#or about how to pick up your life when your big plans don't work out

[bots-and-cons]

Ratchet, Knockout and Soundwave x sick human female reader?

I asked this because I myself am sick with a cold and I just feel like it would be nice to read something regarding some of my favorite characters taking care of a sick reader

A/N: Finally trying to get some writing done. I've got a couple of posts with Ratchet and Knockout about this already, so you can find those here, here and here. I only did Soundwave, since I've already done similar stuff for the other two and since it's a scenario, it's a character limit of one anyway

You'd never been sick the entire time he'd known you, so why now? Did it have something to do with the time of year? Were humans more likely to get sick in the winter, when it was colder and wetter? It certainly seemed like it, you had been sick for over a week now. Soundwave had been with you in your home, in holoform for a few nights, but other than that, he'd been stuck at the Nemesis. He wanted to take care of you, but he also needed to do his job.

He wanted to slip away again, but to his surprise, you showed up at the Nemesis before he could leave.

"Hi" you said, dragging a big suitcase behind you.

Soundwave's visor showed a question mark, as he pointed at your suitcase.

"Oh this?" you asked, motioning at the suitcase. "You're the only who won't get sick too, and I was tired of being cooped up at home, so I decided to come here. You know, like a sleepover?" you chuckled, but it turned into a cough.

"Acceptable" was the audio clip Soundwave played to agree to your plan.

He didn't think it was the best idea for you to be out and about, but you were correct about the fact that you weren't contagious to him. Other humans would of course get sick if they spent time with you, so it was understandable that you would prefer to be at the Nemesis. That you would prefer to be with him.

Soundwave accompanied you to his habsuite, and helped you set up your little nest in the corner of his berth. You had brought blankets and pillows in your suitcase, so you could be comfortable.

"Do you have more work to do today?" you asked as you settled into your little corner.

Soundwave considered it for a moment, but he just shook his head and sat down on the berth next to you.

"That's nice, I picked a good night then" you smiled tiredly.

Soundwave did still have some work to do, but it wasn't time-sensitive, so he could just do it the next day. Now he would much rather take care of you.

"How are you feeling?" Soundwave asked, by using an audio clip you recognized to be from the TV-show you'd introduced him to last week.

"I'm getting better, slowly but surely. I don't have a fever anymore, but my throat still hurts, and I have a bit of a headache" you shrugged.

Soundwave nodded, looking like he wasn't quite sure if you were being totally honest with him.

"I swear, I'm fine, or at least I'm gonna be soon" you assured him.

Soundwave took you at your word and just hoped you would get better soon. He wasn't really well versed in how human illnesses worked or how something like this might affect you, but from what he'd observed, it didn't seem life-threatening. You just mostly seemed annoyed to be sick.

Soundwave placed his hand on top of your head and petted your hair. It was a comforting gesture, and it made you smile. It was nice to have someone who you could hang out with, without fearing you might get them sick too. You weren't sick very often, but this time the illness was especially persistent, which was very annoying. Soundwave's presence helped a lot, even if he couldn't be with you all the time, you knew he did his best to spend time with you and to take care of you.

"Hey Wavey?" you asked.

Soundwave turned to face you, with yet another question mark on his visor.

"Thanks for spending time with me and taking care of me, I know you're busy, so I appreciate it" you smiled tiredly.

Soundwave nodded and gave you another head pat, with a smiley face on his visor. He was glad to spend time with you, and even if he felt like he wasn't much help with taking care of you, you didn't seem to mind. You looked tired, so Soundwave pulled one of your blankets over you and pressed his forehead against yours for a moment.

"Yeah, I know. I need to rest" you rolled your eyes with a chuckle as he pulled back.

Soundwave decided to stay with you until you fell asleep, and then go finish his work. He didn't have to wait for long, you fell asleep in under ten minutes. He raised his visor a bit and pressed a kiss on your forehead, before heading back to work. You would be safe in his habsuite, and he would be back before you woke up.

[ms-demeanor]

Sometimes college professors like to hop on my posts lamenting the sorry state of syllabi these days and joke about how they haven't thought that far ahead in the course themselves, or talk about how they struggle to complete a schedule for their students.

With all due respect, that's your job. If you can't do your job, you should have a different job. If you need help, ask your colleagues or your department chair or *someone* because I know that professors aren't given a hell of a lot of education on how to educate, so you probably *need* help.

But every single time I make one of those posts I get anywhere from ten to thirty messages, replies, reblogs, and asks say "oh man, that's exactly why I had to drop out of school; I couldn't keep up with the assignments because I didn't know when they were due until the week they were due."

I have been a college student in three separate decades, and "not having a schedule of assignments in the syllabus" is new to my experience. That shit didn't fly in the 2000s or 2010s and I think it likely has to do with professors being overly reliant on apps.

AT A MINIMUM your syllabus should have:

Contact information (including preferred method of contact) for the professor

Office Hours

Grading Policy

Assignment schedule.

Your assignment schedule doesn't necessarily need to have the exact page numbers of every reading or a full assignment sheet for each project, but it should have things like:

December 1st - Major Project 3 second draft due December 9th - Quiz 10 December 12th - Major Project 3 final draft due December 15th - Final Exam

If you end up presenting a more thorough schedule with readings and homework later, that is acceptable to present a week or two into the semester but it is absolutely insane to me that students these days don't know what homework they're going to have to get done over Thanksgiving break during the first couple weeks of class.

If I had three professors at once who didn't give me a schedule, how on earth would I know if I was going to have to read three chapters of a novel, take a midterm and turn in two stats homework assignments, and complete a history research paper the same week that I'm planning to travel to see family? If I'm aware of this from the beginning of the semester I can make sure not to pick up extra shifts, or I can plan to leave a day later to accommodate the midterm, or I can start working on the paper early to complete it before the due date but if I don't know what's going to be due when, I'm going to have a big problem.

If you don't give your students a schedule you are communicating that you don't care about their schedule, and that you think it's their responsibility to contort their life (and their job, and their other classes) around your class, and honestly my advice to students in that situation is "drop in the first week and pick up another class". That's actually part of why I recommend signing up for one more class than you can really manage - if you get a professor whose class looks like it's going to be a disaster because they don't have a schedule, you can bail before the withdrawal period and get a refund for the class.

I'm only in one class this semester but the professor's response has fully dropped me into "Fuck it, I guess I'll fail" mode and I don't even know if I can pull myself out of my current D grade because I don't know how many assignments we have left in the semester.

This is a shitty way to run a class. If you can't do better than this, you shouldn't be running a class.

[quickestgold]

Okay but LISTENNNNN. Reader and Jack having feelings for eachother but he pulls back (she’s still new , too young , etc) he’s been cold and she decided to take that day off work and go to Pitt Fest and …oh no…. (Still lives but it’s BAD)

Strip Her: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: Amidst a mass casualty event, Jack’s medical instincts clash with his personal life when the woman he loves risks her own life to save another. Is he about to watch you die?

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma/gun violence, mass shooting, GSWs, blood; Reader basically does what Santos did, but in the field hah! > No "good girl" energy from Jack, just anger for putting yourself in danger lol

Word count: 2k+

A/n: Thanks so much for sending this in, so sorry it's taken so long!! Lmk what you think!! ♡

This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.

Blood is for the ones we can save.

Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.

Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.

He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.

"Hi, handsome."

"Wanna come over after your shift?"

Read.

You huff out a humorless laugh. The old man really left you on Read.

You know Jack isn't a big texter, making the age-gap between you hilariously obvious. But today it gets to you.

Jack isn't your immediate superior, but you wonder if this is why he's been acting cold. More than usual.

The ER staff love to talk. Of course they do. But neither Jack nor you care about that. You’ve made it clear there’s an undeniable connection between you.

So, you’ve acted on it.

The last couple of months have been bliss, an unspoken understanding of exclusivity.

But now, Jack's been distant. Swapping shifts, avoiding working with you.

Was it something you did?

You've already double texted him today, wishing him a good shift and letting him know that Robby's asked you to 'babysit'.

How embarrassing. But you draft another.

"Heading to Pitt Fest now, will be up for some fun when you get home... ;)"

You delete the last part. God. Don't show your age!

"Heading to Pitt Fest now, see you soon."

You hit send.

Code Triage. Emergency Department Now.

The mass casualty event is in full swing. Patients come and go. Green. Yellow. Pink. Red. Black and White.

It's a haze of coordinated chaos.

Jack keeps trying to reach you in-between treating patients, leaving you countless voicemails.

Of course he would.

"Hey, Y/N. It's Jack. Call or text me the second you get this message, okay?" His voice trembles. "She's not picking up."

"I can't reach Jake either." Robby mutters.

"I'm sure they're ok." Dana offers gently.

Time slips away, minutes turning into hours. Their shift was supposed to end a while ago, but they've stopped keeping track.

"I'm going to check on triage." Robby announces, stepping out to help Shen and Ellis assess incoming patients. "No pulse. Black and white. Pink zone. Strong pulse. Unresponsive. No obvious GSW. Red zone GSW left chest."

A familiar voice cuts through the noise. "She was talking when we first got into the truck. T- There was so much blood."

"Jake!" Robby's at his side in a flash.

"Robby! Leah got shot. It's really bad...", Jake cries out.

Robby is at a loss for words, his medical instincts fighting the fatherly ones in a gruesome match.

"I've been putting pressure on the wound the whole time", Jake stutters.

"That's good. You're good", Robby reassures him, more for himself than Jake.

The team rushes Leah into the ER. Jake follows closely behind. "You can't stay with her. There's no room and we need to work on Leah right now", Robby says firmly, getting to work immediately.

Jack spots them and hurries over, panic rising in his chest.

"Where’s Y/N?" he asks, voice tight.

"I- I don’t know," Jake mutters. "She stopped Leah’s bleeding, then went back in."

"What do you mean?" Jack growls, trying to keep his voice calm.

Robby looks up, taking in Jake's words. The lines on his forehead growing deeper.

"People were screaming. The shots were so loud. She- She went back to see if others needed help." Jake's eyes well up, before he is wheeled off to get treated.

Of course you would put someone else's safety over your own.

Others might see it as noble, but Robby and Jack think it's reckless.

They exchange a look, knowing there's nothing they can do to reach you. To make sure you're okay.

Jack is called to another patient, while Robby proceeds to work on Leah.

Despite their best efforts, it's not enough.

Minutes pass. Jack watches Robby closely, his desperation becoming more evident by the second. Dana gives Jack a knowing look, recognizing the only person who can reach Robby right now is him.

Jack steps closer, glasses off, his voice gentle.

"The bullet tore through her heart", he says softly, giving Robby time to process.

"Anyone else with a wound like this is pronounced dead in the field. You can't keep up with the blood loss. If she was our only patient, we'd do a thoracotamy, maybe ECMO. But even then, I doubt we'd get her back." Jack's words hang heavy in the air, but he continues.

"We're gonna lose ten other patients if you put all your efforts into saving this girl." Jack doesn't let it show, but it pains him to see Robby hurting like this.

Robby does one final pulse check. But Leah's heart is no longer beating, the realization shattering his own.

"Okay, we're done", Robby whispers, breaking.

"We stopped at 19:47", Dana declares. "Move her to Pedes?", she asks gently.

Robby just nods.

"You want me to go with you to talk to Jake?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, thanks. I got it."

But another gurney is wheeled in. Robby notices first.

"Jesus Christ", he mutters. "What's going on?"

"Female. 30s. GSW to the right inguinal region. Retroperitoneal bleed", Dr. Mohan declares. But there's someone else kneeling at the end of the gurney, holding the patient's leg up. Robby and Jack's eyes widen, when they meet yours.

"The bullet must have tracked north and hit the external illiac", you state nonchalantly, ignoring the stunned looks from your colleagues.

It was supposed to be your day off.

"Dr. Y/LN did a REBOA in the field to stop the bleeding", Samira continues.

"You did what?!" Robby gasps, incredulous but unable to hide his pride.

Jack is by your side in an instant. "Are you shitting me?"

"Hello to you too, Dr. Abbot", you smile weakly, still focused on the patient’s wound.

Another time, your smile would’ve lit a spark. Not now.

Jack's anger is palpable.

You’ve seen it before, his cold, stone-faced demeanor, always one existential crisis away from breaking. But never directed at you.

"Are you hurt?" Jack’s voice is dangerously low.

He's scared.

Robby and Jack scan your blood-soaked clothing. You quickly dismiss their concern.

"Uncontrollable bleeding from a pelvic artery, no other options. I blew up a balloon in the aorta to stop the bleed. Going in a few inches, zone three, below the kidney. I just needed to hit the femoral artery."

You hesitate, but go for it anyway.

"Piece of cake", you grin, weaker than usual, but you hope they don't notice. They do.

"Radial's stronger." Mel confirms.

Robby and Jack both notice your uneven breathing but chalk it up to the stress and trauma you've experienced.

"Also, GSW to the chest, left hypochondriac region. Probable internal bleeding", you continue.

"No. That's not true-", Samira objects.

You direct everyone's attention to your own chest, your breathing becoming erratic.

