguely conscious of the movement of your hips; you’re grinding at nothing at first, so your knees give way just enough for you to press yourself against his sheets. It’s slightly uncomfortable, a strain in your thighs that you’re not really used to, but you don’t care; Mark’s sharp inhale at seeing you attempt to grind your pussy against his mattress is pretty much as arousing as anything else. His cock twitches hard in your mouth, and you suck just a little harder, a little messier, your head bobbing down to meet your hand, still firmly wrapped around his girth.

The room’s filled with nothing but slick sounds and soft groans; Mark’s hand has found its way into your hair, tangled into a makeshift ponytail, and while he isn’t guiding your mouth to do anything, you can feel his hips stutter then start to move, pulling back when your head does. He tries to hide it, tries to keep himself steady, but pride blooms in your chest when you note that he can’t; he wants to feel like he’s fucking into your mouth, into your hand, the way he does when he takes your pussy.

It’s relatively quiet for that time, nothing but muffled moans from you that mix in with his noises, but you only realize you’d been waiting for an answer to something when he speaks up again.

“It’s… still a no for me.”

Your movements slow, your gaze lifting to communicate your mild confusion to him. You don’t want to ask; you just don’t want to lose the taste of him on your tongue just yet. He looks down at you, smiling with overflowing tenderness, almost like he’s apologetic.

“Even just this — you’re too pretty when you do it.” His hand reaches down, thumb stroking over your cheek. “I can’t let anyone see what you look like when you’re like this. They’ll keep thinking about you doing it for them. And you’d only do it for me — right?”

You nod immediately, your response causing your mouth to slip down his shaft just a little more. It elicits a guttural noise from him, one that fuels you into sucking him just a little harder, your enthusiasm overtaking your restraint. His fingers have let go of your hair, stroking it back into smoothness, almost comforting in their movements.

“God, I wish you could see yourself; you’d know what I mean,” he continues to murmur, his voice just a little louder over the eager, wet noises you’re making. “How pretty you look with your mouth wrapped around me. How perfect you are when you’re kneeling like this for me — how happy you look when you’re sucking me off. I can’t share that with anyone. Fuck — not ever.”

Your mouth draws back, completely this time, and your tongue presses against the underside of his cock. You lick a long stripe up his shaft, moaning softly at the light throb you feel, and you watch him tip his head back. The groan that follows soon after is almost close to a frustrated growl, ending in a whispered ‘shit’ before his eyes land back on you. He watches you press kiss after kiss against his tip, coaxing the precum out even more, and you take special care to leave more down each inch of his cock until you’re finally able to release your hold on his base so you can leave the last one there.

His hand combs your hair back before it falls to cup your chin, his thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to gently clean up the froth of spittle there. You smile up at him in thanks, and his thumb sweeps over the seam of your lips to follow the slight curve.

“So pretty,” he repeats, and your cheeks glow pink under the palms that caress them. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Pretty as hell, fucking perfect — and you’re all mine.”

You kneel up again, chasing his lips with your own, and he locks you in his arms as his tongue slips its way past your teeth, the aroma of coffee still on it. He leaves today’s taste of him against your tongue, on the ridges of your teeth, until you feel like you’ve all but consumed him, and you whimper softly when he pulls away, urging you to turn around and lean back into his chest.

His mouth reattaches itself to the same spot; it’s like a home base for him, and he breathes in your scent from there before giving the same patch of skin a light suck, almost as if he’s worried it’ll fade in a few minutes’ time if he doesn’t give it attention.

“Show me.” Hands slide down to your hips, squeezing them lightly, like a prompt for your response. “Show me how pretty you are for me.”

His palms never leave you, not even when you detach yourself from his chest and bend down; your elbows meet the mattress, but your hips stay raised, giving him a view of your pussy. Your gasp easily turns into a moan when his digit dips into your wetness again, his other hand pushing gently at your asscheek to keep you open.

You think he’s about to slip his finger in, the tip brushing against your entrance, and you tense in anticipation, but it doesn’t happen; he continues to run his finger down your slit, careful not to linger against your clit for too long. The result is that you tighten around nothing, and you hear him suck in a breath as he watches your hole grow smaller for a second. You laugh breathily, resting your chin against the backs of your hands, one folded atop the other. “Pretty enough for you to fuck?”

“Do you have to ask if you already know?”

“I want to hear it anyway.”

His finger slips into your hole, finally, and you keen softly as he breaches the first ring of tightness. He doesn’t really move it, just tests your tightness, feels you contract around him as if to know what his cock will feel in a few moments.

“Your pussy’s too pretty not to fuck,” he manages out, and his throat sounds as tight as you feel. “Seeing it like this… makes me think there’s no way anyone can resist. It’s exactly why I can’t let anyone see you like this.”

You hum as his finger presses in deeper, and you know it’s nothing in comparison to the real thing, but you like feeling that mild stretch, the depth it reaches all the same. “How should we let them know, then? That I’m all yours.”

His finger stills, and you hum softly, swaying your hips to shake him out of whatever trance he’s in. He’s grown quiet, but there’s a thoughtfulness in this pause, like he’s seriously considering your question. You laugh lightly, ready to tell him you’re just egging him on until he fucks you, but he slips his finger out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing again. You can’t help the confused noise that comes out of you, but you at least know he isn’t completely backing away, his other hand still firmly on your ass.

“Mark, what—”

You get your answer in the thud that interrupts your question — he’s tossed his phone onto the bed, having it land next to you. Something in your blood runs hot, and your fingers tremble when you pick it up. You see yourself reflected in the blackened screen — excitement in your eyes, your lips glossy from your blowjob.

Mark’s silent as you let the meaning of his actions settle; wordlessly, he slips his finger into you again, followed by another one this time, and you shudder in pleasure at the difference in the stretch. He doesn’t ask, but you can tell he’s wondering if he’s gone too far— if you think he’s crazy. He lets his fingers stay anchored in you, unmoving, waiting for you to say something, but from where he is, he just can’t know the smile that passes your face.

Finally, he tries to speak up. “We don’t have to— I just meant—”

“What’s your passcode?”

He breathes out, the exhale quivering as much as you probably are. “Your birthday.”

Your smile only widens when you tap the screen to life and see a picture of you — you don’t even remember when he’d taken it, but it’s a shot of you sprawled on his bed, bundled in his blanket and reading something that looks oddly like your textbook for your European Renaissance History class. It’s grainy and dimly lit, a stolen photograph of you, but it makes your heart swell, and you laugh lightly as you key in your birthday; the screen unlocks, allowing you access to all his applications.

“What’s funny?”

“Just thinking about how you should replace this wallpaper.”

“To what?” He sounds bemused.

“The view of me you have now.”

His fingers curl in you, pressing down against your walls, and you push your hips back in a bid for more friction; you hear him hiss out a ‘fuck’ under his breath, and his hand digs harder into the flesh of your ass.

You open Mark’s contacts, scrolling down aimlessly. Most of the names, you don’t recognize, but you see a few familiar ones crop up here and there. He doesn’t ask, only starts pumping his fingers into you in quiet anticipation, wondering how far you’re willing to take it, how much you’ve bought into this crazy idea.

“Mark,” you call out, and he hums in response. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“With my life.”

“So if I called Donghyuck right now—” His fingers hook into you, the delicious pressure on your walls making you squeak instead of finish your sentence immediately. You twist your torso to meet his eyes, and you’re slightly surprised but not at all displeased to see something crazed lingering in his gaze. “How much of a show would you want to put on for him?”

He shifts his weight, his knee sinking into the mattress as he slots it between your legs. This change in position allows him to angle his fingers a little differently, driving down into you with a force that makes you squirm. You almost forget you’ve asked him something again until he leans in closer, his murmur almost drowned out by the slick sounds of his finger pressing into your hole.

“Just… enough for him to know you’ve always been mine.”

Your thumbs are shaking when you scroll through his contacts again, up and down until you find the right name — Lee Donghyuck — and Mark watches you intently, wordlessly, as you press his number, start the call, and put it on speaker.

The wait feels like an eternity, with Mark’s finger slipping in and out of you in a steady, languid pace as you watch the line connect, but in reality, Donghyuck really only answers after the fourth ring. “Yo, Mark.”

His voice is casual, lacking in any sort of expectation; you can hear explosions and gunshots in the background, and you’re willing to bet he’s in the middle of an action movie. You’re proven right when you hear random English babbling soon after.

“Hi, Hyuck.”

“___________?” He sounds genuinely confused that it’s you that greets him. “Where’s Mark? You okay?”

“He’s right here with me; don’t worry.” Your voice is a soft croon, and he has to lower the volume of the television to be able to hear you better. “We’re totally fine. What are you up to?”

“Watching Resident Evil. Uh, is there a reason you called?”

You want to draw out the lie of something casual for as long as you can, but Mark doesn’t let you. His fingers push, suddenly forceful, into you, and you let out a soft cry into the receiver. You look back at him, eyes wide with amusement, and he shrugs, having at least enough sense to look slightly abashed at his experiment.

One moment, you’re listening to a female voice shout something, and the next, Donghyuck’s side of the call is silent except for his breathing. When you don’t bother explaining what had just happened, he takes matters into his own hands.

“Hello?”

He sounds equal parts affronted and amused, like the shock of it has tickled him. You can’t help it; you laugh too, but it’s quickly cut off by another whine when Mark pulls his fingers out. Donghyuck makes an incredulous noise.

“Now, what the fuck is all this about, you freaks?”

“You kept wondering why I ended up asking Mark out,” you evade his question with another one. “Should I tell you why, if you’re that curious?”

“No way. Have fun, weirdos,” he laughs, and the line goes dead a second after.

You snort out a laugh, and Mark mumbles something that sounds vaguely like that was crazy before he leans down and presses a kiss to the small of your back. You make to turn so you can finally face him, but you’re distracted when his phone screen lights up again, and Donghyuck’s name flashes across it.

You exchange amused glances before you pick up the call, and you don’t even get a ‘hello’ out when his voice rings out, sharp and clear.

“But pretending I am,” he says, as though he hadn’t hung up the call a few seconds ago. “Exactly what kind of answer would I get?”

“The kind that’ll hopefully shut you up for good,” Mark pipes in instead of you.

“What’s that even going to sound like?” Already, Donghyuck’s activated whatever toggle in him that gets him to push Mark’s buttons. This time, though, you can’t say it works against you; you feel Mark inch closer to you, and a moment later, the fat tip of his cock nudges against your entrance. “I bet you can’t even get her to yawn, man.”

Mark doesn’t have to respond; you do it for him when he pushes in, torturously slow, as if to draw out your moan. It works a little too well, with you keening into the phone, and yet no part of you is acting for his sake. As familiar as the stretch is, it’s not something you’ve ever been able to commit to memory fully, and it feels like a new breaching of your tightness each time. Your legs fold in slightly, a useless movement that attempts to get you adjusted to his size faster, but Mark interprets it as discomfort, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You okay?” He sounds genuinely worried for a second, forgetting that Donghyuck’s still on the line. Your cheek brushes against his sheets as you nod, trying to meet his eye even in this position to let him know you’re being honest.

“Fucking big, Mark.” You hear Donghyuck tsk from his end, and you laugh breathlessly. “You don’t like knowing he’s big?”

“I just hate that fucker,” Donghyuck quips back easily, but there’s no seriousness in his voice. If anything, it sounds a little raspy, with him clearing his throat soon afterward.

“Well, I’m crazy about him,” you whisper into the call, and your breathing hitches as Mark finally bottoms out, groaning at your tightness. “I’m crazy about the way he touches me, the way he tastes. I’m crazy about how big his cock is, how deep it gets when he’s inside me, how he stretches me out — fuck—”

Your verbal rampage is cut short by a loud moan as Mark draws his hips back and pushes forcefully into you; you haven’t fully adjusted, and you’re even tighter now from what you’re saying, so the friction inside you is nothing short of delicious. He starts a pattern of thrusts, not bothering to build up from his usual slow and steady pace — hearing you talk that way and knowing that Donghyuck is listening is enough to get him to abandon self-imposed restrictions.

“Mark,” you whine out, accidentally pushing the phone a little further away as you reach out blindly for him behind you, and he catches your wrist to let you know he’s there. “Mark, fuck, it feels so good—”

You tighten around him as if to prove your words, and he growls in response. You find yourself having to press your cheek in a little harder into the mattress as he gathers your wrists together into one hand, pinning them to your lower back, and it’s with that hold on you that he leverages his thrusts, pumping into you a little harder each time.

You’re not completely unaware of your surroundings, but it takes a while for you to process the sounds coming from the phone’s speaker — labored breathing, the sound of a zipper being pulled down. You want to wonder if this is working a little too well, but nothing comes from your mouth apart from soft whimpers, and it’s all the cue Mark needs to be the one to fill in the relative silence himself.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, and you feel his lips press between your shoulder blades. It feels like a chaste kiss at first, but he leaves his breath there, still flitting over your skin as he continues to speak. “I’ll never get tired of how pretty you are — how pretty you always sound for me. Doesn’t she sound pretty, Hyuck?”

“Fucking pretty,” Donghyuck agrees, though his voice sounds somewhat distant. You can only sob back a quiet ‘fuck me, harder, harder,’ in response.

“Can you imagine how much prettier she looks under me?” It’s almost a full-blown conversation now, but even if Mark’s addressing Donghyuck, the rest of his attention’s fully on you. He adjusts his stance, still keeping his hold around your wrists as he angles himself deeper into you, causing you to cry out and squirm in pleasure. With your face pressed against the bed and his weight driving down into you, you feel utterly trapped, in the best kind of way. Mark, in the way he is now, is inescapable, almost incorrigible, and he pistons deeper into your pussy, his free hand brushing your hair away from your shoulder so he can leave a kiss against it. “Bent over, legs spread just a little, all for me to take. Pretty little hole wet for me, and so fucking tight. Can you imagine that?”

“I’m doing it right now.”

“It’s a thousand times better in person. Trust me.”

The same hand slips between your thighs, two fingers spreading your folds apart; the middle one circles your clit in a pace that matches his thrusts, sudden and shocking, and you arch your back upwards slightly with a choked noise. He finally releases your wrists, and you claw at the sheets helplessly to keep yourself somehow upright as the force of Mark’s hips, their impact against the backs of your thighs, pushes you forward, closer to the phone again. The stimulation is merciless, endless, and in the haze of your pleasure, you wonder if you should make Mark a little more jealous everyday if it gets him to act this way.

“Mark, I…. I’ve been— s-since—”

“Not yet,” he whispers, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as if to bring you back to reality. You shudder at the pain, the pleasure that accompanies it, and when you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, you notice that a few tears escape your eyes. “Hold out for me a bit, okay? Please. It’s not enough. Not yet enough.”

You wonder if ‘enough’ is a concept the both of you even understand when it comes to wanting each other; already, you feel desire pooling in your stomach, threatening to spill from you, and clenching around him isn’t helping you stop it the way your body seems to think it’s supposed to. It also doesn’t help that Mark’s fingers are relentless, one still drawing tight, heavy circles around your clit, and the other creeping up under your shirt to tug down the cup of your bra, letting a breast spill into his warm palm. He kneads with an unusual — but not unpleasant — roughness, and you squeak out incoherently as he tweaks at the hardened bud of your nipple, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Hold on for me a little,” he continues murmuring, even after you shake your head and whisper ‘can’t’ to him over and over. “Do it for me. Tell Donghyuck — tell him how good it feels. How much you want to keep feeling me inside you.”

You don’t even know what to say; the pleasure that washes over you, the new kind of roughness that Mark exhibits has you drawing a blank, and you can only whine in a last attempt at protest, only for your tongue to start moving on autopilot, fueled by your want.

“It’s not enough,” you echo — and even if it feels like it is, even if it feels even more than you can possibly handle, something tells you that it’s true. “Not enough — need to feel you more, Mark. God, I want to feel you stretch me out, fuck my little hole into the shape of your cock— until no one else can fuck me but you—”

“What,” Donghyuck breathes out, his exhale coming across as static. “The fuck.”

You don’t have to explain; your babbling’s doing most of the work in that regard anyway, and you can tell by the wet, staccato noises on the other end that Donghyuck can easily piece together the scenario anyway. He’s jacking off to the both of you, something in your mind whispers, and the notion of that alone has you tightening around Mark’s cock. The change doesn’t go unnoticed, and his fingers sink deeper into your flesh; you cry out softly when you feel a jolt of pleasure as he gives your clit a sudden pinch.

“How much tighter can you get?” He sounds incredulous but also, interestingly, proud — there’s a smug tinge to his voice that arouses you even more. “Does it feel that good?”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe out, the syllables quivering in your throat. “So good I’m going to lose my mind. Let me — God, please, let me—”

“Not yet,” Mark mumbles, and you whimper as he slows and slips out of you, his hand gently rubbing your folds in what feels like comfort — a small apology for his overt enthusiasm that you don’t even really need. “Just a little more. I need to see it.”

“See what?” Donghyuck’s voice is barely above a whisper, hoarse and pretty much muffled by the sound of his hand pumping his own shaft. Your head’s light, so your body moves on its own when Mark inches away slightly, giving you room to turn yourself around and lay on your back. You’ve barely even settled when he lifts your hips, dragging you closer to him and easing your thighs apart to slot himself between your legs.

His cock weighs heavy, pressed up against your folds, and he pushes his hips in a superficial thrust to get them to spread. His eyes fall briefly on your swollen clit, the wetness that you left on his shaft, even more of it still leaking from your hole. When he looks back up at you, there’s something triumphant in his gaze.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he coos, so lovingly it’d be hard to imagine his cock still sliding against your folds if you couldn’t feel it yourself. “I’ll never get enough of your perfect pussy — so perfect that it was made to take me.”