"What?!" Jack's voice cracks, disbelief, shock and fear hitting him all at once.

You feel like you can hear your own heartbeat, the ER growing eerily quiet at your confession.

"Okay. Let go of her leg", Robby orders in an intimidating tone.

"Gurney!" Jack barks.

"I need to lock the balloon first." You stare directly into Jack's eyes, knowing he won't budge. You turn to your friend and mentor, pleading.

"Robby." He knows you're right.

"Do it." Robby nods, ordering Whittaker to check the wound once you're done.

"BP's 110, by palp", Donnie announces.

Jack remains frozen, his mind racing a million miles a minute.

"The balloon can stay up for an hour max. Get IR and Vascular on the case." Robby directs, before drawing everyone's attention back to you.

Your patient is stable.

You've done what you can.

But the blood loss is catching up with you.

"I- I think it's a through-and-through. My back hurts like hell and my legs feel funny." Jack snaps out of his trance, his training kicking in.

Robby lifts your top, shocked at the severity of the injury. Jack shuts his eyes, unable to stomach the sight.

It must be bad.

But it doesn't hurt too much.

Not a great sign.

"Okay. Stabilize her", Robby orders, multiple hands are on you immediately, steadying you. Grabbing the base of your neck, your shoulders and hips, securing you in place.

You're still sat on the gurney, but have now let go of the patient's leg.

"Strip her", Jack commands, voice low and firm, eyes dark and unreadable.

You try to lighten the mood. "Gee, buy me dinner first, won't you?"

A few giggles from the team, but Jack's lips are tightly pressed together in a fine line, facing downwards.

Dana cuts through your top, leaving only your bra. Unusual. But you're relieved to not flash your coworkers. You'd rather like to maintain the mysterious vibe you've got going on.

"Cowards", you tease. More chuckles, but worry growing on everyone's faces.

You whisper to Jack, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't respond. Can't look at you. Instead he orders a chest tube and a unit of blood.

A sharp gasp rips through you, the weight on your chest suddenly making it hard to breathe. "Fuck, that hurts." Any last traces of playfulness vanish, replaced by something else.

Fear.

Jack realizes he has to save his anger for later. "Hey. It's okay", a slight smile now tugging at his lips. "I've seen you worse", but the vulnerability in his voice betrays him.

Shit. It must be really bad. He's cracking jokes now?

Your anxiety spikes.

Is Jack about to watch you die?

You shiver at the thought. Or maybe it's the blood loss. Probably both.

Your vision blurs. Your thoughts get foggy.

"J-Jack?" You're not sure he hears you. Or anybody really. Did the words even come out?

Your eyes flutter shut. There are no more thoughts.

Only darkness.

Robby orders Jack to step back, the roles tragically reversed.

This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.

Blood is for the ones we can save.

Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.

Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.

He has been distant with you. But not because of your age, or your careers.

No, it's because letting you in means risking losing you and he knows he can't survive that kind of pain. He’s seen too much death, too much loss. And loving you only makes that fear stronger.

He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.

"I know." Robby is laser-focused, but shudders at the thought of Jack up on that roof again.

Painfully aware of the inevitable cost of losing you.

They won't. They can't.

Monitors and machines beep in a faint rhythm.

You wake, eyes heavy. A familiar figure is propped up in the armchair beside your bed.

He looks like shit.

Jack's wearing the same bloodstained scrubs, dark circles beneath his eyes, hair dishevelled. On second thought... it's a look.

"Hi, handsome", you whisper, unsure if it’s the relief of being alive, the pain meds or just seeing Jack, but a wave of comfort floods you.

He leans in, eyes wide with tenderness.

"Hi, beautiful."

His gaze radiates a warmth that kept you alive, even when your skin grew cold.

"How are you feeling?" His voice is soft. So unbelievably soft. The anger has subsided, but you know there’s a conversation you’ll have another day.

He takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"Peachy", you exhale, giving him a warm and genuine smile. He returns it, his shoulders relaxing more with every steady breath you take.

You hesitate, but finally go for it. "So, about you leaving me on Read." Your smile turns into a familiar smirk. "You know only old people leave voicemails, right?"

Jack's breath catches in his throat, caught off guard. He chokes out a strangled laugh.

"You're unbelievable", he says, before leaning down, his lips brushing gently over yours.

The grip this man has on me I swear... Also, I'm still in shock from ep13 and I fear it's only getting worse... Jack being so rational about letting Leah go was So Painful, so writing this was very cathartic. Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

[littlcdarlin]

Event Horizon

summary: When you start university to do your master’s in physics, you are more than surprised to meet your professor: Joel Miller, an old friend of your parents' who moved away years ago. word–count: 15k warnings: professor kink, power imbalance due to Joel being reader's professor, illegal relationship (overage & consenting), dbf!Joel, big fat age gap (unspecified but written with early 20s & mid 50s in mind), unprotected piv, just overall daddy issues (no use of the word daddy)

note: Okay, time to tell you I am a big nerd and studied physics in uni. Truth is, I quit to pursue a career in the arts, so my knowledge of masters level physics is...a little rusty. Please be lenient with me if I messed anything up. Also, I know most people hate physics, but I promise Joel makes it hot. Warning: explanation of the Dirac equation as foreplay. Also, I'm European and have no fucking clue how the American education system works but I don't care enough to do research. Enjoy <3333

event horizon noun ASTRONOMY a notional boundary around a black hole beyond which no light or other radiation can escape. a point of no return.

Uni felt different at eighteen, when everything was about moving out, drinking beer at frat parties, and kissing boys who didn’t grow up in the same town you did. It was an exciting time, the degree itself fading into the background of all sorts of new experiences, but now that you’re doing your masters, you plan on focusing on your your grades more than on partying.

You enrolled in a new university, farther away from home, with a better physics program, and although you’ve grown up considerably, you still feel that tingle of anxiety you did when you first walked to your dorm, fresh out of high school. This time you won’t have to share with another student, spending your saved money on a bit of privacy that is a single dorm room, but still, you wonder if you’ll make friends here, or if you’ll spend your night hauled up alone, watching trash TV and crying because you’re lonely.

The room is small, blank, but functional with a bathroom you share with another student and a small kitchenette, and immediately you dream of all the ways you could decorate it. You didn’t bring much, just a big suitcase and a few boxes your Dad dropped off earlier. You feel slightly guilty for leaving your parents behind, but the relief outweighs the guilt – you won’t have to come home every Sunday for dinner, visits will be scarce. You love you parents, but the distance is much needed.

You get to unpacking your clothes, reveling in the fact that you can listen to music without headphones in your very own space. You could do it in your underwear, or naked, you could sing and dance along, and nobody would be bothered by it. It’s going to be a tough two years, the program you chose more than challenging, but a childish sort of giddiness fills you – no roommate to be considerate of, no parents to visit and take care of every week. This time in your life is about you, and only you – your career, but also your well-being. You promise yourself to do what makes you happy, instead of looking out for everyone else all of the time, and you’ll start by ordering Thai food and watching the trashiest movie with the hottest actors you can find on the little flatscreen you brought with you.

***

Your first lecture is Computational Physics – the one you’re looking forward to the least. The reason you decided to study physics at all was the predictable logic behind each problem, but the more you studied, the more complex the problems got, until they were impossible to solve analytically. Now you get to solve fluid dynamic equations and simulate quantum systems on a Monday morning instead of having a peaceful cup of coffee and taking a walk around campus.

The lecture hall is big, and you pick a seat that is neither too far away to be able to read the professor’s notes, nor close enough to immediately be pinned as an over-eager teacher’s pet. In the end, you plop down next to a girl who’s sitting alone, something about her shaved head and countless earrings making you think she wouldn’t make fun of you even if you didn’t understand a single thing all lecture.

"Okay if I sit here?", you ask somewhat timidly, trying hard not to sound too much like an eleven year old Ron Weasley boarding the train to Hogwarts.

"Please," the girl answers, "I don’t know anybody here."

"Did you move here, too?"

"Yeah, I’m from New York."

"You look it," you say with a smile, eyes drifting over her clothes and jewelry.

"Thanks…I guess?", she answers, her grin revealing a charming gap between her front teeth. "I’m Alva."

You introduce yourself, thankful to have found someone you can stick to already. Throughout the lecture you find out that apart from being much cooler than everyone else in the room, Alva has a biting sense of humor, and a near endless knowledge of computational physics. You make a mental note to ask her to study together, her explanations much easier to understand than the professor’s.

The two of you spend your lunch break together, and you tell her a little bit about yourself, but way too soon it’s time to go already – you have Advanced Quantum Mechanics in a different lecture hall. This you find way more interesting, basic quantum mechanics was one of your favorite lectures during your bachelor’s degree. As Alva and you sit down, you find yourself hoping you’ll be able to help her out this time, or you’d feel like a leech for making her help you with Computational. She doesn’t seem bothered, though, and keeps babbling happily about a band she recently discovered.

"– Britpop, but they only put out two albums. I think they were like a student band or something? They’re wildly underrated, I’ll send you a song, their debut is called The Sun Is Often Out."

Your thoughts start to wander off a little, eyes drifting over the old-fashioned chalkboards, when the door at the front of the lecture hall opens, and a tall man walks in – a man you recognize.

"Holy shit," you whisper, interrupting Alva’s rant about the Longpigs, and she turns her head to look at what you’re staring at.

"Damn," she says with a grin, "if I wasn’t gay, I’d want a piece of that."

"No," you snort, "I know him. He’s my Dad’s friend."

Alva opens her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Joel Miller steps forward, checking to see if the microphone is working, and introduces himself to the hundreds of students in front of him. His voice is deep, and as warm as you remember it, but that’s where the accuracy of your memories ends – your childish brain failed to register the tanned forearms and rolled up sleeves, the carelessly styled curls, the perfect side-profile. He’s got grey streaks in his hair now, which should send you into a crisis about time passing and your own little life being finite, but instead it makes your stomach swirl with something dangerous. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller, who organized backyard barbecues with your father and bought your favorite vegan sausages when your Dad rolled his eyes at you, who made strawberry lemonade instead of lemon, because he knew you preferred it, who helped you with your physics homework when you were graduating high school and didn’t rat you out when he caught you smoking at seventeen – he’s handsome.

There’s still a familiarity about him, the way he moves and talks, although it’s unsettling to see him in such a different environment. You’re used to band-tee-Joel, beer bottle and tongs in his hands, a breezy smile on his face. He looks different here, in a white button-down, with a stern expression on his face, as he’s reading the names on his list to check attendance. When he calls Alva’s name and she raises her hand, his eyes flicker upwards, but he doesn’t look at you. Still, your stomach lurches. If you listen carefully, you can detect that southern twang in his voice you’re sure most people would miss, and it fills you with satisfaction to know you’re the one who knows him best in this room – you’re sure half the lecture hall must see how attractive he is.

When he reads out your name, there’s a surprised lilt to his tone, and your heart threatens to skip a beat.

"Here."

Your eyes meet, and although his expression doesn’t change, he holds your eyecontact for a second too long. Alva nudges your side and grins.

Your plans about outshining Alva and returning the favor of helping with a lecture are quickly buried by Joel Miller’s beautiful hands – thick fingers holding a piece of chalk almost tenderly, twirling it around when he isn’t writing on the chalkboard. You vaguely register him introducing the Dirac equation, but as interesting as you would normally find it, your thoughts are stuck between memories of barbecues and the realization that you will have to call the man who taught you to drive Professor Miller.

If Alva notices your wandering mind, she doesn’t comment on it, which you’re thankful for. You do notice her throwing you a couple of knowing glances, as you copy down what Joel is writing down, mixing up gamma, delta, and the Dirac spinor.

"Alright, so you all know how Schrödinger’s equation works great for quantum mechanics, but it doesn’t play nicely with Einstein’s relativity, right? That’s a problem because electrons move fast, sometimes close to the speed of light, so we need an equation that respects both quantum mechanics and special relativity. That’s where Dirac steps in."

He’s still got that warm way of explaining things your Dad never managed when you needed help in high school, like he enjoys clearing things up for people. He’s a born teacher, patient when you panicked in the car because you confused the clutch and the break, persistent when you wanted to throw your physics book against a wall. Look, kid, think of it this way: Push harder, it moves faster. Make it heavier, it’s harder to move. If you apply a force F to an object with mass m, it will accelerate a. That’s why your Dad’s car takes longer to stop than your bike. Even now, he manages to make a far more complex equation than Newton’s second law tangible.

"Dirac's equation is like the grown-up version of Schrödinger’s equation. It explains how particles with spin-half, like electrons, behave when they move at relativistic speeds. The gamma mu matrices make sure the equation works in four-dimensional spacetime, meaning three space dimensions plus time. The psi is a spinor, which is just a fancy way of saying that an electron isn’t just a simple wave function, it actually has spin built into its nature. Now, can anyone think of a situation where we would need to use this equation instead of the regular Schrödinger equation?"

Nobody raises their hand, most people still busy with writing down Joel’s complicated notes, and as if on cue, his eyes are on yours when you look up from your notebook. He raises an eyebrow, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. Then, he calls your last name, a formal Miss dripping off his tongue as if he hasn’t called you kiddo for most of your life. It’s almost like he’s making a joke only the two of you are able to understand, and the thought thrills you to your bone. Two can play this game – you smile back.

"Sure, Professor Miller. You’d use it for studying high-energy particles, like electrons in particle accelerators, because it accounts for relativistic speeds. It’s also needed for situations where particles are created or destroyed, which Schrödinger’s equation doesn’t cover."

Again, his eyes linger on yours, and his slightly amused smile turns into a more genuine one at your answer. You let out a relieved sigh.

"Exactly," Joel answers, his attention on the rest of the class again, "Someone payed attention during Basic Quantum Mechanics. Now, here’s where it gets wild. When Dirac wrote this down, he realized it naturally predicts antiparticles, meaning for every electron, there should be a mirror-image particle with opposite charge, which we now call the positron. That was a huge deal because it wasn’t something people were expecting, it just fell out of the math."

For the rest of the class, Joel doesn’t continue that little game between the two of you, but whenever he asks a question, his gaze flickers over you, and your stomach gives an embarrassing little jump. Alva grins whenever this happens, but for most of the class she’s busy following Joel’s explanations.

"I want you to read up on today’s lecture," Joel says at the end of the lecture, and writes down a few page numbers on the chalkboard, "and solve the problems I mentioned earlier. Attendance isn’t mandatory, we’re all adults here, but I urge you to come if you’re interested in graduating in the next three years. Trust me, it’s easier to just do the work here than in your dorms. Now, enjoy the weather, see you Monday."

You and Alva pack up your things, and before she can ask you which class you have next, you pick up your backpack.

"I’m gonna say hi to him," you tell her, nodding in Joel’s direction, "my Dad and him go way back."

"Sure," Alva says, a cheeky smile on her face, "it’d be rude not to."

"Meet you outside?"

"I’ll be at the vending machine. Go get him," she jokes, and you snort.

Joel is packing up his course materials when you make your way down the steps and to his desk, but he looks up when he hears you coming towards him, and immediately his face splits into a smile. If you were anywhere else and ten years younger, he’d probably ruffle your hair.

"Good lecture," you say, "Dad didn’t tell me you’re teaching again."

Joel puts his piece of chalk into a tin box and nods.

"I don’t think he knows. You know how it is, we never get around to callin’ and I haven’t been home in a while."

So this is a new development, perhaps even Joel’s first semester back at university, too.

"What about the contracting? Don’t you miss the…pipes?"

He chuckles at your lack in basic contracting knowledge, his eyes not moving from yours.

"Ah, that was always Tommy, he just needed a little help. Company’s doin’ well now, though, so he’ll manage without me."

You think you remember Tommy – a man good-naturedly chasing you and the rest of the giggling neighborhood kids with a harden hose – but the memory is too vague to be sure it’s really him.

"You’ve grown up," Joel says, almost accusingly, and you shrug and smile. "Doin’ your master’s already. How come you’re familiar with Dirac?"

His accent is much thicker now that it’s only the two of you, and you notice a hint of pride when he asks about your correct answer to his question during the lecture. The satisfied feeling it gives you is still the same as when he high-fived you after your drivers test, or when he patted your back after you solved a problem for school without his help.

"Summer reading," you admit, trying hard not to sound like a nerd, "Basic Quantum Mechanics was my favorite lecture as an undergrad."

Joel smiles at you, and puts his notes into his leather bag. He slings it across his shoulder, and nods towards the door.

"How would you like to grab a coffee and tell me all about what’s been goin’ on with you and your old man?"

Your eyes flicker briefly over his hand, gripping the strap of his bag, and you raise an eyebrow.

"What’s the policy for staff having coffee with their students, Professor?"

Joel holds your gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I’m actually not sure, Miss, I’ve never had to check before."

He’s playing along, and it feels dangerously blurry – yes, he’s your Dad’s old friend, your childhood neighbor, but it feels like more than just joking around.

"Does that mean I’m your first, then?", you ask, voice sweet and close to flirting now. The smile freezes on Joel’s face, and his gaze becomes almost calculating.

"Am I yours?" he asks you softly, and the double-meaning behind his question isn’t lost on you. You feel a thrilling pang in your stomach – Joel Miller is flirting with you.

***

You do end up getting coffee after you tell Alva you’ll meet her later, Joel reassuring you it won’t get him into trouble, and you’re fascinated to see he still drinks it black. What fascinates you even more is that you remember how he takes his coffee, and you wonder why your brain filed this fact away as important, not to be forgotten.

"So, when did you graduate? Sorry I missed it."

There’s honest regret in his voice, which surprises you. Joel was always a warm person, but you figured he cared for you as much as he would have for any kid living across the street.

"Last June," you tell him, dropping a sugar cube into your cappuccino. "I spent the summer working, and now I’m here."

"How d’you like it so far?"

You give a nervous chuckle, torn between the honest truth and pleasant small talk. You opt for the former – this is Joel, after all, not some stranger.

"To be honest with you, I oscillate between enjoying my freedom away from Mom and Dad, and being scared shitless by starting over somewhere new," you admit, looking at your coffee. You haven’t told people about your fear, and it feels good to finally admit it – the grip your parents have had on you makes your newfound freedom almost uncomfortable.

"What d’you mean, startin’ over?", Joel asks, his voice strikingly gentle. You sigh, and shrug.

"I know the distance is good for me, but it was comfortable, just doing what my parents expected of me. I had good grades, nice friends, and just the right amount of drunken nights for them not to worry about my social life too much," you explain, "and now it’s like…there’s so much room to be someone else, cause they won’t see it anyway."

You look up, embarrassed to have spilt your guts like this, but Joel looks thoughtful, his thumb moving along the handle of his coffee cup.

"Sorry," you mutter, "I know they’re your friends, but they can be…"

"Overbearing?"

You smile at him gratefully and he smiles back.

"Look, I know your parents pretty well. They love you to bits, but as an adult I imagine it must be stiflin’.“

"Yeah," you sigh, grateful for his understanding, "I feel like I don’t know who I am when I’m not…their kid."

Joel nods, and sips his coffee, apparently pondering what you said.

"I promised myself I would only do what makes me happy while I’m here," you tell him sheepishly, as if it’s a secret, and Joel laughs.

"Well, I’m not expectin’ you to hand in any homework, then."

You grin, too, and shake your head. It’s surreal, Joel being your professor, and you wearing your heart on your sleeve for him.

"Don’t worry, Professor Miller, I’m not dropping your class."

"You’d better not, it’d really hurt my feelings," Joel says, eyes trained on yours. Again, that blurriness set in motion by the change of his role in your life: neighbor to professor to – what?

"What about you, though? This your first semester here?"

"Second," he tells you, "but I still don’t feel at home. Once a Texan, always a Texan, I guess."

You cock your head and watch him drain the last of his coffee, the cup tiny in his hands.

"What?" he asks you, curiosity evident in his voice.

"You look so different," you say, and Joel scoffs.

"Well, that’s real nice. Know I’m not thirty anymore, but geez–"

"No," you say with a grin, "it’s not that. I don’t know, I’ve just never seen you teach before. Or dressed this nice – I remember you mowing the lawn in a Fleetwood Mac shirt, not checking attendance in a button down."

Joel’s cheeks go slightly pink, and he scoffs again.

"Well, I can’t show up here in a band tee, can I? Gotta dress the part," he mutters.

"I get it. You suit it," you tell him, if only to see that blush appear on his face again. He looks up at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds, then he shakes his head.

"What were the odds of us meetin’ like this, huh? I gotta call your father and tell him."

Something about that bothers you, you’d prefer for your parents not to know. You like sitting here with Joel, reminiscing the old times, without anybody getting a peek in.

"Or not," he says gently, seeing the expression on your face.

"Sorry," you say, "course you can tell him."

"You apologize a lot," he tells you, and you fight the urge to say sorry once again. "It’s okay, I’m not tellin’ anyone, kid. ’S just you n me."

That pang in your stomach again, and you nod.

"Alright," you answer, "just us."

You get a refill for the two of you, and a blueberry muffin to split, which feels strangely intimate, but Joel pats his stomach and jokes about keeping an eye on his figure, so you grin, and ask the barista to cut it in half. Joel asks you about your friends, and you tell him about Alva.

"Oh yes," he says and swallows a bite of the muffin, "that punky lookin’ kid who sits next to you?"

"Yeah, she’s nice. Haven’t really met anyone else."

"Geez, I’m not keepin’ you from findin’ frat boys to hook up with, am I?"

You laugh, the idea of sitting here with a twenty-something year old kid named Cole or Josh instead of him so absurd, you can’t help it.

"No," you tell him, "I’m honestly enjoying the fact that I don’t have to have someone else in my dorm anymore."

"Well, that’s a relief to hear," Joel says, "they’re all dipshits."

You remember him telling you something similar about the boys in high school, and it makes you smile. He’s still got that protective streak, then.

"To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re here," you say quietly, "if I’m not making any friends, I can come crying to you."

Joel watches you for a couple of seconds, not laughing as you intended, but taking your words seriously.

"Course you’ll make friends. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll have forgotten all about physics cause you’ll be skippin’ classes left and right to hang out with people."

You don’t tell him, but you think it’s very unlikely you’ll skip any of his classes. Still, you appreciate his words and how confident he seems to be in your ability to open up to people.

"Well, will you give me the answers to your exams if I skip your class?"

"No way," he says with a cheeky smile, the crinkles around his eyes prominent. "I don’t do preferential treatment. You wanna split another blueberry muffin?"

You grin.

"Thought you were watching your waistline."

"I am, that’s why I’m only eating halves."

***

Your afternoon with Joel leaves you on a high for the rest of the day, feeling much less lonely now that you’ve had a conversation beyond the usual so how many siblings do you have? and where did you do your undergrad?

You start spending your lunch breaks with Alva and some friends she made in another lecture, all of whom are very nice. In the evenings you all go to see a movie or have dinner together in any of your dorm rooms, and although you walk around campus holding out one eye for Joel, you don’t see him for the rest of the week. There is always a nudge of disappointment in your stomach, when you glance in the direction of his office, and the door is closed, but you’re so busy, you don’t dwell on it too much. The days pass in a blur of new lectures, swapping music with Alva, and evenings spent as a group of six, and suddenly it’s Sunday again. You aren’t too sad the weekend is already over, and you know exactly why you’re looking forward to Monday, but you don’t allow yourself to think about Joel any more than you can help.

In the afternoon, while you’re doing Joel’s assignment for the next class, your mother calls, and you answer the phone with a mixture of feelings.

Hi, my darling, how are you doing?

"Hi, Mom. I’m good, just doing my work for tomorrow. How are you?"

Good, good. How was your first week? Did you meet anyone nice?

Hah, if she only knew. It feels deceptive, not telling her about Joel, but you like that for now, he’s just yours.

"Yes, this girl called Alva. We and some guys hang out a lot, there’s a cinema near by, but the lectures are pretty hard, so we only have the evenings off."

Well, I’m glad you found some nice people! Dad says hi, he’s making dinner. Anyway, baby, we miss you terribly. Do you know when you’ll be coming home?

"I just got here, Mom."

You sigh so quietly your mother can’t hear it, guilt already nagging at your heart. Sunday is the day you would usually be coming home for dinner, and you know it’s no coincidence your parents called you now.

Of course, you’re right. It’s just not easy for your Dad and me, you know? You’ve never been this far from home, and you’re our baby.

Yeah, you think, your adult baby. You sigh again.

"I don’t know if I’ll come this month, I’m still sort of settling in. But I’ll let you know if there’s a free weekend next month, alright?"

Sure, that sounds great. Will you send us some pictures of your friends, and your room?

"Sure," you say, but it bugs you that you’re giving in. Already, you’re breaking the promise you made yourself, and letting your parents further into your life here than you’re comfortable with.

"Mom, I gotta go, I’ve still got some problems to solve and I’m meeting Alva for dinner soon."

Okay, darling, enjoy your night! And make yourself heard. I love you!

"Love you, too! Talk soon."

Your kind, clingy mother, whose greatest pain is not knowing if you’re safe. In a way you miss her, and you feel guilty for being annoyed. Still, you know you have to gently nudge her away from you, or she’ll suffocate you one day. It makes you angry with yourself, because you know your Mom would have liked nothing more than to hear all about your week, but as soon as she asked you a question, you felt like your seventeen year old self again, getting yelled at because you stayed up past your curfew, and your parents didn’t know where you were.

Tears of frustration spring to your eyes – the mix of feelings too much for you to handle. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, breathe in shakily, and try to focus on your assignment again, but now you’re riled up, and the tears won’t stop.

It’s hard for you to deal with disappointing your parents, forcing them away when they would like nothing more than to know everything that’s going on in your life. So, instead of preparing for Joel’s lecture, you cry on your bed, feeling lonely and angry with yourself for hurting them. You know your reaction is disproportionate, but everything you kept buried while you lived close to your parents comes bubbling out of you.