“See what?” Donghyuck presses, an impatience now coloring his voice. Mark chuckles, nodding at you and mouthing silently. Tell him.

Your inhale’s shaky, quivering like the rest of your body, and you don’t ever break away from Mark’s gaze, even as you speak.

“His cock fucking me in my stomach.”

Donghyuck’s ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ is drowned out by your cry of need as Mark pushes back into you. There’s no lag time now, no wait for any kind of adjustment; he takes you in one motion, until you feel his hips hit the backs of your thighs again. Your walls flutter around him, unable to process his size fully, and all that comes out of you is a string of messy mewls that’s constantly interrupted by the wet sounds of his thrusts.

Your body feels almost weightless, the only thing you can understand being the feeling of his cock pumping into you, stretching you out further. You’re only able to shake yourself out of the reverie when you feel his hands push back against your thighs, folding you in half, before they crowd atop your stomach.

“God, I need to feel it,” he groans out, his palms skimming under your navel, searching. “Please — do it for me.”

Even with your brain muddled, you don’t even have to try to figure it out; you let him feel it every time he asks. You inhale, deep and slow, until your stomach sinks, and the walls of your stomach flatten against his cock, which pauses briefly in its movements as he revels in the newfound feeling.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and you flush in pleasure, in satisfaction at his praise. “Love seeing my cock inside you.”

He adjusts himself before he starts pumping into you again, burying his shaft all the way to the hilt each time; each thrust is followed by a soft sob from you, and you reach out, planting your hands on top of his. You obviously can’t feel his cock under your palms, but you don’t have to anyway; the fit’s tight enough that it feels, ridiculously, like he’s fucking your whole body, like he’s pressing into the deepest part of your core. You just want him to feel it more — the movement of the bulge under his hands, the resistance it has to push through to get to your stomach.

“Love feeling me inside you,” he continues, and his breathing stutters then, signaling that he’s also barely hanging on. “Love seeing how pretty you look when I rearrange your insides.”

You mouth out a disbelieving ‘what the fuck’ that earns you a simple smile, but Mark’s unrelenting in his movements anyway, his palms completely covering your stomach.

“Dude, I wanna see it too,” Donghyuck reminds you both of his presence when his voice comes through the speaker. “Put her on video.”

“No way,” comes Mark’s swift, firm reply. Donghyuck makes a noise of protest. “This is just for me.”

“Selfish as hell, calling me without really sharing.”

“The point wasn’t really ever to share.”

Mark’s hands suddenly press down on your stomach, and you stifle a soft scream; the pressure increases tenfold, as does the tightness of the fit, his cock brushing against your walls in a way that makes you feel breathless — it makes you feel used. Your hands fly up, fingers locking behind his neck, and you squirm under him, knowing fully well that you can’t escape anyway — not that you really want to, anyway.

“Mark,” you warn him again, your voice thin and airy. “I can’t anymore — I really—”

“I got you,” he murmurs — something you’ve come to learn he always says, always wants to let you know. He’ll be here until you break, until you can’t take anymore. “One second, okay?”

“Bro, what? Are you serious—” Even Donghyuck sounds confused, although his voice is tight too; he must be close, your mind weakly registers, but it doesn’t matter. Mark, albeit reluctantly, slips one hand away from your stomach — for a good cause, he must think, and you learn what it is when he ends the call, effectively cutting off Donghyuck’s complaints. Your eyes widen in confusion, but all Mark’s gaze is to you is reassuring, gentle, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips before he answers your unspoken question.

“Can’t let him hear you cum,” he murmurs against your mouth. “That’s only for me, isn’t it?”

You nod, letting the movement of it brush your lips against his. “You’re the only one I’ll cum for — the only one that can make me.”

Above your head, his phone is trilling noisily; the vibrations course through your back, weak but persistent, and for some reason, it heightens your arousal all the more. Mark ignores it completely, single-mindedly focused on pistoning into you with the bulk of his strength. His hands push down just under your navel, increasing your awareness of the feeling of his cock, him fucking you, coaxing out your climax.

“Do it. Show me how pretty you look when you cum for me.”

You don’t think it’s possible for him to inject any more strength into his movements, but he proves you wrong time and time again; the wind’s knocked out of you as he braces himself and fucks you harder, sharper into the bed, and the only noises you can make are weak whimpers and choked sobs. Your mind’s so overrun with pleasure that your climax hits your body first before your mind fully parses it; your back arches again, and you mewl out something broken, something that sounds like his name as you come undone.

Mark still doesn’t relent, the tremble in your legs somehow only inspiring him to put more power in his thrusts. Even through the dazedness that comes with all the stimulation, you can see the fine details you’ve come to know so well — the tightness in his jaw, the growing flush across his collar, the quick heaving of his chest. He’s close too, so close he’s just holding himself back out of sheer force of will to make sure he can watch you come down from your climax completely. You don’t know why he has to, but you want to see him let go too, and you scramble for words, for more touch — pressing your thighs firm against his sides to keep him close, locked — just to get him there.

“Will you mark me up one last time?” You breathe out. He reacts almost instantaneously, moving to lean down and press his mouth against the still-untouched side of your neck, but your palm on his chest stops him from doing so. Surprise crosses his face, followed by slight confusion. You squeeze your thighs against him, trying to make your point, but even then, his brow furrows. “Mark me — inside.”

His eyes widen, and his hips stutter before they resume pace, his fingers digging into your stomach almost painfully as he tries to keep himself in control. “I— no, you know I can’t…”

“Do you want to?” You egg him on, your hand dropping from his chest to land on top of his again, adding to the pressure until you’re sure he can feel every small movement, every throb of his own cock inside you. “You can, you know — make me yours, from the inside out.”

“God — we can’t; you know we’d be in so much trouble.”

“But I’d let you anyway, if you wanted to. Do you ever think about it, Mark?” Your fingers toy with his, almost like you’re having a casual conversation instead of a situation in which he’s deep inside you, already aching for release. “Fucking your cum deep into me, letting it seep into my stomach — making sure no one else can fill me up?”

“Jesus,” he growls, and he reluctantly slips his hands out from under yours to grip your thighs. Realistically, he has enough strength to peel them away, have you release him, but his hold just tightens, not really making any motion to do so. You see the thought flash in his eyes, serious even just for a moment. He thinks about it all the time.

“Think about it,” you urge, your voice soft but close to a demand. “And every time you do, remember one day, you will — because you’re the only one that can.”

He tilts his head back, letting a growl rip from his throat, and he finally manages to push your thighs apart. You let him, let them fall apart so he can slip out of you. You watch him shift upwards, his knees on either side of your torso, and you’re met with the erotic sight of him fisting his cock in front of you, urging himself into completion. You do the only thing you can think of to help; you open your mouth wide, pushing your tongue out, silently asking for his load.

“Even when you do that, you’re fucking pretty,” he groans out, and his thumb presses his cock down, resting the underside flush against your tongue as he rocks his hips. “How much prettier are you going to look with my cum all over your face?”

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out, and you don’t have to respond; he gets the answer he wants with one last thrust against your tongue, and you close your eyes briefly, allowing yourself to drink in the taste, the smell of his cum as it streaks across your cheeks, all over your lips. You hear his release as it comes too — the soft rumble from his chest, the release of air that gently whistles through his teeth.

When you open your eyes again, Mark is looking down at you, a warm flush creeping up his cheeks and ears again; he’s breathless, panting as he comes down from his high. From the daze of his climax, a slightly sheepish look of apology crosses his face, and he reaches down, seemingly without any real plan, to clean you up, only to withdraw, slightly bemused, when you shake your head.

A laugh escapes him when you shimmy out from under him, straighten up, and extend your arms upward, puckering your lips in slight demand. You think he might reject you, but Mark doesn’t even hesitate longer than a second. He swoops down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, and your thighs press together tight as you enjoy the feeling of his tongue swiping away his cum from your bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth, sucking softly as if to clean you completely.

When he pulls away, his head dips into your shoulder; again, his face turns to press against the mark he’d left, and his teeth nip at the soft bruise that’s already begun to blossom. Satisfied by the soft noise you make at the sensitivity you feel from the contact, he breathes out, long and steady, against your skin.

“Just… can’t get enough of you,” he finally exhales, pressing another kiss to your neck; it’s gentler, situated just under your jaw.

“You don’t ever have to think about having enough,” you whisper, leaving a light nuzzle against his shoulder. “Just always think about having more.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, but he nods, accepting your offer anyway. A moment of silence passes, where you’re wrapped up in each other, his weight against you in a blanket of heat, and it stretches to what almost feels like an eternity — if not for the phone suddenly ringing again, Donghyuck’s name coming up on the ID. You both start, and Mark reaches over, fumbling with the sides of his device before he finds and toggles the silent switch.

“Seriously,” he grumbles, watching the call drop just for it to start up again, the screen flashing.

“We kind of left him hanging, to be fair.”

“No fairness.” Mark tosses the phone to the foot of the bed, where it lies, facedown and buzzing. “He got more than he deserved today.”

You watch him as he slips off the bed, rearranging himself before clipping his jeans button back into place. He whispers a gentle ‘be right back’ and exits the room, leaving the door only slightly ajar. You hear the water run in the bathroom, and a few moments later, Mark returns to your side, holding a damp towel.

He leaves a kiss after each light swipe across your face, as if to apologize for the pain he thinks he might be causing; you laugh, partly because it’s ridiculous, but mostly because you like it. He cleans your mouth last, even though there’s already nothing left, just so he has an excuse to leave a long, lasting kiss there.

You think it’s the last you’ll get for now, but he surprises you by bending down even further, hiking your shirt up your torso again. His hand rests on your thigh, keeping himself balanced as he presses a flutter of kisses around your navel, lingering at the exact spot that sits above where he knows his cock hits every time he bottoms out in you.

“One day,” he whispers into your skin before he looks up at you, his eyes shining. “I’ll really make you all mine.”

“Dummy.” Your voice is just as low, and you pull his head up again, enjoying the brush of his hair against your hand, the swoop of his jaw under your palm. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Every single day, considering I’ll never get tired of it.”

You hum, not one to deny him of what he asks anyway; you push him back onto his calves, climbing back onto his lap; it’s your favorite way to be near him, you decide, with almost nothing between you, almost everything of yours touching everything of his — like you fit in him perfectly. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling their soft rise and fall as his breathing steadies, and you squirm a bit, if only to make sure his arms are locked securely around you — to make sure he won’t let go. Just like that, in his arms, you say it again — a truth, a fact, and a promise.

“I already am.”

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schrodingers-romy · 7 months ago

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Cute Aggression [Sakura Haruka x Reader]

Pairings: Sakura Haruka x GN!Reader Word Count: ~1200 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: Your boyfriend is so cute you just want to bite him (and you do).

Warnings: Biting (duh), tiniest bit of suggestiveness at the end, written with aged up to adult Sakura in mind but you go crazy go stupid ig, anime watcher safe (one mention of a manga character but no spoilers), i think that's all???

Notes: Minimally edited so forgive me pls. Born of my desire to bite sakura bc he is sooo cute. here you go wind breaker fandom <3 anyway maybe if I get inspired I'll continue this. who knows.

Dating Sakura Haruka was like a dream come true for you. Finally, you were able to lavish him with the affection you were constantly holding back before in fear of revealing your feelings (and possibly ruining your friendship with him). Every time you held his hand, or ran a hand through his hair, or pressed a quick kiss to his lips, you felt a soft warmth flush through you. And, in complete contrast to how he acted years ago when you first met him, he no longer hissed and spat like a feral cat when any sort of kindness was shown to him. Now, though he still huffed and blushed at physical contact, he also reveled in it. Haruka leaned into every single one of your affections, even if they embarrassed him; and, in private, he would return them in his own shy way.

In short, you had grown comfortable expressing your adoration for him through physical touches, which is why you felt comfortable enough to do what you were about to do without thinking anything of it.

Haruka, though he was a bit dense, was well aware of how much he blushed. As much as it annoyed the shit out of him, he could never control the way he quickly turned from pale to pink to red at any nicety. Even though years around Furin and the affectionate weirdos who were a part of it, he would still flush often. It became worse again once he started dating you.

He couldn’t admit it (especially to the likes of Suo and Umemiya…nosy bastards…) but he adored when you were sweet with him. Before the two of you got together, you were always nice to him, complimenting him on everything from his fighting to his eyes to his kindness. But it was like the floodgates had opened after he confessed to you; now you expressed your love through both touch and words (a dangerous combination for Haruka’s heart). He liked that you were so comfortable touching him, even when he struggled to return the same actions expect in private. He liked it when you hugged him and kissed him and treated him like something precious. He avoided dwelling on his past as much as possible, but he couldn’t help but remember how a few years ago he could not have even fathomed being loved at all, much less in the all-encompassing way you loved him.

You were absolutely perfect to him, and you had given him the gift of falling in love and having that love reciprocated. That being said, sometimes you were fucking weird.

The two of you were snuggling on the couch, and you were stroking his hair and telling him how pretty he looked when he was relaxed. Haruka was slowly turning the shade of Kiryu’s hair, even as he melted into the scratch of your fingers against his scalp.

And then you leaned forward, and his eyes fluttered shut, anticipating a kiss. Instead of the soft feeling of your lips, however, he felt something sharp clamp down on one of his pink cheeks.

There were plenty of times when you looked at your boyfriend and thought “wow, he’s cute enough to eat.” The urge to take a bite out of Haruka ebbed and flowed like the tide; but it had reached dangerous flood levels since you started dating. According to Tsubaki, this was because of ‘cuteness aggression’, the same feeling that made you want to squish adorable baby animals like they were stress balls.

You never thought you’d act on the desire, but you had clearly gotten too used to inflicting upon Haruka your devotion through touch; therefore, you did not think this through.

He just looked so pretty sitting there, leaning his head into your hand, so relaxed he was almost purring with contentedness. His rosy face reminded you of his namesake, and the only coherent thought you had was “his cheeks look like sakura mochi” before you were leaning in.

The gentle clamp of your teeth over his soft flesh was just as satisfying as you dreamed, although you only got to experience it for a second before you let go at the screech your boyfriend let out. It took him a second to register what you did before he leapt away from the couch like a cat.

“THE HELL WAS THAT!?” Haruka yelped, scrubbing at the faint mark on his face with his hand. “ARE YOU A CANNIBAL OR SOMETHIN’?!”

You felt a surge of embarrassment, but luckily you were much better at hiding it than he was at hiding his. “No. That was just a love bite, baby.”

“A what?”

“A love bite! Because you were so cute it made me want to bite you. Affectionately.” You let a small wince surface on your face, despite your confident tone.

He squinted at you, confused. You could almost see the gears turning in his head, as if he was trying to remember if this was normal or not. “I don’t get it,” he admitted, cautiously sitting back down next to you. You almost joked that you wouldn’t bite, as if you hadn’t proven that false just seconds before.

You moved his hand out of the way so you could rub your thumb over his abused cheek, before pressing a soft kiss to it. Haruka tensed up a little, but he let out a small sigh and collapsed when he felt your lips instead of your teeth.

You felt a little bit bad, even though you enjoyed getting your teeth on him immensely. “I shouldn’t have done it to you out of the blue like that. I’m sorry.”

“’S fine, I just don’t understand,” he said gruffly.

“It’s called cuteness aggression…you know when something is so cute you just want to squeeze it or bite it or something like that?”

Haruka still seemed confused, but he gave a slow nod.

“That’s what I feel about you sometimes. I just like you so much I want to bite you. You’re sweet enough to eat, Haruka,” you murmured, punctuating it with a small kiss to the tip of his nose.

He made a sort of unintelligible sound, flushing again. After you gave him a minute to reboot, he said, “Well…I didn’t hate it, y’know. Ya just startled me, ‘s all…” he trailed off, avoiding meeting your eyes.

You recognized this behavior, and it made your eyes light up. “Awww, did you like it?”

“Shut up!” he squawked. A pause. Then, in a quieter voice, “I dunno. It was too fast, jus’ startled me. Didn’t even really know what was happenin’.”

“Want me to bite you again?”

He turned away. “Do whatever you want.” Tellingly, however, he had twisted in a way so that his cheek and his neck were fully exposed to you.

“Okay,” you said softly. “I’m going to bite you again. Tell me if you like it or not, okay?”

This time, when you leaned in, you bit into the long, creamy stretch of his exposed neck. It felt different than his cheek did under your teeth, but it felt just as good, if not better.

Haruka stiffened for a second, like a scared prey animal in the maw of a predator, before he shuddered and went limp with a small whine.

You released him after a few seconds, and admired the red mark left behind. You met your boyfriend’s gaze, taking in his glazed eyes and slightly open mouth.

“Yeah, I think I like it,” he whispered.

When you smiled, his eyes were drawn to your teeth.

#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker fluff #sakura haruka x reader #sakura haruka #sakura haruka fluff #haruka sakura x reader #romy can write #gender neutral reader #reader insert

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flowerandblood · 8 months ago

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Refinement (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x little sister • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, oral sex, smut, angst, sexual tension, obsession, mention of arranged engagement ]

[ description: During her Name Day, his younger sister wants to run away to the city. Things don't go according to plan, however, and he, as her older brother, wants to comfort her. Anon request. ]

Part 3 of the Appearances, can be read as standalone story.

My other works: Masterlist

_____

To his delight, the months before their nuptials he and his younger sister spent in each other's constant company, growing closer to each other. At first she would shyly visit the places he usually frequented, the library or the courtyard, and he was content to interrupt his own affairs by having at least a short conversation with her.

Although he resented discussions about nothing, usually tired of them, with her he could have a light conversation all the time − her questions and answers were always thoughtful and balanced, sometimes filled with a sweet naivety or curiosity from which he felt the heat in his lower abdomen.

"Today is my Name Day, lēkia (big brother)." She cooed sweetly, grasping his fingers in hers − his hand against hers seemed rough and large to him, hers, on the other hand, smooth and delicate as silk.