You call Alva, tell her you have cramps because of your period and just want to stay in bed. She’s understanding, asks you if there’s anything she can do, even offers to bring you takeout or a hot water bottle, which makes you feel all the worse for lying to her. You decline her offer, tell her you’ll meet her Monday morning. In the evening, you regret not letting her bring over a real meal, eating cold pasta in your underwear, tears still running down your face and making your head pound.

***

On Monday, you feel slightly better, your headache is gone and your face isn’t as puffy as you expected it to be. Still, you’re in a solitary mood, and are glad to find Alva is able to keep up an entire conversation virtually by herself – you just grunt from time to time, or give noncommittal movements of your head in vague agreement. You hope if she notices your bad mood, she just thinks it has to do with your period.

Computational Physics is hell – you dislike it on the best of days, but guilt ridden and tired, you’re barely able to pay attention at all, and the professor’s handwriting is so bad, you end up copying down Alva’s notes instead. She’s kind about it, slides over her notebook at an angle that makes it easy to read, and you make a mental note to thank her for being so kind to you while you’re offering nothing but a scowling expression all day. Maybe you’ll cook for her, or make a mixtape of your favorite songs, just to show her you’re interested in being actual good friends.

Lunch passes easily, as always you sit with Alva and the guys, and there’s enough people for you to stare at your mashed potatoes and repeatedly stab them with your fork instead of eating them. They taste like flour mixed up with water, and you dream up your father’s Sunday dinner instead, but it does little to help with the taste.

"So, you lookin’ forward to flirting with Miller in front of the whole lecture hall again?" Alva asks you, as you’re making your way to said room. You glare at her, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitching.

"Wasn’t flirting with him," you answer, kicking a pebble, "I grew up across the street from him, I’ve known him practically my whole life."

"Whatever you say, grumpy," Alva teases, nudging your shoulder with hers. You’re overcome with a rush of gratitude for the way she treats you, persistently kind and humorous. You chuckle, your mood lifting slightly.

"He’s probably been waiting for you to turn legal," she continues, and you groan.

"Gross, Alva, he’s not a creep."

"I’m just saying, if your little connection gets you the answers to his tests, you could sell them and become rich."

"I already asked him, he said no," you say darkly, thinking of the nights you’ll have to spend studying to pass his exam. This makes Alva laugh her brilliant laugh, and you can’t help but smile, too.

"Damn," she grins, "I’d try if he wasn’t a guy."

You snort.

"You try with Professor Carter, I need the answers to Computational," you suggest, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

"You’re joking, but I bet once you get her out of her frumpy cardigans, she’s a real–"

"Okay, stop," you grown, the image of Professor Carter taking off her cardigans worse than her keeping them on – if possible. Alva giggles.

"I’ll help you with Computational," she says, "if you help me with Quantum Mechanics."

"You’re good at both," you argue, and Alva shrugs.

"Not like you, though. I spent like four hours doing Miller’s assignment last night."

You want to tell her you didn’t do it at all, but before you can open your mouth, she spots a friend in the crowd, grabs your arm and drags you over to him.

The three of you sit down together, closer to the front than the week before, which gives you a direct line of sight to Joel’s desk. When he walks in, your stomach jumps – he’s wearing a tie today, a dark burgundy or blue, you aren’t sure from this distance, flecked with specks of white. Again, his hair is styled in that carelessly disheveled look you like so much, and the image of him putting gel in it makes you smile. He gets out his materials for the lecture, and looks up, his eyes finding yours – you smile and he gives a small nod. Again you’re struck by how different he acts in front of the class, how serious he seems. You think of his laid back manner when you had coffee, and struggle to make the images align. Joel clears his throat, and the chatter around you stops.

"Quiet, please, everyone. Thank you. So, last week, we found out that Dirac’s equation predicts the existence of antiparticles. But instead of just accepting that, let’s think deeper—mathematically, what feature of the equation forces this conclusion?"

Joel jumps right into the lecture, and just like last week, nobody raises their hands – you curse the people around you for their lethargy, because sure enough, Joel’s eyes land on you. Before you can shake your head to signal to him not to ask you, he calls your name.

"If I remember correctly, you were already familiar with Dirac’s equation last week. What would you say, what does the existence of negative-energy solutions tell us, and why couldn’t we just ignore them?"

You wish you could answer him, know he asked you because he was sure you’d know the answer, perhaps hoped your enthusiasm for the subject would get the rest of the students to participate more, but you didn’t do the assignment, and you’ve already half forgotten his question. You swallow.

"Um…I…I’m not sure, Sir," you say, watching the way his brows furrow, and looking down at your notes. Alva shoots you a curious look, and when she sees your expression, she raises her hand. You’re thankful to have Joel’s attention diverted, feeling like a fool in front of hundreds of students you’re trying to make friends with.

"Dirac’s equation gives positive and negative energy solutions, and at first, the negative ones didn’t make sense. Dirac suggested they represent antiparticles, like the positron, which he predicted. The idea was that electrons could, like, jump into these negative-energy states, creating a hole that looks like a positron, which was later confirmed experimentally," Alva explains instead of you.

"You're close, but electrons don’t actually 'jump into' negative-energy states. Instead, Dirac proposed that these states are already filled, forming what he called the Dirac Sea. A positron isn’t an electron jumping down, it’s actually a 'hole' left when a negative-energy electron gets excited to a positive-energy state. That distinction is important because it explains why positrons have the opposite charge. Good answer, though, thank you Ms. Bennet."

Joel’s eyes flicker over to you again, but you show no reaction, and he continues with his lecture without asking you another question. Alva glances at you inquiringly, and you sigh.

"I wanted to do the assignment yesterday, but my cramps were really bad," you explain quietly, and she nods sympathetically.

"Call me next time, I’ll send you my answers," she whispers, and you smile gratefully. It seems you really hit the jackpot in friendship when you sat down next to Alva.

***

After Joel’s lecture, you and Alva make your way over to the vending machine, because it has the sour patches she likes, and in her own words she’ll combust if she doesn’t eat some right fucking now.

"Shit," she curses, "they’re stuck."

"Let me," a voice comes from a behind you, and when you turn around, Joel is smiling at the two of you. "Took me a while to figure this thing out, too."

Alva steps aside, and Joel bangs his palm against the side of machine. You jump, but the sour patches make their tumbling way down to the dispenser.

"Great! Thanks, Professor Miller," Alva says, ripping the bag open and offering it to the two of you. To your surprise, Joel takes her up on it, and Alva grins at you.

"You were quiet during today’s lecture," Joel says tentatively, when he’s swallowed his sour patch "everything alright?"

You glance at your shoes.

"Um, yeah. I wasn’t feeling well yesterday, and I left your assignment for last, so…I didn’t do it."

Joel’s expression grows worried, and Alva glances between the two of you.

"Hey, I’m meeting Max for coffee," she tells you, "see you later?"

"Yeah," you answer, grateful she’s granting you this time alone with Joel, "see you, Alva."

When she’s gone, Joel is still looking at you with that worried look on his face, and you sigh.

"Sorry about the assignment," you say, "won’t happen again."

"I’m not worried about the assignment," Joel says earnestly, but then he turns his head, and you know he doesn’t want someone listening in. Sure, you can be seen chatting in the university cafe, but this conversation is rapidly blurring the lines between scholarly and – something else.

"I…have some materials in my office that might make it easier for you to catch up with the lectures again," Joel tells you, and you understand the underlying meaning. Let’s talk in my office.

"Thank you," you say, relieved, and Joel nods, eyes still glued to yours, brows still furrowed. You walk to his office making smalltalk about the lecture, which to anyone listening in would seem like a normal conversation between a professor and an interested student.

Joel opens the door to his office for you, and lets you step in first. It’s small, cramped bookshelves on the walls and a sturdy desk in the middle that is littered with notes, pencils, books, and a couple of old coffee mugs. You notice he put part of his books sideways onto the shelves, which you find weirdly endearing. This is the Joel you know – clutter and warmth.

He closes the door behind you, and you turn around to watch him drop his bag and walk over to the kettle in the corner of the room.

"Coffee?"

"Please," you sigh, "if you don’t have anything stronger."

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t answer, just turns on the already filled kettle, and gets two clean cups for the two of you.

"I only have drip coffee," he tells you, "I don’t drink that crap the machines brew up."

"That’s fine, I enjoy the medieval feel of it."

"Watch it," he answers, a smile tugging on his lips, "don’t insult my coffee filter in front of me."

You grin, and walk over to his bookshelf to have a look.

"So, what’s going on?" he asks you while pouring the boiling hot water over the coffee grounds. Again, the Joel you remember – empathetic, but unusually direct. You sigh, turn around and shrug.

"Mom and Dad called yesterday, and I could tell they missed me, but I just…I cut them off after two minutes."

Joel places the cups on his desk, and leans against it. His sleeves are rolled up again, and when he crosses his arms, you feel that familiar pang in your stomach.

"And now I…I don’t know, I feel so guilty, Joel. They’re not even being dicks about it, but I just know they’d prefer for me to check in with them more…and the worst thing is, I know it’s not a big deal. They’ll get over it, they’ve got a good life without me constantly in it, so I don’t know why my stupid brain can’t just let this go, you know? One I miss you, darling, and I’m reduced to this pathetic mess, instead of just, I don’t know, getting my shit together."

You shake your head and clench your teeth, once again embarrassed to come crying to Joel about your parental issues, but he’s the only one you can tell. Sure, Alva would probably listen, but you don’t feel like explaining your family to a near stranger. Joel just gets it. Joel knows you.

He’s looking at you, arms still crossed, and for a second you worry he might not want to hear about your little breakdown, but then he sighs.

"You have your shit together all of the fuckin’ time, kid, I think that might be the problem," he tells you quietly. "You’ve always been so hard on yourself."

He’s right, once again he sees what you struggle to show the world, and his words make tears spring to your eyes. You will your eyeballs to suck them back in, but of course, Joel sees.

"Hey now," he says, taking a tentative step towards you. One tear drops from the end of your lashes and down your cheek, and the dam is broken again – they come spilling in floods. Joel crosses the room in a second, and there is a slight moment of hesitation between the two of you, before you bury your face in his chest, and let your restraint fall. You cry quietly, feel him wrap his arms around you, as he rocks you back and forth.

"You’re alright," he tells you, "Shhh, it’s okay, you’re alright."

"S-s-sorry about the assignment," you manage, and Joel’s hand starts stroking your back.

"Jesus, kid, stop worryin’ about the fucking assignment," he tells you, voice low and worried. "You don’t gotta be so strict with yourself. You’re doin’ just fine."

He smells so much like home, you think you might never stop crying.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me," you hiccup, "One week here and I’m a mess already."

You feel Joel rest his chin on your head, and his arms tighten around you.

"There’s nothin’ wrong with you, you hear me? You hold yourself to high standards. Creates pressure, kid."

As always, he’s right of course – you want to excel academically, you don’t want to hurt your parents, you want to stay true to yourself and do what makes you happy, you want to make friends without compromising your grades. It’s impossible.

You breathe in shakily, your eyes closed, face buried in Joel’s chest, and for a second he is all that exists – just Joel, all around you, pulling you to the earth. Slowly, your breathing calms, Joel still rocking you soothingly, holding you close.

"There we go," he mutters, when your chest stops shaking, "that’s good."

When you pull away from him, he puts his hands on your shoulders to really look at you, and although you’re embarrassed by your outburst, you’re glad he doesn’t shy away from you.

"I want you to start being a little more lenient with yourself, alright? You don’t need to worry about an assignment on top of everything."

His hands are rubbing your shoulders, his eyes are kind and warm.

"Maybe not about yours, but I have like five other lectures –"

"Okay, so try to stop worrying about my assignments, just mine. Won’t bite your head off if you don’t do them, and I’ll only ask you questions when you raise your hand, alright? In fact, for the rest of the term, I want you to hand them in late."

Despite yourself, your lips pull up in a small smile.

"That’s silly, Joel," you say softly, but he shakes his head.

"It’s not silly, it’s practice to get you out of your comfort zone."

You consider his words for a moment. You do keep a pretty tight reign on yourself, and just the thought of doing every assignment late makes your skin crawl with anxiety. But when will you get another chance to step out of your comfort zone as safely as now, with Joel? He’s offering you a way to try it without actually risking your grades. And who knows, perhaps it actually will take a little bit of pressure off of you.

"Okay," you answer, staring up at Joel with puffy cheeks and teary eyes. "Alright."

He smiles at you, but he still looks worried and you wish he’d pull you close to him again. It’s such a relief to have this sort of human contact with someone who really knows you.

"Feel better?"

You sigh, and nod.

"It’s just a lot, you know, uni and my parents, and every social interaction feels like such a chore, cause I don’t know people yet. I feel like I’m not even relaxed when I’m asleep."

Joel hesitates for a moment, before he speaks, but when he does, he sounds determined.

"Come over tonight, I’ll make us somethin’ to eat, and you don’t have to worry about talkin’ to anyone. We’ll watch whatever you’d like. You still enjoy those crappy horror movies?"

You smile at the shared memory – Joel letting you use his living room to watch slashers your parents didn’t want you to see. One summer, when the heat was so stifling you barely went outside, you practically lived at his place, and when you’d seen all the DVDs he owned, he got you more from the video store.

"I do," you say quietly, the fact that Joel remembers more important to you than his proposal to spend the evening together. You feel significantly less alone, all of a sudden.

"Alright, then. Be over at seven,“ Joel tells you, and you nod, wiping your wet face with the back of your hand.

"Thank you, Joel," you say, and hug him again, because you don’t know how to tell him in words what you’re feeling, and his big, warm body against yours feels more than soothing.

"Course, kid. Just don’t tell Alva, or they’ll fire me."

You smile, your arms still wrapped around his neck, as he holds you.

"But I don’t wanna get you in trouble, what if–"

"No," Joel interrupts you, "no what ifs. No worryin’. I forbid it."

And you accept it, leave it to Joel, because he tells you to – because you don’t have any room in your head for more worries, and because you trust Joel not to do anything reckless. You trust him, period.

***

You text Alva you’re having dinner alone, that your cramps are still acting up, and you do feel slightly bad for lying, but you would never risk Joel’s job. The idea of having dinner with him at his place should make you nervous after your change in feelings about him, but you’re just looking forward to having a meal with someone who knows you, and lets you be yourself.

Joel asked you to be there at seven, so you spend the rest of the afternoon in your dorm room, wondering if you should change your outfit or if it would seem desperate – in the end, you keep the jeans but change into a blouse instead of a sweater. The part of you that stares at Joel’s forearms during class now wants to look pretty for him, so that he’ll ask you over again. You know you’re being ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop you from putting on your nicest perfume.

You’re ten minutes early, so you sit in your little second hand car and try not to panic. You know Joel is merely trying to be a good…friend? Ex-neighbor, Dad’s best friend turned professor? There’s no real etiquette to cling to in this situation, for either of you, and although you’re positive Joel doesn’t have any ulterior motives with you despite his flirting, you know he could lose his job if someone finds out you went to his house. Even if you just watch slashers together the way you did ten years ago. It makes you anxious to know he’d risk something clearly important to him for just that – he moved to a different state, quit his old job, started over completely, and is now willing to endanger that new life just because you’re stressed. At the same time it seems ridiculous anyone could forbid the two of you to spend time together after having known each other your entire life. The thought is absurd, and still, you need to be careful.

You get out of the car before you start to hyperventilate, and ring Joel’s doorbell – it feels strange for him to live in a new house. He opens the door with a smile, and absurd relief floods your veins when you realize he’s wearing an old Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of worn jeans. This is your Joel.

"I come bearing gifts," you announce, stepping into the house.

“Christ, where did you get this?”, Joel asks, taking the six pack of beer from you, so you can take off your jacket. “I didn’t know they sold Shiner Bock outside of Texas, I’ve been survivin’ on Bud”.

“Brought it with me,” you explain, “figured it’d help if I got homesick, you know, in multiple ways.”

You grin, and Joel shakes his head good-naturedly.

“Old enough to drink, well I’ll be damned. I remember when you begged your Dad to let you have a coke and he asked me if I thought the caffeine would stunt your growth.”

“Did it?”

“It might’ve,” Joel says with a chuckle, “but he didn’t let you have it.”

“Well, he isn’t here now, so let’s put those in the fridge.”

“No," Joel mutters, “no, he ain’t.”

While Joel puts the beer away, you take a look around his living room – despite your reservations about the new house, it reminds you of his old place. It’s got the same masculine and warm feel to it, dark wood, books all over the place, no bells and whistles. Joel is a practical man, and it’s charmingly etched into every part of his life – except for his new work-look. The room isn’t as cluttered as you remember Joel’s old house back in Texas, but you assume he hasn’t had time to accumulate clutter yet. No old newspapers are lying around, no birthday cards stacking up. You wonder if he’s lonely here, teaching all by himself, hundreds of miles away from the place he last grew roots in.

“Do you miss home?” you ask him, when he comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer in his hands. He looks at ease, much more himself than back at university. His jeans are faded, his shirt a little too big on his already broad frame, and his hair is clean and curly the way you like it – no gel twisting it into all sorts of un-Joel-like styles. Warmth floods your chest at the sight of him taking a swig of his beer. His crowfeet are a little more pronounced, and his hair has more grey strands than it did back home, but he’s still got that distinctly warm, no-nonsense feel to him.

“Sometimes,” he answers, offering you the second bottle. Your hand brushes his when you take it from him. “But I’m pretty busy here, you know, got a whole lotta lectures to plan, papers to grade and that sort of stuff.”

You nod, and sip at your beer.

“Have you…you know, met people? Made friends here?”

Joel plops down on the couch, and smiles up at you.

“You worried about my social life?”

You shrug, and smile almost timidly.

“You know me, kid, I like bein’ by myself.”

That’s true, for as long as you’ve known Joel, he’s been alone. You know he has nieces and nephews who adore him, and your Dad mentioned a woman once, but it must have been at least twenty years since they were together. You wonder why Joel doesn’t seem to want that sort of a domestic life, surely many women would be happy to let him put a ring on them.

You walk over to the window, and watch a blackbird tug at a writhing worm.

“Have you met someone at uni you wanna be by yourself with?” you ask with a small grin, turning back to find Joel already watching you. “I heard Professor Carter’s still single.”

“She’s very intelligent,” Joel says earnestly. You give him credit for not laughing about his colleague, and suddenly you feel bad for calling her frumpy with Alva. “But I think I’ll leave her to her simulations. Why am I bein’ interrogated?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, and glance out of the window again, “just making conversation.”

“Your turn, then,” Joel answers, and takes another swig of beer. “Any frat boys catch your eye? Or frat girls?”

You glance at him, a smile on your lips, and raise your eyebrows.

“Hey, I don’t discriminate. I thought, maybe Alva…”

“No,” you answer, feeling fond of him for considering the possibility. “Alva’s a friend. The guys are…well, they’re frat boys.”

 Your voice carries enough disgust for Joel to laugh.

“Right,” he says, and his eyes are warm when they meet yours again. “Just us two loners, then."

“Cheers,” you say with a smile.

“Cheers.”

***

Joel’s cooking is a mystery to you – he loves to eat, and when he does cook, it’s always delicious, but he only ever makes one of five dishes. Again, that practicality shining through. Why try something new if you’ve perfected your routine? He made pasta for you, wasn’t sure if you’re still vegetarian and makin’ your Dad’s hair fall out, and you smile into the neck of your beer bottle, when you watch him drizzle dressing onto a carefully arranged side-salad. Throughout dinner, you tell him how much you love it at least five times, because you can tell he put effort into the meal. You know it’s not technically a date, but having a dinner he made just for you, in his home – it feels like one.

You steer the conversation away from heavy topics like your parents. Although Joel offered you this evening to make you feel better, you want to spend it with him rather than in your head, so you ask him about books and music, about his lectures, about Tommy and the kids. You like watching how his face lights up whenever he talks about something he particularly loves. Joel is a quiet man, but you found out years ago it isn’t shyness, but a disinterest in most mundane topics – he doesn’t like gossip or superficial small talk. When he tells you Tommy made him godfather of all of his children, the pride is evident in his voice, and you don’t have to fake your enthusiasm, although it amuses you, too – Tommy loving his big brother enough not to consider anyone else.

"She calls me uncle Joe," he tells you with a chuckle, "Can’t pronounce her Ls yet, but I’ve considered legally changing my name."

When you’re done eating, you help him clear the table, but when you reach for the sponge to do the dishes, Joel shakes his head.

"Let me do that later, kid. You wanna watch a movie?"

So the two of you plop down on the couch with a bag of M&Ms and another round of beer, and Joel hands you the remote.

"Go wild," he says, chuckling when you excitedly turn on he TV to open Netflix.

"Wow, a streaming service? I thought you’d just hoard DVDs for the rest of your life."

Joel huffs, and instead of answering, he leans forward, and reaches for something under his couch table. When he turns his head, he’s got glasses on his face, thick-rimmed and black, and so startlingly sexy, you almost drop the remote.

"You…you’ve got glasses?"

"Yeah," he answers, his eyes meeting yours, and you swallow. "When your eyesight deteriorates, that’s when you know you’re gettin’ old."

You hum but don’t answer, just hold his gaze for a second and look back to the screen. You try to ignore the familiar pang in your stomach at the sight of Joel in his new glasses, and skip through movie after movie, mumbling seen it, seen it, that one sucks, seen it, until Joel reaches over and snatches the remote from you.

"Hey–"

"I can’t read anything if you skip through them that quickly."

"You’re not supposed to read, you’re supposed to go with the vibe of the cover."

He glances at you with furrowed brows.

"Okay, sorry, didn’t know you’re a filmbro," you grumble, but it’s almost entirely fake – you couldn’t be annoyed with him, not when he pushes his glasses up his nose, and carefully considers which button to press on the remote.

"I don’t know what that means," he answers, and starts reading the description of a romantic comedy about Christmas.

"I’m not watching that."

"You don’t even know what it’s about."

"It’s September, Joel."

He huffs again, but finally reaches the horror movies. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take the two of you long to pick one, and the thought of two hours of brainless, scary entertainment on a couch with Joel makes you practically melt into his couch.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you during the opening credits, so you glance over and he smiles.

"Comfy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from relaxation.

"Yeah," you answer, and smile when hands you a blanket. He’s not exactly close to you, but it still feels a little intimate when you spread the blanket out and offer him the other end. He moves over a little, so that the blanket covers his legs, and when you concentrate you can feel his body heat next to you, so you try hard not to – and instead get lost in the movie.

It’s not particularly good, but the story does get under your skin a little, and when there’s an unexpected shriek, you violently jump and instinctively move closer to Joel. He chuckles, but doesn’t give any reaction to your arm suddenly pressing against his. He doesn’t move away, either, so you don’t, fear suddenly not being the only thing bubbling up in your stomach.

"Jesus," you mumble, the creeping music making you anticipate another jumpscare. You’re right, it does come, but prepared though you are, you still wince, and turn away from the screen slightly. Out of sight, out of mind. Joel turns around, too, and when he sees your widened eyes, he grins.

"How’s that Christmas movie lookin’ now?"

"I’m not scared," you say, and there is some truth to it, "I’m just not good with jumpscares."

When the next one comes, you can’t help it, you clutch his arm next to you, your nails digging into his firm muscle, and Joel glances at you again.

"Sorry," you say quickly, letting go of his forearm now marked with five tiny crescent shapes. "Jesus, Joel, sorry."

"It’s fine," he says, and the amusement is evident in his voice, "you sure you’re into this? There might be some cartoons–"

He stops talking when you glare at him, but his mouth is twitching under his beard. You’re determined to watch the entire movie, and you try not to let any reaction show, wanting to prove Joel wrong.

There is one particularly scary scene – it’s not necessarily violent, but the music and shaky camera movements make your pulse race, and you turn your head slightly, so as to look at something else. Joel glances at you again, but he doesn’t laugh this time, just puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. It’s grounding, the warmth of it, how his thumb digs into your muscle and his fingers spread out over your back and neck.

"You don’t gotta force yourself to watch this, kid," Joel says gently, all teasing humor gone.

"No," you say stubbornly, but move even closer to him. His touch is a welcome distraction from the movie, and although you know it’s stupid and reckless, you lean into him, and Joel puts his arm around you. It’s closer than you’ve been to him except for hugging, and your heartbeat starts to quicken for all the wrong, non-horror reasons. When you flinch, Joel tugs you against his side, and it feels natural to hide your face in his shoulder.

He was never touchy with you, or anyone for that matter, so something must have changed. You wonder if he’s trying to comfort you, or if you might not be the only one who can feel that strange pull between the two of you.

When the movie ends, Joel regrettably removes his arm from around your shoulders to switch off the TV, and although you’re slightly disappointed, you scold yourself for expecting something else.

"Not bad," Joel says with a small smile, and pushes his glasses up his nose. "Very brave."

You scoff, but feel the corners of your mouth twitching, too.

"I used to be less of a wimp, but I guess you soften with age."

"You’re twenty-three," Joel argues, "that’s young."

Yeah, too young. Too young to lean over and kiss him, or climb into his lap, or expect anything other than paternal care when he’s got his arm around you. You look at your lap, all of a sudden feeling stupid and silly for having dreamed up an absurd fantasy about the man in front of you.

"Hey," Joel says gently, "what’s wrong?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, "nothing, I had a really great evening. Thanks, Joel."

You can tell you’ve confused him, but he nods, doesn’t question your sudden change of mood, and stands when you get up from the couch.

"Anytime, kid. You call me if you’re havin’ a bad time, alright? My door’s always open."