He murmured under his breath, looking at their intertwined fingers thinking back to the evening the day before, when he had guided her hand under the material of his breeches again, as usual demanding relief, which he then reciprocated with his characteristic devotion.

He wanted her to be convinced that he would make a good husband.

"I know, dōna hāedar (sweet little sister)." He replied calmly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, thinking of the gift he had prepared for her, a beautiful necklace created especially at his command. A girlish, happy smile appeared on her face, a kind of excitement and anticipation emanating from her that intrigued him.

Something was going through her mind.

"There's one thing I've been dreaming about." She whispered, and he leaned back, stretching comfortably in his chair; they sat together under a beautiful, ancient arbour surrounded by a garden, opposite them only the view of the sea, spreading low beneath the walls of the keep, the sound of wind and leaves all around them.

"What is it?" He asked lowly, fiddling with the small ring on her finger which he had given her just after their father had officially confirmed their betrothal.

A symbol that she was meant only for him, the sapphire eye surrounded by a frame of intertwined golden stems and leaves shone brightly in the sunlight.

He heard her twist in her seat, delighted apparently that he had asked the question. She grunted quietly.

"I wish to escape to the town tonight." She said lightly. He looked at her with a smirk full of amusement and indulgence, convinced that she was teasing him.

"On the dragon?" He asked mockingly and pressed his lips into a thin line, swallowing hard when he felt her take her hand from his grasp, her gaze clouded, her brow arched in pain of humiliation and disbelief.

She stood up from her seat and, shocked, he watched her silhouette disappear between the tall shrubs with his lips slightly parted, wondering what had happened. He moved behind her immediately, sighing impatiently − as he got closer he grabbed her arm and forced her to stop. She looked him straight in the eye, tears of rage in her eyes.

"− forgive me, I didn't wish to −"

"You can leave the keep whenever you desire. You can fly on Vhagar whenever you desire. But I can't. I am a prisoner of these walls, our mother does not allow me to travel anywhere. Is that what amuses you so much? Is that what you mock?" She asked in a shaky, embittered voice, wiping the tears from her red cheeks with her free hand, her lower lip quivering with nerves.

He touched his fingers to her cheek, but she rejected his hand, making him put more strength into pulling her close − she hissed in discomfort when his fingers tightened on her waist covered only by the thin material of her soft gown.

"I would never mock you, sister. However, you know it is not a matter of our mother's bad will, but of your safety." He replied slowly, trying to say each word with reason so as to explain to her that he did not intend to offend her.

He understood what she desired, but he would have gone mad at the thought of her leaving the keep only in the company of the guards.

"What danger would I be in if my betrothed accompanied me?" She muttered with a bitterness from which he felt his throat squeeze, only now understanding what she was trying to convey to him.

She wasn't complaining to him.

He swallowed loudly and hummed under his breath.

"Is this what my future wife desires?" He asked quietly. She looked at him with a pained expression and nodded, looking into his eyes with hope.

Having no other choice, albeit reluctantly, he agreed.

They made arrangements to meet at one of the side passages that were rarely patrolled by guards − both of them sneaked down the narrow stone steps clad in grey robes and cloaks under the cover of darkness, the sky above them cloudless and full of stars.

"You are to stay close to me. Understood?" He asked warningly, and she nodded quickly, looking up at him happily, her plump cheeks red with excitement and joy.

He murmured low, delighted when her warm, soft lips clung to his in a tender, sticky kiss − he locked her in the strong embrace of his arms, cupping one of her cheeks in his palm, her fingers stroking his neck and jaw making his manhood throb hard in his breeches. He pulled away from her and sighed heavily, tense.

"Let's go."

It seemed to him that as they stepped out into the main courtyard of the town, lit only by torches and bonfires kindled by night merchants and bards, she was intrigued by everything that was happening around her − his fingers entwined with hers as they walked arm in arm around the crowds of shouting, noisy people. She looked up at him with a wide smile and hugged her cheek to his shoulder when she noticed his anxious, grave face.

"− I am grateful to you for your dedication, my love −" She said softly and he sighed heavily, kissing the top of her head.

He wanted to return to the keep as quickly as possible, fearing for her safety, but she insisted that they move towards the various stalls, watching intently as the men roasted meat over large fires, which they then sold. They stopped hearing a theatrical play from a distance, men dressed as women pretending to be his mother and their stepsister, Rhaenyra.

"You will not take the crown! My son the drunkard will sit on the Iron Throne!" Thundered one of the men in a too-tight green gown, his voice pretending to be high and feminine − a third actor appeared on stage, a blond-haired young man who was apparently supposed to be Aegon.

When the man began to pretend to vomit while clutching their mother's breasts, loud, mocking laughter echoed all around them. He saw that his sister looked away, her lips pressed together, her eyebrows arched in confusion and embarrassment.

"Let's go." He said lowly, regretting that she had seen this, but believing on the other hand that even if he had wanted to, he could not keep her unconscious forever.

The kingdom had no love for them, and their safety was apparent.

"I regret asking you to do this. Forgive me." She muttered as he escorted her to her chamber, the joy and contentment gone from her face, replaced by sadness and disappointment. He lifted her chin with his finger for her to look at him, recognising that he should better prepare her for what awaited them.

"The kingdom is divided. The only thing that unites our family now is the person of the King. Nothing else." He said lowly, and she blinked, thinking about his words, swallowing hard after a moment.

"And our blood? Our heritage?" She asked uncertainly, and he involuntarily snorted at her words, shaking his head.

"If our sister had our heritage, dignity and the future of our lineage in mind, she would not have made her bastard son her heir to the throne." He hissed coldly, looking her straight in the eye − he knew something had changed in his face, from which she twitched all over, in her expression something he recognised well.

She was afraid of him.

"− sister −" He whispered softly, stroking her soft cheek with his thumb, wanting her to understand that although filled with anger, he would never harm her.

"Against good customs, will you stay by my side? Will you let me fall asleep in your arms?" She asked quietly, and he swallowed loudly, feeling his manhood momentarily swell and pulse in his breeches, betraying an overwhelming desire to comply with her request.

He hesitated, wondering what their mother would say, but seeing her pleading gaze and her need for closeness, he decided that he could not deny her his presence when she articulated that she needed him.

He was to be her husband and she was to be his wife.

His place was with her, always.

That was why he agreed and followed her into her quarters, looking around beforehand to make sure no one would disturb them. They both pulled off their cloaks − his sister turned her back to him, startling him completely when she untied her breeches and the simple grey tunic he had brought her earlier, staying only in her snow-white nightgown.

He looked away, embarrassed, feeling his heart pounding like mad, not knowing what to do with himself.

He had never seen her in such a negligee before, and although his whole body screamed to look at her and admire her beauty, he wasn't sure it was appropriate and worthy of her honour before their nuptials.

"Come, brother." He heard her soft, warm voice once she had laid down on the bed, extending her hand to him.

He moved towards her, pulling his boots off his feet, laying down beside her with his heart in his throat, involuntarily noticing the outline of her sweet breasts under the thin, translucent material of her shirt.

He sighed quietly as her whole body snuggled into him instantly, seeking protection and comfort − unwittingly his arms locked around her waist, his hands sinking into her hair and buttocks, his lips placing a warm, lazy kiss on the top of her head.

It was her Name Day, and she was distressed and frightened, to which he had unwittingly contributed.

He swallowed hard at the thought, feeling involuntarily guilty, not knowing what he could do to comfort her, to turn her thoughts again from what the future might have brought.

He, her husband, was supposed to protect her and their future children − it was his role to worry about what fate would bring, not hers.

He shuddered when he heard her quiet voice, combing through her soft dark hair with the tips of his fingers.

"If I am to become your wife, why do you treat me like a little child?" She asked regretfully, and he felt his hand stop in mid-motion, the air stuck in his lungs.

"I do not follow." He replied lowly, feeling discomfort in his chest hearing her words.

She raised herself up on her elbow, looking up at his face − her eyebrows were arched in sadness and uncertainty, her full, shiny lips clenched into a thin line. He dared to touch his thumb to her cheek, wanting to soften whatever was about to leave her mouth.

"If war is coming, you may need me and Saraxes. Just because bloodshed is not my desire does not mean I am blind. Do you think I'm not a true dragon because I don't have your white hair and violet eyes?" She asked in a trembling voice with a reproach and pain from which he felt a squeeze in his throat.

The thought that she had felt rejected and left out by everyone all this time like himself made him quickly lift himself up on his arm, pressing his nose against her soft face, her hot, trembling breath enveloping his face.

"No. No, my love. You must understand that it is my weakness towards you, it is my fear that makes me wish not to endanger you." He muttered, horrified at how she perceived the whole affair and his actions, that he, gods take pity, thought her foolish or incapable of understanding such complicated, male matters.

She read the same books as he did, spoke to him as an equal on subjects from which he would never have expected a woman to have extensive rhetoric, not because he thought them incapable of it, but because they rarely delved into it.

Yet here she was, well aware of the importance he attached to sword-fighting, knowing as much about his history of the various weapons, their parts and how they were used as she knew about poetry or philosophy.

She swallowed quietly, her eyes shining in trust, in hope, as his mouth brushed hers encouragingly, her lips parted invitingly, allowing his tongue to slide deep into her throat.

She moaned sweetly, innocently as the tips of their tongues licked each other tentatively with a quiet clicks again and again − she sighed as he gently pushed her to lie on her back, trailing his fingers over her soft face, the wonderful scent of her oils filling his entire lungs, her lips fleshy as sweet fruit.

"− brother −" She murmured between their loud, tender kisses, her fingers entwined in his hair, one of her hands removing his eye patch from his face with an impatient, confident motion.

He looked at her, at her pretty face without fear or shame, sure for several moons now that the sight of his scar, his sapphire eye did not frighten her, that she loved him whole.

His sweet, tender, devoted sister.

She pulled him to her by the neck, her lips, impatient that he had pulled away from her for so long demanded another warm caress, his slick tongue ran over her palate making him, though he tried to control himself, completely hard.

"− take me −" She whispered and he felt the air stuck in his throat − he broke the kiss, looking at her with eye wide open in shock, panting heavily, her cheeks flushed with shame, her gaze pleading, full of desire. "− please −"

"− I − gods, you know, you know how much I crave you − but we can't, not before our nuptials −" He muttered wearily, once again seeing on her face that cruel expression of embittered disappointment that was breaking his heart.

He suddenly remembered what Aegon had once told him about, how a man's tongue was capable of giving a woman wonderful pleasure, and though he was ashamed to ask him for details, he decided in an act of desperation that perhaps it would help.

His gift to her, proof of how much he cherished her.

"− let me do something else − do you trust me? −" He asked in a trembling voice − something in her gaze changed and she nodded quickly, her fingertips ran over his cheek in a gesture so tender he felt his throat clench with emotion.

She was perfect.

"− spread your thighs − do not fret −" He added quickly, seeing that her whole body had gone breathless and tensed at his words, uncertainty in her eyes. He heard her swallow hard as she obediently followed his command, she drew in a loud breath as his hands lifted the material of her nightgown higher, above her hips.

"− ah −" She mumbled, in some subconscious, innocent gesture trying to cover herself back up, horrified that he wanted to expose the most intimate part of her body − his hands stopped her, his gaze fixed on her face flushed with emotion.

"− let me, my sweetest − let me take care of you − I won't hurt you −" He whispered, and she pulled her hand back, placing it beside her face, her puffy lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath.

She trusted him.

She trusted that, as her future husband, he knew perfectly well what she needed.

He let out a loud breath through his mouth, trying to hide his own nervousness, his trembling hands gently exposing her swollen, leaking womanhood that he had caressed so often with his fingers.

He involuntarily licked his lips at the thought that her folds looked like the flesh of a fruit and indeed when he ran his thumb over them, they were as usual wonderfully moist and warm to the touch.

Her body arched backwards as he began to gently tease her puffy bud with circular, slow motions of his thumb, in some subconscious involuntary reflex her thighs spread wider in front of him, making his aching cock pulse hard in his breeches.

Gods, how much he wanted to take her now, to sink deep inside her, to feel how tight she was.

"− close your eyes −" He commanded, knowing that if she looked at him he would never do what he wanted out of shame − he heard her swallow loudly before closing her eyelids a moment later, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

She trembled when she felt him lean in, his warm breath enveloping her now swollen folds, glistening in the starlight from her own wetness − something about the sight, the smell of her made him run the tip of his tongue over her slit, her hands clenched in his hair, her body arched back, wanting to escape, a loud, surprised moan escaped her lips.

"− g-gods − brother − what are you −" She whimpered and cried out as the fingers of his free hand tightened warningly on her plushy hip, pushing her back to him, his thumb squeezed and rubbed her pearl making her squirm before him in pleasure and disbelief.

"− be quiet −" He ordered impatiently, sinking his face into her soft, warm womanhood, his tongue ran over her folds again, invading between them for a try, teasing her swollen bud with his finger.

He sighed loudly as he felt how hard her legs trembled in his embrace, heard her tighten her lips and stifle the moans that wanted to escape her throat, felt his cock twitch hard as her fingers pressed him closer to her bare flesh.

She wanted more.

"− brother −" She mumbled, spreading her thighs wider, wanting to feel him deeper − encouraged, he forced his tongue inside her, invading the very tip of her upper wall and the spot where he usually dug his fingers in, teasing her pearl with strokes of his thumb. He felt her fleshy, hot, tight core begin to throb, the wonderful taste of her moisture spreading across his palate, making him gasp in delight.

He could already understand why Aegon had spoken of it with such enthusiasm.

She tasted wonderful, like the flesh of a ripe fruit, ready to sink in and bite into it.

His sweet sister.

"− mmm −" He gasped out, pushing his tongue all the way into her, feeling her hips begin to respond to his movements with rocking of her hips, reaching out to meet him. He licked and sucked her pearl, rubbing it with the tip of his nose, still pressing it with his thumb, a quiet, lewd sound of slurping and clicking of her wetness all around them.

At last she fell apart, a long, intense fulfilment shook her lovely body, sweet, girlish, innocent whimpers erupted from her lips − she begged him, babbled his name, calling him, pressing his face against her leaking cunt, delighted that he was licking devotedly everything that spilled out of her.

"− my sister's sweet nectar −" He gasped with devotion and delight, again and again rubbing her opening with his rough tongue. His hand slipped down to his breeches, sliding under them, grasping his swollen, aching cock, squeezing it at the base, not stopping his caresses, intending to pet her like this all night and come on his own hand.

"− brother − no more −" She mumbled out, terrified that he wasn't stopping, her over-stimulated, sore insides clenching greedily around nothing, her hands trying to gently push him away but to no avail − he only hummed under his breath, stunned by the warmth of her flesh, her closeness and her scent.

She smelled like sin.

"− I'm afraid I intend to fall asleep tonight with my face between your soft thighs, my love −"

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joicecubes · 3 months ago

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this started as a twitter post but it got way too long

i feel. INSANE. ABOUT FIDDLESTAN YOU GUYS. i’ll admit i didn’t get it at first, like the original concept seems kinda bonkers, they never interact! what a silly rarepair! BUT NO. I SAW A SINGLE PIECE OF FANART AND IT WAS OVER FOR ME. IM HOOKED. im sorry i need to talk about them

my favorite set-up for fiddlestan, and the one i see most people going with, is the idea that fiddleford comes back to ford’s house after ford’s already been sucked through the portal, so he finds stan instead. and thats like such perfect/devastating (depending on how you look at it) timing because their wounds from ford are both so raw.

i feel like this is gonna get long so. gay rambling under the cut

on the one hand, they get from each other what they never got from ford. or at least, what they lost from ford. fiddleford wants love, he wants his unwavering devotion to ford to be reciprocated. and stan, being such a deeply lonely person, can give him that! what he wants is companionship. he wants a friend, like what he had in his brother. he wants forgiveness. and god, fiddleford is one of the kindest, most forgiving characters in the show. if anyone will see where stan is coming from, if anyone can extend forgiveness and understanding where ford fell flat, it’s fiddleford.

and while this exemplifies just how deeply they would need each other in this scenario, when you think about how tightly they both clung to ford, there presents a very real possibility that one or both of them would feel like ford’s replacement.

stan is ford’s twin. people have played with the idea that fiddleford would see a lot ford in stan, even though they may not be very similar in demeanor. they look the same. and deep down, they do have similarities. alex hirsch said in a dvd commentary that there is more of ford in stan than he even realizes, and fiddleford would probably see that. not to mention just how deeply he would miss him.

and when stan has always felt like a worse version of ford, you can imagine he might feel like a stand-in, especially as him and fiddleford get closer. fiddleford, whether he means to or not, would definitely see his best friend in stan. he has his face for god’s sake!! and would stan just accept it? would he be upset to be seen in this light, to act as a replacement, or would he accept that he’ll always be second to ford? either way is just. DEVASTATING. for fiddleford to unintentionally confirm all of stan’s deepest fears and insecurities…

and then there’s what fiddleford is to stan. while i don’t think fiddleford would feel as deeply a replacement as stan does, he IS a big fucking nerd. and stan probably begged him for help getting ford back when he found out that fiddleford is not only a scientist, but worked on the portal in the first place. and he of course wants ford back too, but it wouldn’t surprise me if fiddleford ends up feeling like stan only keeps him around for that purpose and that purpose alone. to learn more about ford, to live vicariously through him as ford’s best friend. because stan is desperate to know more about him, to satiate this need, this wound of missing his brother for over a decade.

god and all the little things too… fiddleford being riddled with anxiety and stan being able to ground him, to knock some much-needed sense into him the next time he wants to pick up that memory gun. stan struggling to take care of himself, to see his own self worth, and fiddleford being there to make sure he eats enough food, reminds him to shower, helps wash or cut his unkempt hair. falling asleep holding each other, because they need that comfort, that warmth, that heartbeat, to feel okay enough to rest.

ugh you could do sooo much with these bitches it drives me up the wall. i feel so unwell just thinking about them. i could yap even more but i’ll keep that for another post

#they make me want to bash my head into a wall #thanks for reading i have so much to say about them #also i’m shipping fiddlestan here but none of this is meant to suggest stancest implications ew #the point is just that fidds and ford fulfill similar emotional needs for stan yk #gravity falls #fiddleford mcgucket #stanley pines #stan pines #fiddlestan #fiddleford x stanley #stanley x fiddleford #rambling #so much rambling #stanford pines

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sadokasochism · 8 months ago

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I am destroyed over the whole god/worshipper dynamic and have no idea how to adequately put it into words.

I mentioned in another post that Mizi could not fathom Sua ACTUALLY dying, or comprehend what death really meant, and attributed this to her relatively comfortable and sheltered life as the pet of Shine. She was not taught to conceptualise death as a loss, and she never faced any opposition to that world view. From what we know, she might have never really known true, lasting pain or loss before the end of Round 1.

However, her reaction could also be due to her placing Sua on a pedestal as her personal god and universe. She viewed Sua as her absolute everything, and why would any faithful worshipper believe their god could be killed? Only, while Sua was everything to HER, that perception did not carry over to their captors. Mizi's love and devotion was not enough to save Sua. Forces stronger than them both took her away like she was nothing.

How must Mizi have felt, having her perception of Sua as the centre of the universe shattered that way? Coming to the violent realisation that Sua was just another human, and that humans are indeed that vulnerable and disposable? That Sua could now only exist in memories and in the visions that haunt her? That Sua is not a god, but a ghost?

Now we look at Till's perception of Mizi. Again, in an earlier post I mentioned the tragedy of Till falling for someone who did not have a reason to leave. He had a lot of blind faith in Mizi, and it could be said that he idealised her as a paragon.

It's not hard to see how he reached this point. The poor kid had not been shown a lot of kindness in his life, and so meeting someone who was genuinely good and so full of joy must have had a huge impact on him.

However, his faith is still a blind one, but in a different way to Mizi's blind faith in Sua. He is happy to endure any amount of horrible treatment and does not expect anyone to help him. He doesn't resent Mizi for being so close to their captors, for her dreams stopping at Alien Stage. He doesn't resent her after he gives up on his chance at freedom and is subjected to who knows how many more years of pain and torment at the hands of their captors (Not that Mizi is at fault, Till made his own decision that Mizi likely never even knew about).

He sees Mizi's innocence and ignorance to the cruelty of their reality as something wonderful instead of a character flaw that prevents her from saving herself or her loved ones.

Sua has the same issue, seeking comfort and bliss within Mizi's brightness instead of acknowledging the cruel reality of their world. Maybe she felt sharing her perspective with Mizi would dim Mizi's bright spirit, and so she was more than content to wait out the clock with her god.

Maybe Sua felt that meeting Mizi, loving her and being loved by her in return, was nothing short of a miracle after the life she had lived before Anakt Garden. Maybe she felt in light of that, aspiring for something like freedom or a long, long life of happiness with the person she loved the most was asking far too much. The time she got with Mizi was already a miracle, why expect or demand anything more?

If Sua was afraid of Mizi losing her brightness, no wonder she was so affected by Ivan's lecture about becoming a source of trauma for Mizi after her death.

Ivan's view of Till as his god is a bit different. He is similar in that he doesnt seem to demand his devotion be reciprocated, he just wants his god to acknowledge him as a person, as someone that is at least PART of Till's universe, if he can't be all of it.

He is also very willing to become a martyr for his god while expecting nothing in return but Till continuing to live. He acknowledges Till as vulnerable and falable in a way that Till doesn't with Mizi, and Mizi didn't with Sua. He knows damn well that while Till is the centre of HIS universe, their captors certainly do not hold Till in that same regard. He knows that love and devotion in a vacuum does not save anyone.

Which is why he was always the one to free Till, to try and escape with him, and why he pulled the stunt he did in Round 6. Ivan knew that actually making an impact in this world required personal risk and sacrifice, because their captors don't give a fuck if you're in love or if that other pet-human they're about to kill means everything to you.

Till knew this too, but his idealised version of Mizi is too perfect to be broken and beaten down by this world the same way the rest of them have been. So he's still shattered by Round 5, seeing how far Mizi has fallen and then not knowing if she's alive or dead, but knowing for sure she is far out of reach. I wonder, did he regret not running away with Ivan at that point? Did he wonder what all those years of suffering were for, if he was just going to end up losing Mizi anyway? If this world was able to break her too, no matter what he did?

Mizi is gone and changed forever, and nothing he did could stop it. His love and devotion and sacrifice wasn't enough. He failed his god.

In Round 6, Ivan is faced with the same thing. His god has lost his fighting spirit, is changed forever, and Ivan's love and devotion wasn't enough to save him. The last thing he can give is his life, and hope that will be enough. Just like Sua. But he was never Till's god, was never even part of his universe, he probably won't even leave a ghost behind. So, the choice is obvious, really.

They're all so desperate for hope and connection in this lonely, painful existence that they make a person their entire universe, and then are repeatedly crushed when they are shown again and again that their soul-consuming love for one another is seemingly meaningless in a world that views them as infinitely disposable.

#alien stage #alien stage mizi #alien stage sua #alien stage ivan #alien stage till #alnst #alnst mizi #alnst sua #alnst ivan #alnst till #mizisua #mizitill #ivantill #basically i will never know peace again

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months ago

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I'm slowly becoming obsessed with the childhood friends au and it's mostly bc of something you said in the tags of an ask lol. you mentioned that they weren't soulmates they were something better. that they were two balls of yarn they batted around until they were intertwined, that they chose and continue to choose to be as close as two souls can be.

it's so poetic, the idea that fate has nothing to do with it. they looked at each other and said this is it, that's the one. It makes me think of so many different quotes but here's just a few. Hozier "lay me gently in the cold dark earth, no grave can hold my body I'll crawl home to her (him)" or like patroclus saying that if Achilles were to die that "all things soft and beautiful would be buried with him" and poor Danny grieving so long and so hard because "what is grief if not love perserving?" when you're in love with someone, that person is the lighthouse of your universe and to lose them is to be thrown to a tempestuous sea.

and thinking of their reunion makes me feel a little crazy too cause I see what you've been plotting and it just makes me think of how their relationship is going to be at first. like here's a person that you love so deeply and it's been so long since you've seen them and you've both changed since. will they click back together seemingly effortlessly? attached at the hip for a bit because they're both/or one is scared of being separated again? or will there be some friction for a while while they try to realign their pieces to fit together, to figure out what's different and what's practically the same? "you are a language I am no longer fluent in but still remember how to read"

sorry for rambling, I love them your honor.

🫵 DONT YOU DARE APOLOGIZE FOR RAMBLING I LOVE GETTING RAMBLING ASKS. AND SAME.

There was this one sound on tiktok that I heard that reminded me of them, and I just went and found it, and it goes: "I would recognize you in another lifetime entirely in different bodies, different times, and i would love you in all of this. Until the very last star in the sky burnt out into oblivion." and the first time i heard it i literally thought "this is CFAU Danny and Jason"

AND YEAH THEY JUST. I love devoted characters, i love when characters are so deeply devoted and loyal to each other its like you can't imagine them being anywhere else but at each other's side. That wasn't wholly my intent when I first came up with CFAU last fall, but god I am not complaining about how it turned out. My favorite part of the chapter 1 rewrite is making sure Danny's devotion to Jason was reciprocal.

god those quotes. they're so accurate too. yeah. i thought about this au once in the context of a soulmate au, and just couldn't get behind it. It made their whole dynamic felt cheapened, like of course they're soulmates; it was destined. When no, it wasn't. They made it that way.

(If the two of them were somehow transported to a universe with soulmate marks, they would not have matching symbols. That's okay, Danny and Jason don't need them to be. They'd pick up a tattoo gun or a pen and make their own. They wouldn't call it a soulmate mark, just a them mark.)

("Why should I share my soul with some schmuck I don't know? I want to share my soul with you.")

yeah. their reunion is. ! about as exactly as intense as it needs to be :]. They've both changed so much, and they're both scared of being separated again. Jason purposely stayed away from Amity because he knew he couldn't keep away if he didn't. Being back together again is like having a piece of them returned.

SPEAKING OF QUOTES. Here's one:

I don't believe in the death that you're bringing The reason I'm living is you Wherever you go That's where I'll be Even if death tags along, I don't mind It's still you and me I'll never leave you alone

"Death's At My Door" - The Outsiders Musical

#danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc #dpxdc crossover #dead on main #cfau #childhood friends au #starry asks #i have no additions for this thats why its shorter than my other asks <33 #yeah you about summed it up for me.

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doubledeadstudio · 6 months ago

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Not sure if someone beat me to this, but yandere can be a multitude of different things, with the one thing in common "they are obsessed with someone, & they will kill for them."

This CAN turn into "if so-&-so doesn't except my feelings, I will kill them so no one else can have them" but it doesn't have to. Their are yanderes that will never hurt their obsession, but WILL kidnap them, & try to manipulate them into liking them, then there are yanderes who will kill anyone who gets close to their obsession, ect.

I think what the other anon was asking is: how would Crux & Black be AS yanderes? Would they ever hurt MC, or is that off the table at all costs? Are they super jealous and will kill anyone you're close to, or only those that actively try to 'take you from them' (in their eyes)? If their feelings aren't reciprocated would they resort to kidnapping, or try to manipulate you until they are the only options left? ect.

(P.S. Love the game by the way, I started off being downbad for Vin, & ended up falling for Black. Wallet is already ready, even if it will be a while till the game is finished. Can't wait to find out even more about these characters! )

Oh I see... Judging from this and some flowcharts someone gave me on Discord, I think they would already be considered yanderes LMAO? And because of that I don't want to elaborate because of major plot spoilers.

(Although ngl the definition of "yandere" is so nebulous now. Because I really don't think they are yandere at all, but now it's so vague that any amount of love-based toxicity is "yandere"? Like Black would KILL anyone that looks at MC wrong but I always saw him as a knight type, not a yandere?)

But here are some CANONICAL things about these two that'll help you guys put some things together:

Crux

had a SPELL ALREADY PREPARED in the case of Black's death

knows everything, sees everything, has multiple copies of himself

is a deeply religious person

loves his family, gatekeeps them HEAVILY

literally admitted to tracking Black's internet activities

shows up "conveniently" constantly

Vincenzo has suggested some less than savory implications about his behaviors

known liar that manipulates information

Black

DEEPLY devoted to MC, especially protecting them

literally put himself in front of Vincenzo to block his attack DESPITE NOT KNOWING WHAT VIN OR HIS BODY WAS CAPABLE OF

always always makes sure MC is safe, walks MC home every night if they're working together

incredibly attracted to MC's scent and taste that he distances himself so he doesn't eat them

incredibly deprived of affection/touch deprived/etc and the type that pours all his efforts into a select few instead of getting close to many (literally just MC)

listens to anything mc tells them, like they're gospel, even when it hurts him

Asha mentions that if you're on his path, that he can't even see other people flirting with him because he's got someone on his mind

said he'd kill himself first before ever harming MC

#asks #reanimated heart #crux hertz #black lumaban

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aphroditelovesu · 7 months ago

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💗 🍁😰Yandere rose x clingy male reader

[💗] - ‘’I just want to love you until the day we both stop breathing.’’ [🍁] - ‘’Everything without you is so dull, lifeless and lonely. I will never let you go, because you are what color my life.’’ [😰] - ‘’If you leave me I will kill myself.’’

❝tw: mention of suicide.

You and Rosé were lying in your bed, in the room you shared in your house. Your arms were around her waist and her head was resting on your chest. Your fingers caressed your girlfriend's bare skin.

"I love you." Rosé murmured, tucking her head into your neck. You smiled. The soft light of the room enveloped the two of you, creating an intimate and peaceful moment.

"I love you too." You whispered back, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. Comfortable silence filled the space as you just enjoyed each other's presence.

Rosé smiled at your words and kissed your neck gently. She raised her head and stared into your eyes, her soft expression turning serious.

"You know if something happened to you I would go crazy, right?" She asked, looking at your face seriously. You stared at her hesitantly.

"I know." You said and brought your hand up to her face, stroking it, "I would go crazy too if something happened to you."

Rosé's eyes shone with tenderness at your words, as she gently pressed her hand against your face.

"Promise me that you will always take care of me, even when you are away from me." She asked in a soft but firm voice.

You nodded, feeling your chest tighten at the seriousness of the moment, "I promise." You said sincerely, sealing your words with a light kiss on her lips. The love between you was palpable, and this exchange of promises only strengthened it.

Rosé laughed happily and grabbed you tighter, squeezing you. You laughed at that. One thing that always worked between you was how affectionate and clingy you both were.

"Ah! Rosie, you're choking me." You commented, hugging her back tightly.

Rosé looked at you, "I just want to love you until the day we both stop breathing."

You felt a slight shiver at her words but decided to ignore it. You tilted her head and kissed her softly on the lips. Rosé kissed you with the same softness, as light as a feather and as sweet as her.

Rosé pressed her forehead against yours and looked straight into your eyes, "Everything without you is so dull, lifeless and lonely." Rosé whispered against your lips, "I will never let you go, because you are what color my life."

Her words wrapped around your body like a warm hug, making your heart beat with renewed intensity. Each syllable carried an emotional weight that reverberated within you, touching parts of your being that previously lay dormant. The love you felt for this woman, Rosé, was a burning flame that lit up every dark corner of your soul, flooding it with indescribable joy.

"I feel the same way." You said, kissing her mouth again but this time it was more passionate. Rosé reciprocated with the same passion and devotion.

The kiss was an explosion of contained passion, a fiery expression of the love that overflowed between the two of you. The lips met in a perfect fit, each movement filled with desire and surrender. Under the sweetness of the touch, the intensity grew, and soon the tongues met in a sensual touch, dancing in harmony as if they were an extension of each other.

Rosé climbed on top of you, her body molding to yours in a natural and familiar way. Your hands found her hips, holding her firmly but gently, as if you wanted to protect her and at the same time merge with her.

When you broke apart in need of air, Rosé whispered against your lips, "Never leave me."

You looked at her, your eyes shining with doubt. Rosé took this the wrong way, however. She pursed her lips and said, "If you leave me I will kill myself."

Rosé's words registered in your mind and you swallowed hard, unable to help but feel uncomfortable with the weight of them. But you wouldn't let her know that, you didn't want to hurt her, and besides, you didn't plan on leaving her.

You were too involved to even think about breaking up with her.

#yandere blackpink #yandere rosé #rosé x reader #yandere rosé x reader #male reader #x male reader #blackpink rosé #x reader #emoji prompt #emoji #blackpink imagine

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qwymarkii · 8 months ago

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(in)dependent

wc: 1.4k

tw: angst, mentions of intercourse, hardships, mentions of self-harm, miscommunication, crying, boyfriend!mark x fem!reader

a/n: not proofread. sorryy

not everything works.

some things can't be salvaged.

that's what mark told himself. what he's felt for the past year of how this relationship of yours wasn't his fault neither yours, that it had to come to an end. mark missed you. the week break the students were given was getting closer to the day you'd all have to return.

mark knocked upon the wooden door, which was immediately met by a giddy you, engulfing your boyfriend. mark of course smiled as he breathed in your scent. mark stepped inside your dorm, removing his shoes and placing his bag down. "what's got you so happy today? we have to go back tomorrow?" he questioned.

you laughed pulling him by the wrist to sit him onto your bed. you climbed on top of his lap kissing against his neck and jawline, beginning to speak, "nothing, i just missed. . . you. i was thinking we could—" mark then cut you off.

"no, no yn i think. . . we – we need to talk." he stated trying to push you off of him. it's like you were obsessed. not that there's a problem with that, he's your boyfriend after all but you were too obsessed. overzealously craving him.

mark was serious, you attempted to nip at his neck more, whining softly. but mark only pushed you completely off of him now standing in front of you. "don't do this mark, don't—baby don't leave me." you cried pulling at his shirt. "i need you close to me."

frustrated, mark put his hands up to his face to block his emotions. if without context, it'd seem like you were a creepy, fanatical person over your lover. but deep down you were just someone who wasn't given attention as an adolescent and now had someone to cling to, to grasp that attention from. you felt as if you needed to please mark, he was your boyfriend if you wanted him to stay, that would get the job done.

you thought that sex could be the glue to all your problems, make it seem like you were more appealing to love, just to show how devoted you were to mark. you'd hope in that case, mark would reciprocate. "no. what do we need to talk about? are you hurt? is something wrong?" if there was something wrong with your boyfriend that'd only make it 10 times worse for you.

mark sat down next to you, placing his hands on your thighs to soothe you. "baby, im fine i just need you to talk to me in this moment. okay?" mark circled his thumb against your exposed skin, bringing himself closer to you. "i just wonder." he trailed off, hesitant to ask. "have you ever thought of other ways to display your affection?"

your heart skipped a beat. "what do you not like when we —" your words frantically spilling out.

"no, no, no that's not it yn. its just." mark sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose "i-i just need some space you know? there's just a lot of the time where we — i don't want to be pleased in that way?" he said, pressing his lips in a thin line to reject his emotions.

"so no more. . ." you quietly asked, voice breaking. mark let his head slightly fall, "no yn im not saying no more. but a break wouldn't hurt... you know." he finished, you wrapped your arms around him, placing your head into the crook of his neck.

"i just love you so much. i-i need you, you're so perfect and i don't want you to leave me. i just want to show you how much you mean to me." you confessed. mark sighed it didn't seem like you were one-hundredly getting the message.