He’s so kind, so recklessly, stupidly, lovingly kind, and all of it is directed at you. You curse yourself for it, but again you feel that familiar burn in your eyes. Joel reaches out and easily pulls you towards his big body, hugging you the way he did in his office just this afternoon. He doesn’t ask you what brought on your tears, just lets you cry into his Led Zeppelin shirt that smells so much like home, like a childhood you won’t get back to. You remember whiffs of that smell when you were watching movies on his couch while he was at work, too pissed off at your parents to spend the summer at home. This scent was there when you attended a neighborhood barbecue after fighting with your father and Joel grilled some vegan sausages for you without comment or question. He’s always looked out for you like this, quietly, without demanding an explanation, just a solid, comforting presence in your life.

Your tears stop after a couple of minutes, and you take a step away from Joel, wiping your face. He looks so worried again, brows all furrowed and arms hanging limply at his side. Didn’t he flirt with you, though? Didn’t he prepare dinner for you the way a date would, ask you about your dating life, ask you to coffee? You don’t think you would be able to handle another evening like this one not knowing what Joel really thinks, so in a moment of hazy recklessness, you lean up.

His eyes meet yours, all warm and strangely unguarded, but before your lips brush his, a hand on your shoulder stops you. Without saying something, you move away from him, and nod to yourself, his reaction all the information you needed.

"Sorry," you say very quietly, not managing much else now that you’ve humiliated yourself in front of the only person you really know in a six hundred mile radius. Joel runs a hand through his soft hair, and inhales deeply.

"No," he says, his voice a little strained, "no, don’t be. I just…Jesus, kid."

He rubs his palm over his beard in such a familiar way, your chest aches a little. It’s ridiculous how much you want to touch his face, to feel him again, skin on skin. So you don’t turn and run the way your embarrassed heart is telling you to, just watch him collect his thoughts, standing in front of him like a wet and beaten dog.

"Look," he begins, "I won’t say I’m not flattered, but that’s…it’s a bad fuckin’ idea. It’s…it’s chaos, and on top of that most people would argue it’s wrong."

You swallow. You know all of this, have turned it over in your head ever since you stared at Joel’s rolled up sleeves for two hours on that first Monday, but hearing him say it makes your stomach churn.

"Yeah," you mutter, and trace Joel’s shadow with the very tip of your foot, "yeah, of course. Sorry I put you in that position, wasn’t right."

Your face still feels puffy, and you know you’re probably all red and pathetic looking, begging Joel for scraps of his attention, but all of a sudden, he lifts his hand up to your face, and cups it in his broad palm. His thumb strokes your cheek, and when you meet his eye, the expression on his face is tender.

"It’s alright," he tells you softly, "I can see you worryin’ at the speed of light in that pretty head of yours."

Something in your chest flutters at his words, at the rough and warm cadence of his voice. He reads you so easily, one turn of your head and he knows you’re lost to your thoughts.

"I shouldn’t have let myself toy with this idea," he continues, and your stomach flips. "I should’ve realized you’d pick up on it. It’s on me, alright? It’s on me not to start anythin’."

You can hear the implication – I’m the adult here. It’s not what you want to hear, but just the mention of Joel toying with this idea, as he put it, is enough to lift your spirits. So you weren’t crazy.

"I’m an adult," you say weakly, never having felt more like a child. Joel nods.

"You are, but I’m still in a position of power here. Be wrong, to abuse that."

His thumb is still moving over your cheek slowly, making it hard to think straight.

"So dinner and a movie doesn’t abuse it?"

You don’t want to argue, you don’t know why you keep disagreeing with him, and the way his face falls, you wish you hadn’t said it.

"No, it…it does, you’re right. Jesus, of course it does. I don’t blame ya for bein’ ang-"

"I’m not angry," you say softly, and tentatively turn your head in Joel’s hand. You press a kiss to his palm, his warm skin pressed right against your mouth. "I’m not your student, Joel. I mean, of course I am, but I know you. It’s different."

Joel’s eyes are glued to your face, and he looks so conflicted you wish he’d just throw you out of his house, if only to solve his dilemma.

"It’s still wrong," Joel mutters, his eyes glued to your lips since they brushed his skin "even if you take away the fact that I’m your fuckin’ professor. Your Dad…"

"My Dad is half a continent away and finds a way to be unhappy with whatever choices I make, so I might as well make the ones I want to."

The very first day, before you even met Joel, you decided to do what makes you happy while in university, and although this certainly wasn’t what you had in mind, you know it’s what you want. The only thing you want, in fact.

Joel sighs, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Joel, I’m not trying to…look, if I’m wrong about this, just tell me, but I feel…I just wanna be close to you all of the fucking time," you say quietly, "and it’s okay if you don’t, really. I just…I want you to know it’s not nothing to me."

Saying I don’t just want to hook up with you would feel too straight forward or crass, but you think Joel gets the gist of what you’re trying to say, and he closes his eyes briefly. You study his face behind his glasses, the wrinkles and freckles from years in the sun. You do feel anxious about his answer, but whatever it is, you’re glad you told him. It’s out in the world now, the way you feel when he holds you, and he can do with it what he pleases – you’ve handed him the reigns.

"I…I know what you mean. Me too," he says very quietly after a beat, his eyes open and looking directly into yours again.

A triumphant pang of affection pulses through you, and you put your hand over Joel’s, which is still resting on your cheek. He looks conflicted, but his other hand holds your waist now, and tugs your smaller body closer to his again. He’s solid as a brick wall in front of you, and you figure you’re allowed to touch, so you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Joel mutters, and strokes your lower lip with his thumb. If you had more guts, you’d let it slip into your mouth, but you’re still afraid he’ll pull back if you make a wrong move, so you just let him caress your mouth tenderly.

"Whatever you’d like," you answer just as quietly, and you know it sounds sexual, but you mean it in every way – if Joel wants to be nothing but your professor, you’d take it, and if he wants to keep you here in his house indefinitely, you’d let him. Joel keeps looking at you, taking you in as if he’s considering whether the risks outweigh whatever magnetic or gravitational pull the two of you have between you.

"Stay," he say after a while, and although his face looks slightly regretful, his voice is determined, "just…sleep here tonight. I like havin’ you here."

You want him to kiss you, to pull you onto his lap on the couch, to take you upstairs right now, but Joel seems to be restraining himself, so you just nod.

"Me too," you whisper, echoing his words back to him, and for just a second, his thumb digs into your lip a little harder, but then he pulls away.

"Testin’ my goddamn restraint," he mutters, and takes a step away from you. "I’ll get you something to sleep in."

***

Joel gets you one of his band tees you love so dearly, and just the idea of being enveloped by something that smells like him all night makes it a little easier when Joel tells you he’ll take the couch instead of inviting you to sleep with him in his bed.

"No," you say softly, "it’s fine, you just sleep in your bed, Joel. I’ll take the couch."

He looks critical, so you offer him a soft smile.

"I don’t know if your back could take it," you tease, and he seems torn up between laughing and frowning. In the end, he just shakes his head, mutters something that sounds a lot like bad fuckin’ idea, and gets you a blanket and pillow.

He brings you a clean toothbrush and towel, let’s you use his bathroom (you look at the shower the entire time you’re brushing your teeth, trying hard not to think about what Joel looks like using it in the mornings), and when you’re done changing, you unlock the door again.

He’s there, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes trailing over your form in his much too big shirt. It’s long as a dress on you, coming down to your naked thighs. Joel visibly swallows and gets up from the bed.

"You got everythin’ you need?"

"Yes. Thank you, Joel."

There’s a beat of silence and you almost think Joel’s about to cross the room, but he just runs his palm over his beard the way he always does, and nods.

"Alright. Just shout if there’s…well, you know. I’ll be here."

"I will."

"Alright. Okay…goodnight, kid."

"Night," you almost whisper, voice soft, and right before you reach the door, Joel clears his throat.

"I…you were right about dinner and the movie. I wasn’t just tryin’ to be friendly," he says quietly, and your stomach swirls. Before you can walk over to Joel and do something about it, he sighs.

"Sleep tight, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

***

You wake to the sound of something dripping, and when your eyes flutter open, you can see Joel’s back from the kitchen. He’s wearing his work outfit again, a white button down and dark pants, sleeves rolled up. It smells like coffee, and with a smile you realize he must be brewing his beloved coffee – no machine, just a filter. He looks broad, even from your spot on the couch, and you enjoy peeking in on him. You study his movements, the way he reaches for a cup, how his fingers absentmindedly drum on the kitchen counter while he waits.

When he turns around, his eyes find yours, and he smiles.

"Mornin’. Did I wake ya?"

"’S fine," you yawn, pulling the blanket up to your chin, not yet ready to get up. "I have classes at ten anyway."

"’S eight," Joel tells you, "Coffee?"

"Yes please," you answer, and stretch your limbs under the blanket.

Joel brings you a cup, complete with a little bit of milk and sugar, and you move your feet so he can sit down on the couch.

"Sleep well?"

You sip your coffee, let it burn your tongue and close your eyes at the taste. When you open them, Joel’s gaze lingers on your face.

"Yeah," you answer, "thank you for…you know."

He nods, takes a sip of his coffee, and looks at his lap. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s very quiet, and you feel anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

"Joel, do you want me to leave? It’s fine if you do," you ask him softly, not wanting to make things awkward for him. It would be rational of him to ask you to leave, the smart and ethical thing to do.

"No," he answers quietly, still not looking at you, "I want you to stay."

Stay? On a Tuesday morning, after you almost kissed him and he told you he couldn’t do that, after you spent the night on his couch? When you have classes in two hours, haven’t showered yet, are half naked and wearing his clothes, on his couch under his blanket? When you’ve got friends wondering where you are and probably ten unanswered messages from Alva?

"Alright," you say, agreeing as easy as breathing.

Finally, he looks up, and his expression is so conflicted you reach out for him. Your hand finds his and you squeeze it. He keeps looking at you, his hand limp in your grasp, as if any movement of his muscles would incriminate him.

"You shouldn’t," he tells you earnestly. "Stay, I mean. You shouldn’t stay."

"I know."

You don’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t move his away.

"It’s a really, really bad idea," he adds, and you’re not sure who he is trying to talk out of whatever this is. "It’s risky. Could blow up both our lives."

"Yeah," you say, and watch him sip his coffee, "okay."

Then, a tentative flex of his fingers against yours, and finally, he’s squeezing your hand just as tightly, and before you can process what that means, Joel is leaning over you, dangerously close. Your breathing quickens, you register how soft his hair looks, how strong his hand is. He leans in further and you sit up a little, still cocooned in his blanket. His face is close to yours, his eyes fiery with something you can’t pinpoint, and you sigh, when he closes the gap between you.

He tastes of coffee and toothpaste, and you wish you’d gotten the chance to shower, but the thought disappears almost immediately when you hear Joel groan. His kisses you languidly, deeply, and your fingers come up to his beautiful arm, barely wrapping around half of his biceps. He cradles the side of your face, pulls you closer, makes your stomach clench with need. It feels inevitable, the way he touches you, like you only exist in a physical form to be touched by him.

His free hand peels the blanket off your body, lets it slide to the floor without ever stopping his the kiss, and you moan softly, when his hand touches your waist. The sound makes him break away, stare down at you, pupils blown wide.

"Fuck, you look good in my clothes," he mutters, nudging your jaw with his nose, and pressing a kiss there. "You should really, really go home."

Your head falls back slightly to give him better access to your neck, and he brushes his lips over your pulse point. Your heart skips a beat.

"I – I know," you breathe, fingers digging into his arm. His beard scratches your skin deliciously, and it takes everything in you not to whimper or beg. Joel’s hand slips under your shirt – his shirt – and instead of finding your waist again, he digs his thumb into your hip, stroking the fabric of your cotton panties. The fire in your stomach burns brighter, and you almost buck up into him. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller who until recently had a key to your childhood home, who lent it to you whenever you forgot yours inside – he’s sucking bruises into your skin, and toying with your panties. It’s dizzying, his familiar voice when he hums in satisfaction, even rougher than usually.

His fingers trace the waistband of your panties towards the front, until they find a small, silky bow, and Joel groans. He doesn’t take your underwear off, doesn’t even touch you where you need him the most, just keeps playing with the little bow, until your hips twitch without your permission. A little lower, and he would be able to feel how wet you are, how wet you have been all night. You didn’t do anything about it, not while you were a guest in his house. It would have felt wrong. You can’t imagine anything feeling more right than Joel’s mouth and hands on you, though.

"Jesus," Joel curses, "I should stop bef–"

"No," you whine, all dignity turned to hot air by Joel’s fingers, "please, Joel, please don’t stop."

He curses again, and moves his big body so that he’s not just hovering above you, but actually on top of you, your thighs falling open for him easily. At the movement, his shirt hikes up your thighs, and you know you’re basically on display for him, your soaked underwear leaving little to the imagination. He’s still fully clothed, his perfect button down all wrinkled now.

"Look at you," Joel breathes, lightheaded with desire, "this all for me?"

So he saw, when you moved to accommodate his broad form, saw how soaked you are, knows you ruined your panties just because he kissed you.

"Yes," you breathe, "yes, please–"

Before you can beg further, his finger presses down on your clit, and he watches your face contort in pleasure, as it shoots up your spine. You whimper, staring into his eyes, and he stares right back, as you start to grind your hips against his palm.