"im not going to leave you yn, im not going anywhere." mark reassured you, rubbing your tears away with his thumbs. "you- we just need to find a healthier way to cope with your needs towards me. okay?" tears continued to fall down your cheeks as mark continued. though he didn't completely intend for it to come off as you were being obsessive, he needed you to know that.

you shook your head trying to prevent more tears from falling, but it only intensified. "it's just.. mark~ i can't help it. it makes my skin itch i just want to touch you, even if we're out with friends. i just hate standing there not being able to let everyone see how much i love you. how much i appreciate you. mark i love you. i really do." you pleaded, biting the dead skin off your lips. mark cupped your chin bringing your gaze towards his.

"babe i know. . i know you hate it, but sometimes it can be too much for me. you don't have to please me in sexual ways to show that you love me. . ." your tears flowed like a river, constantly pouring down your face as you tried to understand where your lover was coming from.

"but, but i don't get to see you that often, especially with our dorms being split by gender. and we don't have any classes together, so i just want to make you feel good. i feel closer to you when we do." you explained, hoping he'd get where you were coming from. you thought maybe he brought this up because you'd been two had been at your friends alot more recently due to something they'd been going through.

"we've been sleeping in the same bed for a few nights now at karina's. yn promise me we're close." mark placed a kiss upon your forehead.

you brought your face slightly back up, kissing mark's neck, but he jerked back. "yn, stop." he places his hands on your shoulders to restrain you. he hates that he had to be this stern with you, seeing how easily it broke you down. but the conversation you just had telling you not to do that exact thing. he needed to tell you.

"why?"

"because. because yn i just kindly asked for you to give me some space! i love you yn i really do but i need the space. im so fucking exhausted you don't get it..." mark finally raised his voice out you for the first time ever.

he didn't like what he'd done but it had to been done. of course he'd know it wouldn't end well, you were too sensitive to be spoken to in that tone, but the action you were partaking in had to be addressed sooner or later.

you sat up and immediately got off of your boyfriend, feeling nauseous. it might've seemed dramatic but you detested the way it felt when people raised their voice to you. especially, when this was the one person you loved and adored most.

mark ran after you, unfortunately not quick enough before he was met with a slammed door. he'd never seen you react this quick to a situation like this and it brought panic to himself. mark knocked at the door, "yn, don't do this. . ." all that could be heard was your soft cries on the opposite side.

"yn. please i didn't mean to upset you like this.."

"go away mark!" you yelled back.

"no. im not going away til you open this door."

"i thought. . . you wanted your space. well look now you've gotten it. all the fucking space you could ever want." you spewed out, through tears and a broken voice. "baby..." silence was returned. mark called once more but only was met with the same silence.

"don't hurt yourself. please don't tell me you're hurting yourself..." mark cried, this whole situation seemed completely fucked.

"im not. mark just leave me be please."

"yn don't do this again, i'm here for you, i love you. i love the affection you give me, it's a bit excessive but i still love you. and i will no matter what. it was wrong of me to shove you off me like that and raise my voice...please don't hurt yourself." he pleaded, the last thing he need was you hurting yourself in any way.

"i'm not."

"good. can you come out then?"

"no! i want you, i just don't want to talk" you slowly opened the door and as per usual you clung onto him right away. "just hold me, i'm sorry for pushing you to do things, but please let me be close."

mark guided you over to your bed and lied down with you still in his arms. "i can do that, it's alright"

"just please don't yell at me again" you mumbled.

although the problem was never resolved, it had it one step closer to being fixed. that being realization of the problem. mark could fix you. he would fix you.

#kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop au #college au #kpop bg #nct angst #mark x reader #mark lee #mark nct #nct x reader #kpop x y/n #angst with a happy ending #depressing shit #im so so so sorry #nct 127 #nct dream

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lovezbrownies · 1 year ago

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Fem! Yandere Military Chief

Hello! My third fanfic this is so exciting >0< I can't wait to write more, especially since I have even more characters in mind to write for!

MINORS DNI!!

Word count: 1,033

Warnings!: Nsfw mentions, physical abuse (towaards reader), Torture (towards reader and others), murder (not towards reader), hinted psychological abuse (towards reader), isolation of reader, death of a parent, controlling behaviour, obsessive and possessive behaviour, essentially this woman is a red flag.

Name: Gen Ludenhart.

Gen adored you, oh how she adored you. Even in an important meeting like this she can’t focus on the words being said as she fantasizes about finally coming back home to her sweet darling. You and Gen have been in a relationship for three beautifully long years. Gen, being the lovely wife she is, ensured you moved in with her within the first two months of dating and married within a year in.

The work day felt long, but the ride home felt even longer. The anticipation of finally seeing her cute spouse waiting at home for her made Gen count down the very seconds until her arrival back home. And once Gen finally enters her mansion (paid for by the noble court for her deeds.) she feels an immediate relief wash over her now, knowing she is within the vicinity of her beloved darling.

Gen is, as usual, greeted by the head maid. ‘’Call my darling down to the lounge room, will you Reina?” Reina nods, walking off to complete the task given to her. Gen goes to said lounge room, looking at herself in the mirror hanging on one of the walls, making sure she looks her best for you.

The soft clicking of shoes alerts Gen as she seats herself on her favourite armchair, waiting impatiently, staring at the entrance until you finally enter, behind you stood Reina. Gen waved a dismissal wave towards Reina as she holds out her arms, “Ah my dear, how I’ve missed you so~ Come, come, sit.’’ You knew the routine. Gen comes back home, she calls for you, you sit on her lap until she has held her pent up frustration as long as she can and takes the both of you to your private chambers for some ‘’fun time’’.

It never gets old, even when she is pleasuring you she incorporates something new in the way she gives you pleasure, always doting, always caring, always watching. You’ve tried all you could to plan some escape behind Gen’s back, she might be strategically smart but when it comes to you? She’s stupid in love, can’t even see how uncomfortable you are 85% of the time. So that would mean it would be easy to run away right?

Wrong. The only obstacle to your masterful escape was Reina. Loyal fucking Reina. It feels like she can constantly read your plan, anytime you see an opportunity such as an open window or an unlocked door to the outside and begin thinking up a plan she almost immediately cracks down on it and shuts down any chance of escape. Gen doesn’t see it but Reina is devoted solely to Gen, no one’s sure if its out of love or because Gen pays for her loyalty, whatever the case, she is annoying.

Either way, it seems like you are eternally stuck with Gen, to the end of days. Maybe that would’ve been nice, maybe her coddling you would’ve been comforting, had she not falsely accused your father of a heinous crime, ordering him to be executed. Had she not left your mother widowed, now poor and jobless, barely able to sustain herself. Had she not made everyone turn their backs on you after she had blackmailed them. Had she not kidnapped, tortured, and murdered your betrothed, your darling, your dear girlfriend. Maybe then, you would’ve reciprocated all the affection, cuddles, adoration.

Life wasn’t meant to be like this, sitting on the lap of the person who killed your father and your girlfriend and ruined your life completely. But when you don’t agree to her terms, the aggression she was trained to use on a daily basis returns home with her and she tortures you for hours on end, never relenting until you learn your lesson. Life is not perfect or sweet. Life is miserable, she is psychotic. Even the mere mention of her name strikes fear within your heart.

Anytime you see anyone from the outside world, which is almost never, you beg them to save you from the vicious claws belonging to Gen Aliya Ludenhart. The first was Reina, that resulted in a slap across the face. Gen believed that would be the only time so she didn’t want to be cruel, yet. The second was the Chief of Police, Grimm Ludenhart, now, considering he was supposed to save people from criminals, he did the opposite. He let you stay with this fucking psycho, warned her even, told her to be harsher. And she was, this time she had taken her electric baton, and fried your skin for half an hour. All the scarring had been healed and removed by sweet Gen, citing that she didn’t want her darling angel to be insecure of her scarring, and due to public image as well.

People with elemental powers usually made you star struck and jealous of their power. Some people even have two elements, and Gen seemingly is also dual-elemented. Would’ve been amazing if she was a real doting, caring, loving, not psychotic murderer. But she always uses her powers against you, she controls earth, so when you need to be punished she uses her earth magic. When the sessions of torture end she makes you feel all better with her water magic. “See, dear? I do this because I love you, if I didn’t love you I wouldn’t have healed you, no I’d leave you for dead just like that pest ex-girlfriend of yours! You should be more grateful for me, love! Or else you would’ve ended up with a psycho!” She is the damn psycho you ended up with, but okay.

All in all, you will never have a normal life again, Gen A. Ludenhart will make to sure to have complete control over every decision you make, every step you take, she will be watching you. What’s worse is that everyone is on her side, either afraid of what she would do to them if they help you, or they agree with what she’s doing– Ahem her brother Grimm Ahem– and encourage her whole-heartedly. Have fun thinking of all the people who died because you asked her for directions once in some random marketplace.

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mclennonlgbt · 2 months ago

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Midas Man review (with spoilers!)

Yesterday I had the unique opportunity to watch a biopic about Brian Epstein. Although the film is currently only available in certain countries, @pauls1967moustache organized a watch party, which I joined. Thank you!!!

"Midas Man" has many advantages. The main one is the leading male role: Jacob Fortune-Lloyd did a great job. He perfectly portrayed Brian's complex personality. He was able to convincingly present both his uncertainty and tremors, as well as his perseverance in promoting the Beatles. Eppy said with full confidence that his boys would be bigger than Elvis - clearly he believed it deeply, even when higher-ups in the music industry laughed in his face. Fortune-Lloyd also convincingly played Brian's emotions related to his sexuality. On the one hand, Epstein did not want to run away from his nature, but on the other - he was well aware that sex between men was a crime and could expose him to blackmail. In one scene, Brian's parents pressure him to be more careful because revealing his sexual orientation in the newspapers could discredit the family business and end the careers of the Beatles and other artists he manages. Brian, filled with guilt, apologizes to his parents for "causing them pain." I have been following this thread with interest and I am glad that it has not been omitted or trivialized.

Unfortunately, the love story disappointed me. It was very cliché. Brian met someone he quickly began to care about. Tex did not reciprocate his feelings, he just wanted to have fun and benefit from Epstein's influence. Ultimately, he left without saying goodbye, stealing money and documents. I know the real Brian dated some shady guys, but it wasn't portrayed very convincingly in the movie. Perhaps Edward Speleers, the actor playing Tex, failed.

How did the Beatles fare? Not bad, but... nothing more. I must praise Blake Richardson, who played Paul - his facial expressions were very reminiscent of McCartney's. Blake was very authentic, I felt like I was looking at Paul. I also liked Wallace Campbell as Ringo. Unfortunately, the remaining Beatles were exaggerated. I'm thinking specifically about George (played by Leo Harvey Elledge). John, on the other hand, lacked depth. I had the impression that he was just a cheeky kid who thought he was entitled to everything. The young Lennon had a more complex personality. Besides, Jonah Lees who played him almost didn't look like him at all xD Speaking of which, the wigs looked terrible in most scenes. I guess there wasn't enough budget for it.

I was surprised (in a negative sense) by the complete omission of an important thread in the history of the Beatles: Brian's infatuation with John. Whether or not Lennon reciprocated the feeling, it was largely Epstein's motivation to pursue the band. When we jumped from 1963 to 1964 and there was no mention of the trip to Barcelona, I was confused. Instead, the creators decided to focus on a fictional romance between Brian and Tex.

The advantage of the biopic is that viewers have the opportunity to meet other artists that Epstein managed. In one scene, Brian proudly introduces us to Billy J. Kramer, Tommy Quickly and... Cilla Black (Darci Shaw). Brian and Cilla's relationship is definitely one of the most touching and adorable elements of the entire film. It is clear that the singer is Epstein's favorite, and not only in professional terms. They are simply a pair of devoted friends. From what I understood, Cilla knew about Brian's orientation and fully accepted it.

"Midas Man" is a decent movie, better than I expected. However, these are not the heights of cinematography. I had the impression that Brian was presented somewhat sweetly, as a person without flaws (perhaps his family took part in consulting the script?). I think a rating of 7/10 would be fair.

#midas man #brian epstein #biopic #jacob fortune lloyd #the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #pete best #blake richardson #wallace campbell #leo harvey elledge #jonah lees #cilla black #darci shaw #review

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linkemon · 3 months ago

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Qui vivra verra (Vanitas x Reader x Noé Archiviste)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

ᴍᴀɴᴏɴ, ᴀ ᴍᴀɪᴅ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ [ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]'ꜱ ʀᴇꜱɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴏʙꜱᴇʀᴠᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴜɴꜰᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴍɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴡᴏ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ᴍᴇɴ ᴡʜᴏ ꜱᴜᴅᴅᴇɴʟʏ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ʟɪꜰᴇ, ʙʀɪɴɢɪɴɢ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ…

— Miss [Reader]! — Manon called, trying to sound discreet.

She looked around at the crowd of shoppers, trying not to forget any bags. A hat, an umbrella, a new set of bows and more… She congratulated herself sarcastically on the last package she had left in the store. She didn’t have time for that now. A random carriage whizzed past her, nearly taking her life. The loud clatter of hooves on the cobblestone street mingled with the din. The maid anxiously made her way to a side street, wiping her brow. And, to make matters worse, she was hungry.

This was how it had to end. She always fell for the idea that the young lady would only be gone for a moment this time. It was never a moment! She would take her eyes off her to take care of something and she would be gone. She liked her job but sometimes the running around in panic was too much for her. Of course, the person concerned always reassured her that she was fine but who knew what would happen next time? In Altus, no one would probably dare to threaten her but in Paris things were different.

[Reader] worked as a sort of behind-the-scenes diplomat, traveling between Altus and Paris. She didn’t act officially like her cousin, Lord Ruthven. She threw banquets, introduced influential people and vampires, spread gossip and covered up the little things that got in the way of peace. Manon was well aware that her little lady, though she tried to stay within her safe circles, could one day find herself in danger. All because of her cousin, who had somehow enlisted her through her parents after his apprentices had failed him. She sensed that while [Reader] was very devoted to the cause (against her will but still), Lord August certainly wasn’t reciprocating. He never sent anyone to protect her, as he certainly could have done with his influence. It was true, though, that whenever anyone mentioned it, the little lady protested loudly, much to the maid’s chagrin.

— Oh no — Manon swore not very quietly — it’s that quack again!

— Oh no, it's that witch again! — Vanitas mocked her.

She could have expected that the young lady would somehow end up in his company. She had talked about him and his companion with count Parks Orlok's employees. While it was hard not to at least know the Archiviste family, Vanitas was something of an enigma to her. His whims contradicted the natural behaviour of people. The fact that he interfered in other people's affairs aroused reluctance.

She looked Vanitas up and down. What did her little lady see in him? Black hair and blue eyes. He might be handsome but that was the end of Manon's list of positive traits. Not only was he human but also crazy!

— You could try to get along for once — [Reader] sighed.

The woman shivered slightly. A cold wind swept across the street. Vanitas wasted no time in taking off his black coat with a sweeping, exaggerated movement. He threw it over the lady's shoulders, giving her his trademark flirty smile. He then discreetly stuck his tongue out at the maid. If there were times when Manon had a sincere desire to use her vampire skills, this was one of them. She glanced at the young lady's gentle smile and, gritting her teeth, held back the imminent vision of murder.

— Where is Monsieur Archiviste? — asked the maid, looking toward the Hotel Chouchou.

It wasn't a very subtle change of subject but she couldn't think of anything better.

— Noé overslept. We had a rough night — the doctor said.

They probably got into some trouble again. If she knew life, she'd hear about it somewhere soon.

— Then we won’t wake him up. — [Reader] pulled the sealed envelopes out of her small bag. — I wanted to formally invite you two to the party.

[Reader]'s lack of use of the title monsieur did not escape Manon's notice. How much had she missed? After all, they hadn't known each other that long. She was most worried about them dragging [Reader] into their complicated affairs. The young lady's parents had placed their trust in her care for her. How could she possibly face them if she failed?

— The last party we went to, ended in a scandal — laughed Vanitas.

Manon felt her eye twitch involuntarily with anger. To be so familiar with her little lady…

— It won't be anything major. I'm inviting mostly humans and a few assimilated vampires. I don't think you'll get in trouble for it — the hostess assured.

Of course, she wasn't going to make them realize what an honor it was to be invited. The maid sighed loudly to herself. They probably wouldn't realize it themselves.

— Then we will definitely come!

— Where are we going? — Noé’s sleepy voice reached the gathered ears.

Dressed entirely in white, except for a black shirt, he was blinding in the sunlight. The sun seemed to reflect off his impeccably clean top hat. Whenever Manon saw him next to the quack, she wondered how two such different people could possibly put up with each other.

Archiviste rubbed his sleepy eyes, curious about the situation. Murr jumped out from behind his legs, a cat as snow-white as his master. His thick paws allowed him to get in front of [Reader] in a few agile leaps. She took him in her arms, adjusted his purple bow and began to stroke him rhythmically.

— Who is the most beautiful?

— Meow — Murr replied. Whether it was a question, an affirmation or a denial, there was no way to tell.

This was the only part of the strange group that the maid had no objections to. Fortunately, he was just a cat and kept out of trouble.

— Are you throwing a party? — Noé asked, reading the invitation.

There was a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

— Exactly. Vanitas said you'd come. I hope you'll confirm that. I'm sure you know a few people who'll be showing up. Dominique de Sade, first of all — [Reader] said.

— Domi will be there? — Archiviste brightened visibly — and maybe tarte tatin?

— We'll add it to the menu just for you. — [Reader] smiled. — Now, if you'll excuse me, I think it's time for us to go. Otherwise, Manon's going to be crying her eyes out with impatience. — With that, she looked at the maid reproachfully.

She sadly placed Murr on the pavement, handed Vanitas back his coat and turned back the way she had come.

The young lady might have missed the googly eyes look Noé gave her as they left. Manon had lived long enough to know that it wasn’t just a vision of a future dessert.

Manon remembered her first attempts at eavesdropping. At the very beginning of her job, when she hadn't yet fully understood how the world worked and had been reluctant to invade other people's privacy. It wasn't that the young lady didn't know her maid was listening to her conversations. She just assumed it was rare. Rarely than it actually was.

— Beautiful sunset, isn't it?

— Oh! It's you...— [Reader] turned her head back to the Parisian view.

Manon didn’t need to see young lady to hear in her voice that this wasn’t the man she expected to see here. It was Vanitas who was wandering around the high places. Uninvited, most of the time. He was particularly fond of the clock tower. It had been built near the estate long before the maid had started working here. The previous owners had neglected it and it had slowly fallen into disrepair. [Reader] had refused to have it renovated, saying she preferred it as it was. So the gray stone was covered in ivy and some of the stained glass had fallen out in the heavy winds. Fortunately, the guests always found it an interesting change, not thinking about it as a ruin.

— It’s certainly a perfect party weather — [Reader] said.

She swung her legs slowly over the precipice. The back of her heavy dress rested on the stone floor. It wasn't exactly a refined position to sit in. Especially for the hostess of the upcoming party.

Noé joined her, keeping a respectful distance.

— I came to thank you. — The man scratched the back of his neck in uncertainty.

— Was the tart that tasty? — [Reader] joked.

Several pieces were sent to the Chouchou Hotel a few days before the party.

— No! I mean yes! That's not the point...— Archiviste was confused. — It's about how you, miss... I mean you... how you saved us last time.

So they didn't know each other that well yet, Manon decided. If he still wasn't comfortable enough to use only her first name, it wasn't a total tragedy. But she feared Vanitas had no such scruples.

— It's nothing. I'm glad you made it out okay.

It was a situation that scared Manon. Not only had she lost sight of the young lady but she had also walked straight into danger. Of course, [Reader]'s vampire skills weren't just for show. The malnomen-infected patient had been defeated and cured before the disease turned him into a beast. However, from what the maid had managed to find out, it turned out that this wasn't always possible. Unrestrained bloodlust brought out the worst instincts.

There was a moment of silence. [Reader] gazed at Paris, illuminated by the golden glow. The workday was just ending. Parisians were closing their shops to go home. Except for the street lamps, who were slowly illuminating the area with hundreds of lights. A gentle wind caressed the crowns of small trees every now and then, heralding a clear night sky. Carriages sped here and there, carrying passengers. Several of them were approaching the residences. Ladies dressed in heavy and expensive outfits rode with gentlemen equipped with top hats and walking sticks.

— I beg your pardon — Noé hesitated — but you look distressed.

His violet eyes expressed deep concern.

— You can say that. — She began to pick at the end of her snow-white glove. — I wouldn't tell anyone that but you're a close friend of mine so...

— A close friend? — the Archiviste asked.

It was as if the information was surprising and yet appropriate. A small smile spread across his face. Manon could bet from his voice alone that he was blushing.

— With my connections, it's hard to find friends who aren't interested solely in what I can give them. That's why I was so happy when I met you and Vanitas.

The maid tilted her head thoughtfully. The young lady believed it deeply but she had seen her own way over the years. Putting aside the odd romantic twists, was this acquaintance truly selfless?

— What’s the problem? — Noé asked.

— There is someone who makes my heart beat faster with joy — the woman began.

— That's… that's wonderful — the Archiviste said quietly.

One look at his face would have been enough to tell he didn't entirely think this was a great thing but [Reader] continued to stare out into the setting sun.

—...but he's already in love with someone and even though I'm aware of it, I still delude myself that maybe I can change something — she sighed longingly. — I suppose I should want him to be happy but it weighs on my soul when I look at it.

— I wouldn't give up so easily if I were you. — The vampire grabbed her hand, as if that would emphasize the weight of his words. — Perhaps one day he will notice your feelings and understand them.

There was a moment of silence as the woman seemed to consider his words.

— You know what? I think you're right. Thank you, Noé. — She gave him a gentle smile. — Oh, wait, I think you have some leftover tart here.

Archiviste could have sworn his heart stopped beating the moment her fingers rested near his lips. He stared into [Reader]'s face. For a moment she was close enough that he could count every speck of sunlight in her eyes. The sunset surrounded her in a gilded halo and the thought occurred to him that if angels really did exist somewhere, she must be one of them. He regretted not eating a dozen tarts to cover himself with more crumbs. Perhaps then they could stay in that position for just a second longer. But that was not to be. The silence was broken.

Manon made sure her heavy boots were heard early enough. Long enough for the couple to move away from each other.

— My lady, it’s time — the maid announced, glancing discreetly at the vampire.

— The guests will be here soon, it’s time for us to go — [Reader] said, standing up awkwardly, lost in thought.

Noé remained in the clock tower for a long time.

Manon sometimes regretted that her young lady was not in the same situation as Dominique de Sade. She, too, was burdened with a number of responsibilities due to her background. And yet, her family gave her choices in many matters. Although it must be admitted that her stubborn nature played a large role here. This was reflected in her outfit today. Even in such a situation, she refused to wear an evening gown, contenting herself with her ceremonial uniform.

The maid maneuvered deftly among the guests, passing glasses of champagne around the rose garden. She quietly downed one. She was surprised at how thirsty she was.

— I thought you’d give up — Dominique said, taking a sip of her drink.

— I could say the same about you. — [Reader] looked at the woman out of the corner of her eye.

A soft laugh answered her, barely hidden by the lights of the lanterns. There was a nasty note to it, but what else could she expect?

— I admit I was close to giving up but someone talked me out of it. — The hostess stared straight ahead.

— Hmmm... I don't think it's a wise choice but I can't blame you for doing the exact same thing.

It wasn't hard to guess that Dominique's chosen one was Noé. He was the only man she had allowed to be this close to her, outside of her family. It didn't take Manon long to find out that they had spent a lot of time together as children, along with their twin Louis.

— What do you see in him? — De Sade tilted her head in thought.

— He's like a storm — [Reader] replied after a moment. — Most people, when they see a storm, run away from it. Because it's strong. Violent. It means trouble. And yet there's something fascinating about it. You can try to run but sooner or later you'll run out of breath and then it'll catch up with you. The only problem with it is that it's unpredictable and you may not have time to enjoy it.

Manon sighed quietly. So there was no turning back. If the young lady was able to admit it out loud, it had to be serious.

— Some people prefer a breeze to storms. Because it's gentle. Even if it may seem like it's not present, it's still there. It cools you down on difficult days and everyone likes it. Its problem is how many fans it has. — Dominique finished her glass. — I wonder how you'll handle your storm...

— I thought you had sided with Jeanne long ago — [Reader] said.

Her rival seemed to have Vanitas' heart in a tight grip. And interestingly, although, as Bourreau claimed, she didn't want him at all, she couldn't push him away either.

— Don't get me wrong. I'm not taking sides. Because to be honest... I hate both of you. I want to see who comes out on top in this fight. Because then... maybe there's still hope for someone like me...

Her gaze involuntarily wandered to Noé, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere in the crowd. Manon knew that if her young lady hadn't been entirely aware of who the young de Sade's chosen one was up until now, she had to find out now.

Dressed in white as always, he stood out from the other guests. The lanterns that had been placed that morning seemed to reflect their light off his clothes. The lights hanging from the trees only enhanced the effect. He wandered among the lush rose bushes, accosted by various guests one after another. With a polite smile, he nodded without interest, only to leave them a moment later. He was looking for someone. And it certainly wasn't Domi, who was staring at him. But once he came across her, he couldn't leave her.

His real wanted woman was already far away. With a deft movement she put her glass on one of the empty trays and then slowly joined the dancers.

Vanitas, as usual, was a stark contrast to his acquaintance. Dressed in navy blue and black, he melted into the darkness of the night. If it weren't for the lights, he would probably disappear completely, except for his oh-so-human blue eyes.

— Excuse me! — [Reader] deftly took Vanitas’ hand just before the next dance began.

Since Jeanne wasn't at the party, she could at least take advantage of it.

— Oh! I've been deprived of my partner, what do I do now? — the man exclaimed dramatically, earning laughter from several guests around him.

Soft piano music drifted through the garden again. The man pulled [Reader] gently toward him by the waist. At times like this, she could at least try to fool herself that she had a chance of winning. After all, he seemed to be smiling sincerely. His steps were light but confident. The soft jingle of his earring measured out the time. Strands of hair tied with a ribbon swirled with them, blocking her view every now and then.

— You're quite the dancer. You must have charmed all my guests and I was supposed to be the star of the evening! — [Reader] said with mock sadness.

— What can I do that everyone notices my genius and extraordinary beauty? — Vanitas rolled his eyes theatrically.

He suddenly dipped her. For a moment she felt like she was going to fall but a strong hand caught her by the waist and lifted her back up. He smiled wickedly.

— That was very mean, monsieur Vanitas.

— All's fair in dance and war, right, modemoiselle [Reader]?

— I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be love and war...

— Perhaps. — Vanitas smiled mysteriously.

Did that sentence have a deeper meaning? Or was she just trying to find a second meaning in it? It was so hard to read anything from it.

He came as close as he had ever been before. Only to pull away to a safe distance. He was definitely a storm. Unpredictable.

— [Reader]! — Archiviste awkwardly pushed his way through the dancing couples.

The fleeting moment was like a soap bubble. It burst irrevocably under a gentle pressure.

— Noé, didn’t anyone teach you any manners? — Vanitas asked sarcastically. — [Reader] is busy right now.

— We need to talk — the vampire stated firmly.

He looked concerned. As if something was weighing on his heart. The woman looked at him, still spinning, although slower than before. If this was about matters of the heart, she didn't have the strength to listen to it. What else could it be about? She had finally had a good time this evening. She wanted to return to carefree oblivion.

— Wait for your turn — replied Vanitas, dancing away with his partner.

Manon put the tray of glasses aside as soon as she saw the young lady start toward a separate, secluded part of the garden. What could this Archiviste possibly want with her?

The maid peered cautiously from behind the rosebushes. The young lady stood in semi-shadow, her shocked face a sign of trouble. That fact alone filled Manon with anger.

—...because we wanted to get information about the next bearer of the curse. That was how it was at first but now I know you better and...

She wanted to say: Didn't I tell you, my lady? She had expected that it might come to this. However, her lady was very happy about this acquaintance and in this house there was not always room for free decisions. So she allowed her to make this mistake. Maybe this naive faith had infected her as well. The limit of selfish acquaintances had to end sometime. Or at least that's what she thought. Now she regretted not reacting earlier.

— I was a fool to think that someone who didn't care about my status had finally appeared. — [Reader] wiped away a tear forming in the corner of her eye. — It always ends this way. — She looked up, sniffling. — But why when Vanitas had just...

The unfinished sentence hung in the thick air. Probably because the man in question had entered sight. He looked furious.

— You always have to ruin everything, don’t you, Noé!? — he asked, words dripping with venom.

— I didn't ruin anything. I just told the truth — the vampire stated firmly as the human grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

With his strength he could have easily thrown him off but he didn't. He just held the tugging hands in place.

— You can't take advantage of others like that. — Anger flashed in Archiviste's eyes. — Not when she…

It was the image of jealousy. With good motives, Manon said. It was the jealousy of someone who wanted the best for the person they loved. But it didn't change the situation in any way. He had also cheated on the young lady.

— We have reason to believe that the bearer of the curse is somewhere on the party grounds…— Vanitas began.

— I don’t care — [Reader] said quietly.

— We’re trying to…— Noé joined in.

— I don't care! — [Reader] shouted. — Get out of here, both of you!

Manon had had enough of this. The sight of her little lady falling to her knees in helplessness was enough. She sobbed bitterly. The heavy dress spilled out in a wave among the dark grass. She looked like a bright flower, ready to bloom in a garden full of roses. She wanted to shield her from this evil.

The fact that the maid was partly the reason for the two intruders' visit tore at her insides. They had come with her in mind. Had she ever felt this angry before? Had she ever been this hungry? She had heard about the famous parade before. But it was one thing to hear it and another to experience it.

Music surrounded her. So beautiful that she couldn't describe it in words. The notes flowed from every direction, urging her to do one thing.

Kill them all!

Colourful figures were trailing one after another in a long procession. The twisted faces did not disgust her at all. They seemed to be urging her on, although they said nothing. A circus performer with balls, a shadow on stilts, a ballerina with a bunch of colorful balloons. Everyone held hands and danced.

She watched them, fascinated. Glass grew from under her fingers. Crystal covered her toes. Were they shoes? They seemed to dig into her feet. Was it a cage? A massive structure surrounded her. It resembled a huge, ornate cloche. It suited her, she decided. Pretty flowers should stand under cloches. It was the only way to protect them from pests.

She was both in the garden and at the merry parade. She wanted to go but something kept stopping her from grabbing the hand of anyone in the procession. She was furious. She could dance! All she had to do was touch the fingers… They ran away again. She shook her head. Was that blood? She was so hungry… Like she hadn’t eaten in ages. Screams appeared for a moment between the beautiful notes. The surroundings seemed to ripple and mix. She was here and there at the same time. Had some glass just broken? She wanted so badly to grab the hand and join the fun…

— Manon, you have to snap out of this — the familiar voice seemed to come from far away. Someone was shaking her but she couldn’t even tell who.

The falsetto appeared suddenly. The instruments seemed to be scattered under the pressure of something that could not be described. A strange light broke through the parade. As if someone had torn a curtain and let the morning into the room.

— I give you back your true name. You are a Cendrillon, encased in crystal! — The voice seemed to echo. As if it were bouncing off a thousand mirrors and shattering each one.

She was standing in the middle of an empty room. She was holding a glass slipper in her hand. The hazy hand tried to grab hers with the last of its strength. With all its strength, it struck the last of the mirrors with its shoe. The clatter echoed into nothingness and the indistinct figure disappeared.

—…she’ll be fine — came the words to Manon as she closed her tired eyes.

The last thing she saw was a thick, leather-bound grimoire.

— No going back to work! — [Reader] stated categorically.

— You're exaggerating, miss! I've been sitting here too long — the maid said sulking.

Lying in bed all week was exhausting. Especially when, from one day to the next, most of the responsibilities that had kept her busy were taken away.

No shopping. No help with dressing or make-up. No arranging meetings, organising afternoon teas or even tea. Absolutely nothing. All in the name of health.

— Vanitas said that everything was fine with me…

— You’re listening to him now?! — the woman said indignantly.

Manon laughed to herself. Maybe that quack was good for something after all. Finally.

— You should enjoy this time off. The garden is in such a sorry state that it will take some time to fix it up. — [Reader] glanced out the window reflexively. — You'll get tired in time.

The maid's impressions of that unlucky night were only vague. Noé, Vanitas and [Reader] had much more to say. Fortunately, the guests never realized what had happened. A sectioned-off part of the garden separated them from the macabre spectacle.

Her malnomen was ugly. What she believed. Fragments of something that looked like glass or maybe crystal, were still strewn among some of the rose bushes. Her unbridled bloodlust had nearly taken the lives of three people. And if it weren't for them, she certainly wouldn't have stopped there.

— Miss, I'm really going crazy from sitting here...

— Fine. I promise I'll assign you something tomorrow — the woman gave in, starting to read the novella she had under her arm.

They sat in silence for a moment.

— I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier…— Manon began.

— Oh no! If you start apologizing for the same thing again, I'll actually fire you! — [Reader] threatened.

Indeed, it wasn't the first time. Nor was she the only person to whom the apology was addressed. Although the maid had difficulty in uttering the apology addressed to Vanitas. Instead of gloating, however, he patted her childishly on the head and announced that he was, after all, a vampire doctor.

— Have you considered what I said? — Manon asked, looking at the romantic novella in [Reader]’s hands.

— I don't know... Maybe we'll have the tea party next week, when you're fully back on your feet. I was really mad at them that night... but then again, seeing the curse up close, I can understand why they'd want to make sure they got to the bearers in time. Even if it was at my expense that time.

The reconciliation tea was a good idea. Or so the former curse bearer wanted to believe. Maybe it would help rebuild the relationships that had been based on misunderstandings. And maybe it would finally give [Reader] two honest friends to be around.

— Sooo... which one do you like better now, my lady? — the maid asked teasingly.

— Manon! I change my mind! I think you're completely healed after all. Time to get back to your duties.

— Thank you very much, miss. — The woman smiled, rushing to her work clothes.

— You're impossible...— [Reader] stated as she left the room. — As for your question...— She paused dramatically as her employee waited for an answer — it's a secret.— She put a finger to her lips, which was met with a loud groan of disappointment.

#vanitas x reader #noe archiviste x reader #vanitas no carte x reader #the case study of vanitas #oneshot x reader #dominique de sade #jeanne

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j-ensenackles · 1 year ago

Text

r u mine?

pairing: jimmy uso x fem!reader

summary: in a friends-with-benefits situation with jimmy uso, you don't realize you're in love with each other without a little help from sami and jey.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: some cursing, mentions of sexual themes

a/n: i'm back! sorry i haven't posted in a while -- life is crazy. thanks to @sorryimshannoon for the request! also been listening to tons of arctic monkeys so you can thank that obsession for the title. :)

You were screwed. Completely, totally screwed.

It wasn’t like you meant to fall in love with Jimmy Uso. It just…happened. But here you were, wanting him. You did have him, in a way. But not in the way you’d like.

You and Jimmy had been hooking up for the past few months since shortly after you joined the Bloodline. You weren’t even really sure how it happened, but suddenly you were in a whirlwind and Jimmy Uso was the eye of the storm.