Your head feels blissfully empty, all worries about this relationship, uni, your parents, gone from you with a simple, practiced movement of his hand. The whimpers keep falling from your lips, and Joel curses.

"So beautiful," he mutters, "tell me what you need, angel."

It’s not a question, it’s an order.

"I – fuck, I need you i–inside," you groan, and Joel’s lips find yours again.

"Yeah? Need me to fuck you good, even though they’ll throw us both out?"

It shouldn’t turn you on. You’re jeopardizing both your own and Joel’s career, and he’s turning it into dirty talk. Still, your pussy doesn’t lie, and the way it throbs for him, aching to get him inside, makes all doubts disappear from your mind.

"Yes," you answer, unable to say much more as Joel keeps drawing tight circles into your clit.

Your hands drift from his arms towards his front, and Joel curses, when you paw at his belt buckle. It takes you a second, but then it’s open, the sound of the metal exciting you – it sounds like a promise.

Joel finally tugs your panties down, and for a second you’re self–conscious about not being clean shaven, but the second he sees you bare and glistening for him, his fingers dip into your folds, gathering your wetness with no hesitation.

"Fuck me," he groans, bringing his hand up to his face and tasting you, holding eye–contact the entire time, "prettiest pussy I’ve seen in my life."

You twitch under him, dragging your gaze away from his eyes and to his fingers. A moan escapes you, your hands have gone slack on his waistband, and Joel smiles down at you. Then, he does the same motion again, drags the tips of his thick fingers through your sticky arousal, but instead of sucking them clean himself, he holds them up to your mouth. His eyes burn, when you wrap your lips around them without a moments hesitation, and he feeds you your own slick.

"Taste so sweet, huh?"

You don’t answer, just swirl your tongue around his fingers, and suck on them. Joel watches your mouth intently, lets you take your time.

"Good girl," he praises you, and you clench around nothing, "so fuckin’ needy for me."

He drags his fingers from your mouth, and finally pushes into you, the stretch much tighter than with two of your own. Your head falls backwards, and Joel curls his fingers.

"No, baby, look down here," he orders, and immediately you lift your head again, and watch him pump two thick digits in and out of you. It’s dizzying to think it’s the same hand that waved to you from over his fence for years and years. You feel a coil building in your stomach, and you moan.

"Fuck, Joel," you moan, his name leaving a delicious aftertaste in your mouth. His beautiful forearm flexes with every movement, your slick is dripping down his fingers, and those damn sleeves are still perfectly rolled up.

With a few more curls of his fingers, you gush around him, barely having time to warn him, and he praises you, calls you his good girl, drags his fingers against that spongey spot inside of you until you see stars.

When he slips his fingers out of you and holds them up to your face again, you clean them up with your mouth as Joel watches with bright eyes. To think that he’s the same man who taught you Dirac not twenty-four hours ago – already, you want him inside again. When you’re done, he fumbles with his own clothes, and you watch him this time instead of helping.

"You look so good like this," you mumble, eyes raking over his broad form, "Professor."

His eyes snap up to yours, and you grin.

"Fuckin’ Christ, kid," he mutters, popping open the buttons on his shirt, "you can’t say shit like that."

"You don’t like it? You know, I watched you during your lectures and dreamed about…well, about this."

His expression is unreadable, but if you’re not mistaken, his hands move even faster now, and then he shrugs out of his shirt. You almost moan at the sight of his naked torso, so broad and solid.

"You need to pay attention in class," Joel answers, as he opens his pants. Your breathing grows a little shallow when he reveals his boxers underneath, his bulge huge.

"Can’t," you mumble, "not with you looking like this."

He chuckles at that, at the honesty and need in your answer.

"Don’t worry," he says softly, "I’ll fuck it outta you. Won’t be needing’ me in class, not if I’m still leakin’ out of you."

Your lips part, your pussy clenches – a smile tugs on the corners of Joel’s mouth at your reaction. He drags down his boxer shorts, and your eyes snap towards his cock, so thick and dripping in precum. You whimper, you can’t help it, and Joel’s smile widens.

"We’ll make it fit, baby," he says, reading your mind, and then bends down and kisses you again. You try to tug your shirt upwards, but Joel’s hands find your wrists and he holds them tight.

"No, want to fuck you in it," he breathes against your lips, and you press your hips upwards until he groans. He pumps his fist over his cock a couple of times, and aligns it with your entrance.

"Deep breath, baby," he mutters, and you obey, staring up at him as he starts pressing into you. It’s tight, much tighter than his two fingers, and your eyes glass over with pain, but Joel goes slow. His hand strokes your tummy, helps you relax, while he pushes on consistently. You feel like he’s punching the air from your lungs, eyes wide with the stretch of him, as he nips at your jaw and neck to distract you.

"Know it’s a lot, but you can take it, angel."

"Y-yes," you moan, and screw your eyes shut, "please don’t stop, Joel."

 Joel’s breathing is ragged with restraint, and suddenly his hips snap forwards – and he’s fully buried inside of your tight body, nestled right against your cervix.

"Back to Joel, are we?" he teases, and gives you a couple of seconds to get used to him. You whimper and claw at his arm.

"I – ah – I’ll call you Professor Miller ’f you want," you slur, as he starts dragging his cock out of you again. You tremble under him, the feeling almost more intense than when he pushed inside of you.

"Yeah? That get you off? Or – fuck–  is it the fact that I’m friends with your parents?"

It really, really should be a turn off, to be talking about your parents right now, but the way Joel says it, the way he points out just how debauched it is what you’re doing – you can’t help but moan. You blush, too, can feel the heat in your face, but you’re tired of being ashamed of wanting him the way you do.

"Both," you answer, and this time Joel groans, his hips snapping into you at a rougher pace. The head of his cock hits your spot every time, and you let out little sounds of pleasure with every drag of his cock, unable to form a coherent sentence. Joel’s hand finds your clit again, rubbing circles as his other one pressing down on your stomach.

"Feel that?" he asks you, and you do, you feel him all up in your guts, "you take it so well baby, take all ’f me."

"Yes," you answer, eyes glassy with pleasure, "want all of you, Joel."

He bites your shoulder, keeps rutting into you, and soon you feel another orgasm building.

"Close – ah – so close," you whimper, and Joel speeds up his thrusts just slightly. You clench around him, right on the edge.

"Come for me, angel, give it to me."

You do, your hips bucking, back arching.

"Ah – fuck, Joel, Prof–"

"Say it," Joel orders, fucking you through the waves of pleasure.

"Professor."

He comes, too, twitching deep inside of you and spilling rope after rope of come. It feels right, like you’re his. His groan is rough, his thrusts sloppy, and you feel your pussy spasm around him in a third, weaker orgasm, or maybe it’s just aftershocks from your second. You’re limp underneath him, letting him use your body how he needs to.

"Fuck," he curses, "did so good for me."

He slips out of you, and you can feel his spend drip out of you. You’re weak, soft like jelly, sweaty and entirely satisfied.

"Jesus," you breathe, when he falls down next to you, his couch mercifully being big enough.

"Yeah," he answers, "Jesus."

***

Turns out, Joel Miller is a dirty talking bastard during sex, and a big softie afterwards. He makes you tea, strokes your hair while you sip it, then carries you up to his shower and gently washes your body his his sponge. Throughout, he’s quiet, and you wonder if it was too much, the mention of him being your professor, of your parents, but you’re too afraid to ask. He brushes your forehead with his lips when he dries you off, and pulls another of his shirts over you head. Your panties are entirely ruined, it’s all you’re wearing.

When you’re clean again, and relaxed, Joel pulls you onto his bed, wrapping you up in his arms.

"Did you…was that too much?" he asks you softly fingertips tracing over your thigh lazily.

"It was just right," you answer quietly, and he hums.

"You didn’t feel like you…I mean when you called me Professor, you wanted to do that, right?"

You look up at him, and press a soft kiss against his jaw.

"Of course, Joel. Wanted everything we did, I promise."

He nods, but you can tell there’s still something bothering him.

"You know that’s not what you are to me, though, right?" Your voice is soft. "You’re just Joel."

He brushes the top of your head with his lips.

"I mean it," you press on when he doesn’t answer, "it’s like a costume, Joel. I know it’s your job, but it’s…I don’t think of you as like, an authority figure or something. I just thought you looked hot in that slutty shirt."

"Slutty–?" he sputters and you laugh.

"Sure, you know, with your sleeves rolled up, and that first button popped open."

"’S not slutty."

"You showed your forearms. Half the lecture hall felt like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time."

Joel makes an exasperated sound, half amused and half offended.

"I mean it," you say again after beat, humor gone from your tone, "and it’s not just sex to me. You know that."

"Yeah," Joel answers slowly. "’S more to me, too."

It’s a hell of an admission.

"What are we gonna do?", you ask quietly, and Joel sighs.

"You’re gonna go to class," he says, voice dark, "and I’ll try very, very hard not to call your father and tell him I’m fallin’ for his daughter."

You bury your face in his chest. With anyone else, it would be too much, too fast, too intense. But this is Joel. It’s not fast if you’ve known him your whole life, is it? You kiss his chest, and he seems to understand.

"We’ll figure it out," Joel says quietly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

For a second you do want your parents to know, want them to see that someone does treat you like an adult, want to look them in the eye and say I’m with Joel now and there’s nothing you can do about it. I have my own life now and it includes this kind man. It’s childish, you know it is. You lean up, catch Joel’s mouth in a kiss.

"Yeah," you answer, “We’ll figure it out, Professor.”

[mafiadad5]

Rent a boyfriend 20.0 [lmk]

♪ Now playing- 200, MARK LEE

♪ music major!mark lee x f!reader (ft. Jaemin and Chenle)

♪ summary- You’re tired of the teasing—you get it, everyone’s in a relationship. And with the Valentine’s Party around the corner the taunts were getting even more unbearable. You didn’t mean to drag Mark into this…you really didn’t, but then he made an offer you couldn’t refuse: Help him get an A on his project, and in return he’ll be your date to the party—your boyfriend. It’s just a simple deal, no strings attached. No way this could get complicated… right?

♪ genre/warnings- fluff, slight angst, mutual pining, fake dating, misunderstanding, university au, kissing under the influence of alcohol, drinking, y/n’s friend group is kinda mean, mentions of sex.

♪ W/c- 14k+

a/n- hey guys! So wanted to drop a valentines fic.. hope you enjoy!

You sat at the table, surrounded by your friends, the only one who had no one to hold. You didn't mind being single, you honestly didn't, but it was moments like these when everyone paired off, giggling and leaning into each other that made it just a bit unbearable. Somehow there was something worse than the PDA though—the teasing. Anytime someone brought up relationships, all eyes would land on you, and an offhand comment about how single you were would always come up. Today was no different. The group had decided to plan a cute Valentines party, for some reason. 

"But how's that gonna work when not everyone in the group is in a relationship?" Jaemin said with a smirk. Immediately, every head turned toward you. You shrugged, trying to keep your face neutral, and picked up your phone, scrolling, trying to look unbothered.

"Y/n... Can you like- just get cuffed for Valentine's Day or something?" One of your friends teased, laughing as if the idea was ridiculous. You rolled your eyes and kept scrolling on Instagram, trying to ignore it. 

"She would never... Y/n could never get into a relationship." Chenle spoke, his tone light, but it still stung a bit.

Your fingers froze mid scroll. You were so tired of being the target of their jokes. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

"Actually... I do have a boyfriend!"

Everyone's laughter stopped as they stared at you, clearly stunned.

"Oh really?" Jaemin asked, his eyebrow arching skeptically. "What's his name?"

Your heart raced as panic set in your body. You glanced down at your phone, searching for any kind of savior. Your thumb hovered over a random Instagram post, the username catching your eye: onyourm__ark. The name felt a little familiar, that could work.

"Mark." You said, looking up at them with a forced smile. "His name is Mark."

Jaemin tilted his head, his suspicion very apparent. "Mark?"

"Yeah." You replied, shrugging like it was no big deal.

"That's funny." Jaemin said, leaning back in his chair. "Why haven't I heard of this Mark character before?"

You froze again, you didn't really think this through before you spoke. Jaemin wasn't just anyone in the group, he was one of your closest friends. He knew almost everything about your life, and all of a sudden you have a boyfriend?

"I wanted to keep it a secret." You said quickly, scrambling for a believable excuse. "I didn't even know if he liked me back at first."

"Oh? So how'd you two meet?" Jaemin asked, clearly enjoying the way you got nervous from his questioning. It felt less like a conversation and more like an interrogation.

"In English." You answered, "We used to be in the same class, but we kept in touch after."

Jaemin narrowed his eyes, but then to your surprise, he nodded slowly. "You did mention a guy from your English class a while ago... I remember."

He did? You didn't remember saying anything remotely like that, but you weren't about to question it. "See? Told you." You said, forcing a laugh and rolling your eyes.

"Well, I'd love to meet him." Jaemin said, his tone still laced with suspicion. "Why don't you bring Mark to the next hangout?"