Over the past couple months of late-night hotel room meetups and backstage makeout sessions, you found yourself falling in love with Jimmy. His smile, his tattoos, his devotion to his family, his kind heart.

And now you were here. Screwed.

Screwed because Jimmy had no idea you were in love with him, and he sure as hell wasn’t in love with you. At least that’s what you thought.

For some time Sami had been telling you Jimmy reciprocated your feelings, but you wouldn’t hear it.

“You’re blind, Y/N,” Sami argued one day.

“And you’re delusional,” you quipped back.

“The way he looks at you alone should prove that he’s in love with you.”

“Sami, he doesn’t look at me like anything. He looks at me the same way he looks at everyone.”

Sami didn’t even reply, he just crossed his arms and huffed in frustration.

Even if being friends with benefits with Jimmy was slowly tearing your heart apart, it was better to have him in some way than not at all. Right?

---

“Listen, I have a plan,” Sami entered the room, flopping down on the couch next to Jey.

“Okay…” Jey responded, looking at his friend skeptically.

“I’m tired of Y/N and Jimmy pining after each other and doing nothing about it. I say we help them confess their feelings. Whaddya say, dawg?” Sami’s excitement lit up his face.

A smile slowly spread across Jey’s face.

“That might’ve been the smartest thing you’ve ever said, Uce.”

---

You sat on the couch in the dressing room, leg bouncing impatiently. Your watch read 8:01.

A knock sounded at the door and you smiled, getting up and trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach. You opened the door to Jimmy leaning against the doorframe, beaming his dazzling smile.

“You’re late,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes but his smile never faltered as he said, “Shut up.”

He pushed off the door frame, kicking the door shut behind him. He cupped your face in his hands, kissing you with the same fervor he did every time. And just like every time, heat ignited in you at his simplest touch.

He knew it, too. He knew what he did to you. You could feel his smirk against your lips as you desperately grabbed at his shirt, his chest, his hair.

You didn’t have much time, as you both had to report to Roman before your segment at the end of the night. You wanted to make the most of the time you had.

And you did.

---

You finished buttoning your jeans and watched Jimmy tug his shirt back on. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, watching as purple marks blossomed across your neck from Jimmy’s lips.

“Great. Now I gotta get these covered up,” you grumbled.

Jimmy came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“Don’t. I want everyone to know that you’re mine,” There was a flicker of heat in his gaze.

Crimson crept onto your cheeks. You played it off with an eye roll and a teasing smile, untangling yourself from his arms and heading towards the door.

“C’mon, we don’t wanna keep Roman waiting.”

You tried the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. You tried again, jiggling the handle. Nothing.

“It’s not opening,” your brows furrowed as you looked back at Jimmy.

“Stop playin’,” he playfully complained.

“I’m not!”

When he saw the concern on your face, however, he made his way to the door. Trying the handle himself, he found the same result as you: it wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck?”

He slammed his shoulder into the door, one, two, three times to no avail.

“Shit, big Uce is gonna be pissed,” Jimmy ran his hands through his hair.

“Let’s just call Sami or Jey, they’ll come get us,” you suggested.

“I don’t have my phone. I left it back in Roman’s dressing room. Use yours.”

You nodded in agreement, patting your back pocket. Finding it empty, you thrust your hand in your front pockets. Nothing.

“Um…”

You hurried from the door, looking under the couch’s pillows, behind potted plants, anywhere you could think. But there was no sign of your phone.

“I must’ve left it in hair and makeup,” you turned towards Jimmy, eyes wide.

“Shit,” Jimmy breathed.

“Shit,” you agreed.

You spun around and hurried towards the door, banging on the door and shouting, “Hey! We’re stuck in here! Somebody get us outta here!”

There was silence on the other side of the door.

“What are we gonna do?” you asked, panic beginning to set in.

Jimmy made his way to you, concern laced in his gaze. He gently placed his hands on your arms, dipping his head to get you to look at him.

“Look at me, baby. It’s alright. Someone will find us soon. I’ll tell you what, if nobody comes to get us in the next 15 minutes, I’ll bust the door down myself, okay?”

You gave a weak smile, nodding.

“C’mon, let’s sit and wait,” he guided you to the couch.

You sat, hugging your knees. Jimmy followed suit, stretching his long limbs across the couch.

“Do you think Roman’s gonna be pissed?” you asked.

Jimmy shrugged, “At first, yeah. But he always comes around.”

Silence fell again. You felt unsure, awkward. You had never really been alone with Jimmy. At least, when you were alone together, you weren’t really doing much talking. But now you were here, with him, for God knew how long.

You studied him for a moment as his eyes wandered around the room, his fingers tapping the leather arm of the couch. You were so stupidly in love with him. Just looking at him made your heart skip a beat. Not that you would ever admit it, but you sort of wished you two would never get out of this room.

But the silence was pressing in on you, and you felt like you needed to fill it and save you two from any awkwardness. So, you said the first thing that came to mind.

“Did you really mean it? That I’m yours?”

As the words filled the space between you, you immediately regretted asking. So much for preventing awkwardness. Your eyes widened, cheeks reddening for the second time that night.

“I am so sorry. I don’t know why I asked that. You don’t have to answer. You probably shouldn’t.”

You mentally chastised yourself: Stop talking! You sound like an idiot!

“Why shouldn’t I answer?”

His voice was so calm, so still, it surprised you. There was something in his voice you couldn’t quite place.

“I-I dunno,” you shrugged.

Suffocating silence filled the room again.

“Yeah.”

“What?” your eyes snapped to his face and you attempted to decipher his unreadable expression.

“Yeah, I want you to be mine,” Jimmy’s gaze didn’t falter.

His voice was quiet as he spoke the words, and even though he didn’t break eye contact and his body language read comfortable and confident, you could tell he was nervous. Jimmy Uso, nervous. You never thought you’d see the day.

Before you got a chance to reply, Jimmy kept speaking, probably in an attempt to rip the bandaid off.

“I, uh…I really care about you, Y/N. I have for a while,” he took a deep breath, “And I love you.”

“You do?”

He nodded, “Look, if you don’t feel the same way, or never wanna, like, hookup again I get it and–”

“Jimmy.”

“–I’ll leave you alone if you want. I just thought you should know because it’s all I’ve been thinking abo–”

“Jimmy.”

He stopped.

“I love you, too.”

The smile that erupted on his face could bring down mountains.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

He grinned goofily, “Damn. I should’ve said something a long time ago.”

“I know. God, Sami’s gonna have a field day with this,” you groaned, throwing your head back in mock exasperation.

“So is Jey,” Jimmy laughed.

As silence fell again, the energy in the room shifted. Suddenly gravity seemed to pull you towards each other, your faces inches away. His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips as he placed a strong hand on your cheek.

Even though you and Jimmy had been together countless times, there was something so intimate, so soft about this moment. His lips met yours softly, slowly, unlike anything you had known him to be before. There was no heat, no all-consuming desire in this kiss. There was something more, a feeling that bubbled up inside you until you felt you could burst. You figured that was love.

The kiss lasted a long moment, and when you both pulled away, breathless, you thought you could die of happiness.

“That was–”

The jiggling of the door knob cut you off. You and Jimmy’s heads whipped to the door as Paul Heyman entered.

“Where have you two been? We’ve been looking for you for 45 minutes! Your Tribal Chief is not happy. I suggest you come along.”

The stern look he gave you and Jimmy had you figuring that he knew exactly why you two were late.

You both got up silently, heads bowed like chastised children as you followed Paul down the hallway. You made eye contact with Jimmy and attempted to stifle your giggles, trying not to enrage Paul even more.

You felt Jimmy’s fingers twitch towards yours and your hands interlocked, his large palm engulfing yours. Your heart fluttered in your chest like a bird in a cage.

Upon entering Roman’s dressing room, you inwardly flinched as the Tribal Chief addressed you and his cousin.

“Where have you been?” Roman demanded.

“Uce, the door was stuck and we didn’t have our phones–”

Roman held up a hand, “I don’t want to hear it. Just don’t let it happen again.”

You and Jimmy nodded, finding a seat on the couch. Your hands never separated.

Too involved in each other, you both missed the way Sami and Jey clocked your body language, smirking to each other.

Mission accomplished.

#jimmy uso x reader #jimmy uso x fem!reader #jimmy uso fanfiction #jimmy uso imagine #jimmy uso oneshot #wwe x reader #wwe x fem!reader #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe oneshot

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ireadwithmyears · 2 months ago

Note

Hello~

May I get "It's not your fault." Or "Just hold on to me. I have you." For Fox please?

(Or Dogma, or Jesse)

❤️ - @vodika-vibes

two truths and a kiss

Pairing: Dogma/gn Reader

Requested by: @vodika-vibes

Prompt: “Just hold onto me, I have you

Tags/warnings: Jedi reader, whump, descriptions of blood and injury, mentions of death, needles, hurt/comfort

Summary: When a rash decision leads to you getting injured during a search and rescue mission with your favourite trooper/you’re very secret crush, Dogma, a concoction of slightly too much painkillers, your subsequent loss of having a filter, and a childhood game conspires to bring certain feelings to light. Only problem is, you’re very much convinced that he doesn’t, and couldn’t, feel the same way.

authors note: So originally, I had a whole outline drafted for this, a completely different idea with commander Fox. However, as things tend to do, the story started spiralling and was getting too big to be contained. I had to take a step back and shift my focus towards something much more manageable. I hope you like and enjoy this just as much. I had a lot of fun writing it.

“I’m telling you, there’s someone in there.”

You turn, an already stubborn slant to your shoulders as you address the helmeted trooper at your side. He’s cautious, an equally stubborn rule follower at his heart as you are, and you, well...

You’re just a newly minted Jedi knight who is still learning the ropes of command, which is why, instead of being assigned your own battalion upon your knighting ceremony, you had been sent off with the 501st to gain some much-needed field experience.

But regardless of how fresh out of the creche and clumsy you feel, you are still a Jedi, and the call of a presence—a human life resonating within the Force—still rings as clearly as if it were a bell, the insistent nudge that you must go to them threatening to pull you forward if you don’t reign yourself in.

This is exactly why you were sent to scout this village with Dogma, command ordering small search-and-rescue teams to recover civilians after a recent bombing by the Separatist forces had caught everyone by surprise. Your ability to easily identify signs of life and help guide troopers who had been assigned to clear out debris and medics to their locations was valued, and without a doubt often made these trips operate more efficiently.

“And I’m telling you that these houses were already badly reinforced before the Seps up.”

Dogma sounds exasperated even through the modulator of his helmet, and despite being unable to see his face, you can tell he’s making an effort not to be, always wanting to be respectful of the chain of command but equally loyal and steadfast to his own instincts. You like that about him, always have. His uncompromising devotion to what he believes is right and true has attracted you to him ever since the moment you met, even though he, to your disappointed but grudging acceptance, has never indicated that those feelings are reciprocated.

You won’t push it. In fact, you would consider it to be taking advantage of your position if you did, since technically you are still considered a general. Dogma is so loyal to rules and order, who knows what someone could get him to agree to if they were to possess ill intent towards him.

The very thought of abusing his loyalty like that makes you feel somewhat sick. So you keep your mouth shut, and that’s that.

“Are you telling me that we should just leave someone who might be injured trapped inside there?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest.

“That isn’t what I said,” he sighs, and there’s a soft hiss as the seal of his helmet releases and he removes it from his head. “I’m just saying maybe we should find a better way to get to them.”

“We can’t wait for backup,” you protest, ashamed by the tightness that suddenly constricts your throat. You’re not a Padawan anymore. You should be able to handle yourself and get a more solid grip on your emotions. But it’s hard.

It’s hard when you close your eyes, taking a breath to recenter yourself and instead are unable to pull your focus away from the life form. One of your first classes as an initiate had been learning what you can discern simply from observing different presences in the Force. Master Yoda would say something like “Words you may have to describe this being within the Force. Tell them to me, you should.”

If you were still one of the younglings sitting cross-legged in that circle with his eyes intently focused on you right now, the first words that come to your mind would be helpless, fearful, and almost...small.

“Dogma, please?” Your voice is quiet and pleading, and though you’ve never seen this happen before, at least when it comes to Dogma, there’s a flicker of hesitation followed by an almost imperceptible softening of hard edges that takes you by surprise and instantly catches your notice.

You notice everything about him though, and that’s only made you—impossibly and with a naivety that is so unfitting of a Jedi—fall for him a little bit harder.

You had noticed the first time you had set eyes on him the way he was so reassuring with a shiny trooper, his eyes wide and looking distraught after an admiral had sharply reprimanded him for a minor infraction.

“They’re, they’re gonna decommission me, vod,” he had stammered. “They’re gonna pack me up and send me back to Kamino and they’ll...”

“Easy, trooper, look at me.” Dogma had taken the kid by his shoulders, waiting for his eyes to meet his. “They won’t decommission you. I promise. General Ti put an end to that as soon as she arrived on Kamino, remember? You’re not going anywhere.”

The trooper had nodded, unable to stop the shudder that had run through him at the lingering mix of fear and overwhelming relief that had spiked through him.

“Now, it was the artillery data logs that were cataloged incorrectly, yeah?” Dogma had asked. “I want you to show me what you did, and then I’ll help you figure out where you went wrong so this doesn’t happen again.”

The innate compassion that he didn’t even seem to be aware of possessing paired with his logic and determination to problem solve and combat fear with facts had drawn you to him even before he knew you had existed, and to your frustration, it had never stopped luring you in even when you knew you should cut the line and pull away, which would have been the smart, pragmatic choice he would have made if he were in your position, which he’s not, and would be much safer for the both of you.

You’re quick to squash any impulse to think that maybe, just maybe, his inexplicable softening in this moment is because he has a soft spot for you. Stupid, you scold yourself. Stay on task and just be glad that you’re getting through to him at all.

“Their presence within the Force feels like that of a child,” you continue, your words picking up in speed as your desperation urging you to move forward grows. “Maybe even that of an infant. I can’t be sure. But we, we need to—”

“Alright, General. I understand your concern,” Dogma raises a hand, silencing your worried rambling.

He lets out a breath, tilting his head as his eyes intently scrutinize the small, rundown two-story house that is miraculously, at least for the most part, still standing in front of you.

“Just…” There’s a slow exhale of breath followed by the sound of him placing his helmet back on his head.

“We need to be very careful in there. Let’s not give the medics more casualties to worry about.”

As soon as he finally agrees to search the house, you’ve stopped listening, immediately walking ahead to find a way inside just in case he takes it back.

You can hear his irritated huff in the distance, but sure enough, the sound of his heavy boots against crushed pavement follows you an instant later.

Despite only half listening to Dogma’s concerned directive that you need to be careful, you do try, at least at first, to listen to it. This starts easy. The discovery of two adult bodies trapped beneath the crumbling interior wall sobers you considerably, and it’s easy to pause and slow your steps after that.

This lasts for about five minutes into your search.

Then the presence that sits at the edge of your consciousness like a beacon slowly begins to become restless, unsettled, and afraid, and you grow the distinct feeling that whoever it is—child, toddler, or Force forbid, a baby—is just beginning to wake up and is discovering that it’s all on its own.

The spike of fear that hits you square in the chest feels like it’s your own for a brief moment, and that’s all it takes to send you running up the cracked and splintering flight of stairs that you find in the back hallway. Closing your eyes, you allow the Force to guide you.

You’re up the stairs before Dogma can even call your name, and by the time he has, you’re in the room. You hear the distant, put-upon sigh he lets out before his reluctant footsteps begin to follow you, but you don’t focus on it. You’re too fixated on the nursery and on the hand-painted teddy bears on the wall. Did his mother, with so much love and patience, delicately create each one? Did his father, with so much optimism and hope for his child’s future, set up the crib in which he now sleeps?

Did the bombing, quick and fast and merciless, strike them down before they could even make it halfway to the staircase that separated them from their sleeping child?

It is nothing short of a miracle that the downstairs wall that had caved in on both of them hadn’t started a chain reaction throughout the rest of the house. You are grateful that the second floor, by some Force-given stroke of luck, didn’t crumble down with it. And yet, all you can feel is grief stabbing like a piece of broken glass twisting in your heart, and upon taking a breath to steady yourself, you attempt to discern if it’s your own, or if it’s the child’s. The little boy in his crib is just beginning to stir and look up at you with big, watery eyes and an already trembling lip that instinctively causes you to take a step forward and reach out towards him.

Crack!

The sound rings unsettlingly loud, screaming of “something is wrong” just beneath your foot. It registers within your body, danger flaring up within the Force like a brush of wild fire against your skin an instant too late.

Because by the time you’re comprehending it, by the time your muscles tense as they prepare to react to the oncoming threat, your foot has already gone through the cracked and breaking boards of the old wooden floor beneath it, punching through the boards in what feels like a final, vicious jolt as it pulls you downward.

A sharp cry escapes your lips, arms and upper body flailing in a desperate, perilous attempt to pull your leg free, which only results in a further dissent through the floor, your leg precariously dangling in the air.

“Dogma!” you manage to shout, your word being half cut off by a gasp that seems to punch all the air from your lungs as you feel the snap of something tugging, something breaking within your leg as gravity fights to pull it down further than it can go through the hole.

Your ears are ringing, and distantly you think you can hear the child’s helpless, distraught wailing through the pounding of your heart, but the blurry fingers that tantalizingly brush over the corners of your eyes make it hard to differentiate past anything other than the pain.

“C-can you hold the floor?”

Dogma’s voice, sure and steady despite its waiver, cuts through your pain and fear as it comes from just behind you. You swallow, biting back a whimper, your eyes still squeezed shut as you nod your head, reaching out a hand and letting the Force flow through you, reinforcing the floor that surrounds you so that he can make his way towards you without fear that he’ll fall through as well. It takes all your concentration to keep holding it up, and even then the stars are still fluttering beneath your tightly closed eyelids.

Hands guide your flailing ones to strong shoulders, your fingers curling and instantly trying to find purchase within the ridges of his cool, plastoid armor.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Deep breath.”

That’s a big ask. Your heart is still racing too quickly, and you don’t think you can. But you must, with as much effort as you can muster, give a pretty good attempt.

“Good,” Dogma’s tone is warm, encouraging despite the tension that is pulled tight beneath. “Again, and when you do, I’m going to pull you up, alright?”

You nod, fear spiking through you but adrenaline doing its best to silence its protests.

You breathe.

He tugs.

You must make some ungodly noise, because when the blinding, all-consuming pain loosens its iron grip, your throat feels slightly raw. Dogma’s voice is muffled, speaking to you in soft, soothing tones, and you realize with a start that you’re in his arms, holding tight to his shoulders as he carries you from the room to more stable ground.

“Wait, the...the baby. We can’t—”

“We’re going to wait for backup to get here so he can be safely retrieved,” he cuts you off smoothly, undoubtedly already working two steps ahead of your pain-addled brain. “He’s in the safest place he can be right now. We need to get you a med evac.”

It’s then that you make the mistake of pulling back slightly, glancing down at your leg uselessly dangling as he holds you up.

It’s a mess.

You can still feel the blood that trickles down your leg, see the cuts, broken wood, and splinters that surround your upper thigh digging into your skin, and you swear you can clearly see where it’s broken.

“Dogma!” Your voice comes out in a choked cry—a panicked and childlike whimper as adrenaline finally abates and fresh, overwhelming fear takes hold in its place.

“Shh, I know, I know. Easy, adika, easy.”

You’d normally protest the endearment. Coming from the troopers, it’s usually meant to tease. But falling from his lips, so softly and so easily, instead it makes you feel soothed, and you're unresisting as he cradles the back of your head, tugging it away from the ugly wound and pressing it against his shoulder, holding you there.

“Just hold onto me. I have you.”

You sniffle, swallowing a sob as he maneuvers you, slow and careful as he guides you onto the ground, his hands remaining on your shoulders as he props you against a wall.

“See?” he murmurs, his voice reassuring as he takes your hand in his, the press of his fingers warm, even through his gloves. “I have you. You’re safe. Everything‘s going to be okay, I promise.”

You nod, raising a trembling hand to wipe tears away from your cheeks and he smiles, releasing his grip.

You immediately long for the comfort of his warmth to return. But you don’t ask.

“I’m going to call the medic in charge of evac. See what can be done while we wait for them to get here,” he says, pulling out his comm. “Sit tight, hm?” he says, his voice serious and completely deadpan, his only giveaway being the slight twinkle in his eyes as he turns away.

“Dogma, that is not funny,” you burst out, your voice incredulous as you glare at him.

“Really?” he asks, raising a skeptic eyebrow at you as he leans forward, tapping against the persistent twitch in your cheek as it fights to pull your lips upward. “Then why are you smiling, mesh’la?”

You let out a sigh, your head thumping back against the wall and briefly wishing that your leg wasn’t broken right now, because if it was working, you’d surely take the opportunity to kick him for that.

He gives you a knowing smirk, turns away, and before you can respond, raises his comm to his lips.

“Alright,” Dogma says, already swinging off his pack. “If it were just a break, I would have to splint it. But the medics want me to leave it alone because of all the splinters. So lucky for you, we can just skip to administering painkillers.”

“Sounds great,” you say sardonically, summoning a small thumbs-up. All your energy is focused on breathing through the sharp, prominent pains that stab through your leg, now being the only thing to center your attention on.

“I’ve only got a hypo dose equipped for a standard clone trooper, so, uh...” he shakes his head, staring down at the injector in his hand with preemptive indecision.

“Too much is better than not enough,” you say with a dismissive shrug. “What’s the harm at this point?”

He fixes you with a look that you’ve come to recognize promises a lecture.

“The harm is that there’s always a possibility you could overdose and die if I give you too much,” he says, sounding somewhat horrified at your easy agreement.

“I won’t,” you say, giving him as much of a reassuring smile as you can muster. “If worse comes to worst, I’ll be high as a kite for a couple hours, that’s all.”

“But we don’t—”

“Dogma.”

The soft utterance of his name gently cuts him off, and you reach out a hand, lightly touching his, his fingernails stilling their nervous drumming against the floor as he looks up at you.

“I trust you,” you say, your voice completely earnest. He looks down, and you’re slightly surprised to see the shadow of pink that’s crept into his cheeks at the unquestioning sincerity of your words.

“Now please give me the hypo before I’m tempted to find more strenuous means to knock myself out so that I don’t have to feel this anymore.”

He lets out a soft huff, but there’s an upward tilt to his lips that he can’t quite hide as he leans forward, acquiescing with a silent nod before he presses the hypo to your neck.

“Deep breath,” he warns. His voice is a low murmur, so close to your ear that you have to fight the urge to shiver. There’s a pinch, your lips pressing into a tight line as you fight the urge to make a sound, and then he’s pulling away, quickly discarding the used material.

“Perfect,” he mutters, hands swiftly repacking the small medkit. “You let me know if you start to feel dizzy or nauseous, okay?”

You hum a soft agreement, your eyes closed as you take a slow, deep breath. The medication is fast-acting, and you can already feel the heaviness, the gentle and warm numbness that creeps into your bones as you lean your head back against the wall.

“Hang tight,” he says, and there’s a warm pressure against your uninjured knee as he briefly rests his hand there, fleeting and gone too soon. “We just have to wait for evac. They’ll be here soon.”

“So much waiting,” you sigh, your head lulling against your shoulder. Your mind has already wandered, lingering on that one word and bringing you back to memories of being an initiate lined up outside of large training rooms anxiously waiting for your turn to be assessed by the Council.

“We would always play games as younglings while we were waiting for our turns for stuff,” you say, and your voice sounds far off, even to your own ears.

“What kind of games?” Dogma asks, and a part of you in the back of your mind thinks that he’s asking just to keep you talking, just to keep you here. You don’t really care, though. You’re happy to oblige.

“Like...talking games,” you shrug, blinking up at him slowly. The medication that was in the hypo made you feel like you’re thinking through some sort of fog. “Like ‘two truths and a lie.’”

“What’s that?” he asks, and now you can’t resist rolling your eyes, tilting your head in consternation.

“It’s pretty self-explanatory,” you shrug, and he gives you a slightly rueful grin in return.

“Humor me,” he says, moving to sit beside you and lean against the wall. “If we were playing, give me an example.”

“Okay,” you agree with a smile, because this game is fun, and you’ve forgotten how much fun it can be having not played it in years. “I’ll give you three facts. You guess which one the lie is.”

“Alright,” he says. “Hit me with them.”

He leans back on his heels, intrigued as to what you’re going to say.

“I once saw Master Windu doing an impression of Master Yoda for a group of younglings.”

He nods, a small smile creeping onto his face. He knows this one. He has heard you recounting the story to a nervous shiny who was worried about working with him and one of his squads.

“I’ve never been kissed before.”

Your next words take him by slight surprise, even though they really shouldn’t. You’re a Jedi, and Jedi don’t typically engage in that kind of thing, though privately, he thinks that that’s quite a shame, at least when it comes to you. Of course, this could also be the lie. But judging by the somewhat dejected look on your face, he has a hard time believing that it is.

“And now I’m—”

His head snaps up, hearing the tiniest waver and break in your voice, startled to find your eyes peering back at him, filled with tears.

“And now I’m going to d die here, and no one’s even ever wanted to kiss me,” you sniffle, the tears now freely falling onto your cheeks.

“Hey, no, that’s not true,” Dogma murmurs, catching one of your hands in his. “You’re not going to die here, I promise. Kix’ll have you feeling good as new in no time. Please don’t cry, mesh’la. Everything’s okay.”

Logically, he knows that it’s just an adverse reaction to the medication, the side effects tending to cause emotional instability, especially, he reminds himself, because the dose he had given you wasn’t properly tailored to your height and weight. But he still can’t help the way that his heart breaks a little at the sight of you, looking up at him with such a pitiful, lost expression.

“But, but I feel so strange, like I’m dying,” you say, tripping over your words a little. You don’t know why you keep talking. You can’t really think of why there would be a reason to continue and don’t even anticipate or think through your next words. “And, and I’ve liked you for so long, and I wanted you to kiss me, but it would be selfish for me to ask because,” you hiccup, reaching up to swipe at your eyes with a sleeve. “Because you don’t, you don’t like me like that, and I’d never, I’d never want to make you feel like you had to.”

Silence stretches so long that you dip your head and stare down at the ground, watching the path of an ant as it walks along the cracked floorboards.

Then, “I know what your lie is.”

You blink, confused. Your lie? What lie? You don’t remember a...oh yeah, the two of you were playing a game of “two truths and a lie,” and well, everything feels so fuzzy and warm, and for a minute your body felt so numb that you thought you were dying, and you forgot that you were supposed to think of a lie to tell him. Oopsies.

“Wha,” you mumble, brain foggy as it tries to follow and discern the thread of his words and the conversation.

“You said I could never like you like that,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “That’s a lie.”

You blink, completely taken aback. Downstairs, you can hear the sounds of boots against the floor, troopers and another voice that makes you think it might be Ahsoka conversing as they make their way through the house.

“It is?” You ask, slightly startled, even as your lips pull into an unbridled and triumphant smile and you fight the urge to giggle because he likes you. He actually likes you.

“It is,” he agrees, giving you a small smile as he takes your hand and gives it a brief squeeze before letting it go as the voices draw nearer and the boots clatter up the stairs. “And when this is all over and you’re not high on pain meds, I promise I’ll prove it to you.”

You smile, nodding up at him, feeling content. You turn your head sensing a presence to find Kix standing above you, a seemingly permanent look of concern etched on his face.

“Kix,” you say with a smile, giving him a wave. “Did you know that Dogma likes me?”

“It would be impossible not to, bud,” he says with an easy smile as he drops to his knees at your side, though you swear you catch him giving Dogma a strange look.

Oh, right. You must be injured, and if you had the energy you would look down and check. You know this because Kix reserves things like calling you “bud” for when you’re hurt. So, you reason that you must be, considering that and the small wince he gives you as he looks down.

“Have you been crying?” he asks, newly concerned as he gets a good look at your face, taking your chin in his hand. “That leg must hurt a lot, huh?”

You nod and shrug, though the fact that you’ve been crying is news to you. You’ve been crying? You can’t remember why.

“Before we move you onto the stretcher, I need to remove the splinters from your leg and examine the break,” he says in that calm and matter-of-fact way of his. “I know you’re on some pretty substantial pain meds right now, but it still might hurt a lot when I touch it,” he explains, giving you a sympathetic look. “How would you feel if I were to give you something that’ll let you take a little nap while I get you fixed up?”

“Sounds great,” you agree immediately, beaming up at him with enthusiasm. “I like naps. Naps are great.”

“Dogma,” Kix turns, speaking to your companion. “Ideally, I’d want her in a fully reclined position when I administer the anesthetic. “If you take your thigh plates off, she can put her head in your lap, and it’ll be a bit more comfortable than it would be if she were on the floor.”

You don’t hear a verbal response, but you look over to see Dogma, and is it your imagination or Does he look, eager? As he nods his head.

A second later, there’s the sound of armor releasing, clattering as it’s neatly stacked to one side. Kix carefully maneuvers you, helping you shift so that you’re lying down. You can feel Dogma’s warmth, so close to your cheek through the material of his blacks as you lie your head on his legs.

One of his hands moves, gently touching your hair before he hesitates, looking as if he might pull away. You tilt your head, making a small noise of protest as you nuzzle into his hand and he gives you a small smile, hand returning to gently stroke your hair.

“This okay?” he asks softly, and you nod your head, a contented smile on your lips.

“Perfect,” you agree softly, your eyes drifting shut, coaxed by the gentle and soothing touch, and really, it is.

So perfect, in fact, that you barely register the slight pinch in your shoulder as Kix, taking advantage of the distraction, smoothly administers the anesthetic.

“Hey, mesh’la. Open your eyes for me?”

“No.” Your response comes out in a tired mumble, feeling so warm and comfortable despite the persistent pinching of something in your arm that you don’t feel inclined to listen until…wait. That was Dogma. He’s calling you “mesh’la.” And the pinching of something in your arm? What is that pinching?

Your eyes fly open, snapping your head up from where it’s resting on a pillow to find the source of the discomfort, quickly becoming dizzy at the sudden movement but not before your eyes catch on the tape that’s securing the IV line at your inner elbow. Your leg has been put in a cast, and judging by the generous coating of something sticky and cool beneath it, you have to assume that it’s bacta soaked.

Everything hits you at once—the injury, the hypo, that stupid game of “two truths and a lie,” the utterly embarrassing way you had confessed your feelings to Dogma, and…oh, Force.

“Hey.”

Dogma’s hands are on your shoulders, easing you back down, a concerned expression on his face as he contemplates you.

“Take it easy,” he continues. His hands are light, but they remain where they are, the touch warm and grounding.

“The, the baby?” you ask, the sight of his face reminding you of how you had even gotten into this mess to begin with.

“He’s fine,” he reassures you, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Commander Tano was able to pull him from the room without incident.”

You smile, relieved, but it’s fleeting, replaced with fresh shame and guilt as you avert your eyes from his, worriedly biting your lip.

“Dogma, I am so, so sorry about all that,” you say, waving your hand as if that would explain what all that means. “I didn't, I wasn't thinking straight and I just, I wanted to say that I don’t...”

You stop, words trailing off into nothing because he hasn’t pulled away. In fact, he’s lightly stroking your cheek before cupping your chin, eyes bright as he leans forward and cradles your face, his thumb gentle as it smooths over the hollow of your cheek.

“W-what are you doing?” you ask, your voice coming out breathless.

“Keeping my promise,” he says simply.

He leans down, slow, delicate, and wanting as he brushes his lips against yours. He lingers there, long enough for you to notice that his lips are slightly chapped from countless instances of anxiously being worried between his teeth beneath the shelter of his helmet. But they’re warm, tender, and despite your donning confusion, at this moment, they are just for you.

When he pulls back, your eyes are fluttering, and he smiles down at you as you try to comprehend.

“You, I, what?” You stutter, and apparently he has rendered you unable to form a complete sentence.

“Shh,” he soothes, his voice soft as his thumb brushes along the outline of your lips. “That’s the truth, mesh’la. It’s my truth.”

“You, you like me?” You ask timidly, for some reason feeling the need to verify.

“I thought we pretty obviously established that,” he says, and there’s no hiding the smirk that’s on his lips. “But just in case you need clarification, yes, I do. I like you very much, and I hope that your whole speech wasn’t just the painkillers talking, because you’ve made me hope that you might perhaps feel the same way.”

“I do,” you say quickly, your cheeks feeling like they’re on fire at the reminder. “But, but I couldn’t ask. I know how important following the rules is to you, and I couldn’t.”

“And if you want me,” he says, ending your rambles with another gentle brush of his thumb against your lips. “If you’ll have me, I would bend every single one of them.”

Oh.

Well, you really don’t know what you could adequately say in response to that declaration. So instead, you settle on a single, quiet request, looking up at him with soft, pleading eyes.

“Stay?” you ask, your voice just above a soft whisper.

“Of course,” he says, features softening at your tone. “Always.”

He takes your hand, gently lifting it to press his lips to the back of your knuckles, closing his eyes as he holds it to him for a moment.

“Besides,” he says, a roguish grin appearing on his face as he sets your hand back down on the blanket, keeping your fingers lightly twined with his. “Someone has to make sure you follow the bedrest requirements and don’t sneak out of the medbay before they’re up.”

“What,” you say in a snort, unable to stop it as you look up at him. “You don’t trust the medics to be able to keep me here?” you ask, sounding skeptical.

“Oh, considering that they have to deal with Skywalker and Tano on a daily basis, I fully trust their abilities,” he says, his voice light and amused. “I just happen to think I can be a little bit more persuasive.”

He raises your hand, turning it so he can press his lips to the inside of your wrist, feeling your pulse jump and skip beneath them, causing him to smile, his eyes bright as he looks up at you.

Well, when he puts it like that, it’s easy for you to see his point.

“C-come here and kiss me again,” you murmur, and there’s no hiding the breathlessness in your voice as you look up at him.

He obliges, shifting to take your face between warm, calloused hands, his fingers brushing against your jaw, softly cradling your cheeks as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a warm, tender caress as he lets out a soft, contented noise that hums against your skin. You sigh, letting your eyes close, now fully able to bask in the feeling of him pressed against you. The way his broad shoulders completely dwarf you from view. The way his tongue just barely brushes against your parted lips, causing you to shiver in response. His warm chuckle, and the smile that lights up his eyes as he pulls away.

And well...it becomes pretty easy to see his point, because you think if he keeps kissing you like that, you might just do whatever he asks of you, just in the hopes that he’ll give you another.

Is it bribery? Sure. But he’s made the reward so sweet that you don’t have any qualms about taking it.

So, when he looks down at you and asks, his fingers idly stroking through your hair as he does, “Do you think you can get a little bit more sleep for me, cyar?” all you can do is nod.

“Keep doing that,” you mumble, the medication going through your IV already making you feel drowsy, sleep becoming a relatively easy thing to surrender to. “And I think I’ll do whatever you want.”

•Thank you to @lornaka for the amazing art on these dividers. And thank you all so much for reading. If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a reblogg. You might help someone else discover something that they enjoy, too😊

#dogma x reader #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars fanfiction #fanfiction #Reader insert #gn reader #star wars #tcw #sw the clone wars #the clone wars oc #clone wars #clone trooper dogma #clone trooper kix #clone medic kix #the 501st #501st legion

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