Your stomach dropped. "Okay, if that'll shut you up." You said, trying to sound nonchalant, but your hands tightened around your phone as Jaemin leaned back, a sly smile on his face. 

Internally, you were spiraling. You didn't have a boyfriend named Mark—or a boyfriend at all for that matter. What were you thinking? Now, you only had a week to figure out how to fix this mess before your lie caught up with you.

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You sat on your bed, phone in hand, trying to figure out what to do. You could always say that Mark couldn't make it to the hangout or that you had came down with the flu, but you knew your friends would see right through it. If they found out you were lying, you'd never hear the end of it.

Your thumb hovered over your phone screen as an idea struck you... Mark. Your freshman English class, Mark Lee, the guy you'd been paired with for a group project that lasted maybe a week. That was forever ago. You hadn't spoken to him in over a year, and you weren't even friends back then—just acquaintances. It would be so weird to reach out to him now, especially with such a weird request, but then again... what other choice did you have?

Your mind raced as you scrolled to his Instagram page, the username onyourm__ark staring back at you. You hesitated, typing out a message, deleting it, and typing it again. It had to be casual, like you weren't about to ask for the strangest favor of his life. Finally, you settled on something simple.

"Hey Mark, long time no speak. I don't know if you remember me, but we were in English together freshman year."

You hit send, your heart pounding. Seconds turned into minutes, and soon an hour had passed. Maybe this was a stupid idea. No, it was a stupid idea. You were already bracing yourself for the relentless teasing that awaited you when suddenly your phone buzzed.

"Hey Y/n, I remember you. How have you been? 🙂"

You nearly dropped your phone. Relief flooded through you as you scrambled to type back.

"I've been pretty good! What about you?"

His reply came almost instantly.

"I've been good as well. Is there any reason in particular that you're texting me? Lol, not in a rude way btw."

Your stomach flipped. He didn't sound rude, but the question made your request feel ten times more ridiculous. You stared at the screen, second guessing everything, but you were in too deep to back out now.

"Yeah... I'm sorry, but I have to ask you for a HUGE favor 😭🙏. Please hear me out."

"I'm all ears." He replied.

You hesitated again, biting your lip. This was beyond embarrassing, but then you thought about your friend's laughter and the endless teasing you would endure if this didn't work out. You had to at least try.

"So... my friends make fun of me because I'm the only single one in the group, and I got tired of it. I sort of... told them I had a boyfriend. Your post was on my feed, so I accidentally told them it was you. Now they don't believe me and want to meet you..."

You cringed as you hit send, practically feeling the embarrassment radiate off your phone screen.

Moments later, a new message appeared.

"LOL. Y/n this is crazy 😂. So, what? You need me to meet them and act like your boyfriend?"

"Yeah... that would be very, very awesome." You replied, your face burning with embarrassment.

"What do I get out of this? 🧐"

You stared at the message, trying to think of something. You were so desperate, you'd probably agree to anything at this point.

"What do you want...?"

"You have to pay for me at the hangout 🫡”

Ok, that wasn't bad. You could manage that.

"Deal." You replied.

"And you have to write my essay. I remember you're good at stuff like this."

You groaned. Yes you were good, but you hated doing it.

"🥲... Fine." You wrote back.

Before you could relax, another message came through.

"Wait, before I agree, can we at least meet in person first? Just to talk a little and figure things out."

He had a point. You couldn't exactly walk into this without a plan.

"Yes, of course." You responded quickly. 

"Are you free tomorrow... and do I have to pay for you then too?"

"I'm free tomorrow, and no, you don't have to pay for me tomorrow 😂." He replied.

You felt a small wave of relief.

"Ok, let's grab a coffee tomorrow at noon." You typed.

"Sounds good. I'll see you then."

You exhaled, setting your phone down. It wasn't a guarantee, but at least there was a chance this might work. Now, all you had to do was convince your friends.

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The next day, you strolled into the café, your bag slung over one shoulder as you rushed inside. You spotted Mark sitting at a small table by the window, his beanie low over his head as he sipped from a coffee cup. He glanced up and smiled when he saw you, raising a hand in a wave.

"Sorry I'm late!" You said as you dropped into the chair across from him, setting your bag down with a thud. "Traffic."

"No problem, I just got here anyway." He said, giving you a lighthearted grin.

"Thanks for meeting me. I swear this isn't as crazy as it probably sounded over text."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "You told me you accidentally named me as your boyfriend to your entire friend group. That's... kind of crazy."

"Ok fine, maybe it's a little crazy." You admitted, leaning back in your chair. "They've been driving me nuts Mark. Every time we hang out it's like, 'Oh Y/n's still single? Maybe one day you'll find someone.' Ugh, I couldn't take it anymore."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "So your solution was to drag me into this?"

"Look, I panicked. Your Instagram post popped up on my feed, and I just blurted out your name, but now they want to meet you, and if I back out, they'll never let me live it down." You said, throwing up your hands.

Mark stared at you for a moment, but then he sighed, setting his coffee cup down. "You really hate losing, huh?"

"More than anything." You said, leaning forward.

He laughed, the sound genuine. "Alright, I get it. So what's the plan? Are we rehearsing some elaborate backstory or something?"

You waved him off. "Nah, that's too much work. We'll just wing it. They don't need the whole story of how we 'fell in love.' You're Mark, my boyfriend. We met in English, we reconnected, end of story."

"Wing it?" He repeated, his brows lifting in slight disbelief.

"Yep." You said confidently, sipping the coffee you ordered on your way in. "Is that okay with you?" 

Mark studied you for a moment, his gaze steady. "You're really something Y/n."

"What!?" You asked, shrugging with a grin on your face.

He shook his head, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. "You realize this could backfire, right? If they catch on..."

"Yeah, wait. You're right. We may have to come up with a plan." You interrupted, tapping your fingers on the side of your cup.

"Tell me about this group of yours." Mark said, leaning forward with interest.

You hesitated for a moment, thinking of how best to describe them. "Well, there's Jaemin one of my closest friends...he's the one who's been grilling me the most. He's super observant, so we really need to be convincing around him. Then there's Chenle. He's a little less... eccentric than Jaemin, but he's the one who made a comment, so... yeah, he's a problem too."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a fun crowd."

"They're not that bad." You said quickly, though you weren't sure if you believed it yourself. "The rest of them are less skeptical, but they'll still ask a million questions."

Mark nodded. "Okay. How long have we been 'dating' ?"

You paused. "Uh... let's say a month? Long enough to make it seem legit, but not so long that it's weird you're just meeting them now."

"Smart." He said. "And how did we meet?"

"Freshman English obviously." You said.

"Oh...right. What do I do for fun? If they ask, I don't want to say something totally weird."

You thought for a moment. "Well, what do you do for fun?"

Mark laughed. "Play guitar, hang out with friends, binge watch random shows. Pretty standard stuff."

"Ok, stick with that." You said, jotting it down in your phone's notes. "What about me? Do you remember anything about me?"

Mark tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "You were pretty quiet, right? I remember you always had your notes super organized though and had little drawings. You're good at writing and photography too."

"Wow, thrilling personality." You said dryly, but you couldn't help smiling.

"Hey, I like organized people." Mark said, flashing a grin.

You both laughed, for the first time since this whole mess started, you felt like maybe, just maybe, this could actually work.

Mark leaned back in his chair, his eyes playful. "So, when's the big hangout?"

"Next Saturday." You said. 

Mark paused for a second, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. "You're sure this is what you want to do?"

You nodded. "Yeah. I just need them off my back for one day. Then I'll tell them we broke up or something, and it'll all blow over."

He let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair beneath the beanie. 

"Alright...I'm in."

"You are?"

"I mean, how many people get to say they were someone's fake boyfriend? It's a good story, but— you're paying, and doing my essay." He spoke, raising his eyebrow. 

"Yeah— yes of course." 

"Then deal." He smiled, reaching his hand across the table. 

A bright smile painted your face as you reached across the table to shake his hand. "Thank you. You're officially the best."

"Don't thank me yet." He said with a laugh. "This could still go horribly wrong."

"Shh, shh." You said, waving him off. "Now, are you ready to charm the pants off my friends next Saturday?"

His eyes went wide as a nervous smile crept on his face. "I don't think that's part of the deal..." He joked.

"Mark." You laughed, grabbing your bag as you stood up. "We'll convince them." 

Mark shook his head, but the smile on his face lingered as he stood up as well. "Let's hope you're right."

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The cafe where your friends had decided to meet was full of chatter. You walked in with Mark by your side, your heart racing, though you'd never admit it. He looked surprisingly calm hands stuffed into his pockets as your arm was linked around his, beanie pulled low over his hair, a casual smile on his face.

"There they are." You muttered under your breath as you spotted your friends gathered at a large table near the back.

Mark glanced at you, his tone teasing. "You ready... babe girl?"

You stopped dead in your tracks, turning to glare at him. "Babe girl? Really?"

He smirked. "What? I thought it sounded cute."

"It sounds ridiculous." You said, but you couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up. "Corny and ridiculous."

"Guess it's our thing now." He said, a quirky smile on his face.

"Absolutely not." 

As you approached the table, the chatter stopped, and all eyes turned to you. Jaemin leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. "Look who finally decided to show up, and with a plus one!"

"Hi." Mark said with an easy smile, lifting a hand in a small wave. "Nice to meet you all."

"Mark huh?" Chenle said, giving him a suspicious look from head to toe "So you're real."

"Very real." Mark said, his grin never falling.

"Well, don't just stand there. Sit down, we've got questions." Jaemin said, motioning you both to the empty chairs.

Mark glanced at you, eyebrows raised. "Interrogation already?"

"Oh, absolutely." You said, plopping into a seat. "Good luck."

He laughed and took the chair beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table.

"So..." Jaemin began, leaning forward. "How'd you two meet again?"

"English class." You answered quickly.

Mark nodded, picking up without missing a beat. "Yeah, freshman year. She was the only person in the class who didn't make me feel like an idiot during group projects."

You shot him a look, trying not to break character. "That's because you weren't an idiot."

Jaemin squinted, clearly searching for holes in the story. "How long have you been... together?"

"A month." Mark said smoothly.

"Uh huh..." Jaemin said, dragging out the syllables. "So that means you're okay with coming to the couples Valentine's party next month, right?"

Mark blinked, glancing at you. "The what now?"

Jaemin's grin widened, sensing an opportunity. "The party, didn't Y/n tell you? It's just for couples in the group, which is all of us, right? It'll be fun— cookie decorating, gift exchanges, all that good stuff."

You felt your stomach drop. Of course he'd pull something like this.

"Who even wants to spend Valentine's Day with a group of people when you're dating someone? That doesn't even make sense." You turned to Mark, hoping he'd follow your lead. "Right Mark? Wouldn't you only want to spend time with just me on... that... Valentine's Day?"

Mark hesitated for a second before nodding. "Yeah, right. I would want to spend it alone with my girlfriend, not in a group you know? Really though, I appreciate the invitation." He shot you a glance before looking back at Jaemin.

Jaemin, still grinning leaned in. "I mean, the party isn't all day, only a few hours at night. You two can spend it together alone pretty much."

"I mean... well. That's really when I want to be alone with her... at night." Mark said, his ears turning red as the group collectively reacted. Jaemin's eyebrows shot up, his smirk widening and Chenle let out a low whistle.

"We can move the party earlier since you two lovebirds want the night alone." Jaemin teased. "We really want you guys there."

"Jaemin, just drop it." You said, rolling your eyes.

"I was talking to Mark, Y/n." He replied, dismissing you.

Mark's easygoing demeanor stiffened slightly as he shot Jaemin a look. "Don't talk to her like that dude." Then after a quick glance at you he continued. "Look man, I really appreciate it and everything, but she wants to spend Valentine's alone, so we're gonna do that... all day." His said, his voice softening.

"Well damn," Chenle muttered into the awkward silence. "and we thought Y/n accepted the invitation."

Your patience finally snapped. "Okay! We'll go, goodness me." You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor.

"We will?" Mark asked, blinking at you and scratching the back of his head.

"Yes, we will." You answered quickly, shooting a glare at Jaemin, who looked far too pleased with himself.

"That's great." Jaemin said, his smugness radiating off him.

You exhaled sharply before turning to Mark. "Now babe... Mark, can we please leave?" Your voice dripped with frustration.

Mark bit back a laugh. "Sure thing... babe girl." He sucked in his breath slightly, bracing for your reaction.

You narrowed your eyes, but couldn't stop the small giggle that slipped out. "Ridiculous." You said, shaking your head. 

Mark stood, offering the group a small wave. "It was nice meeting you guys."

"Nice meeting you too Mark." Jaemin said, clearly entertained. "Hope we can all get together before the Valentine's party."

Mark nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"Bye guys." You added, throwing one last glance at Jaemin before turning and walking out, Mark right beside you.

As soon as you stepped outside you let out a deep sigh. "Mark, I'm seriously so sorry. They're typically not like this."

He laughed, hands in his pockets. "Nah it's okay, I swear. I'm just more worried about how we're gonna show up to this Valentine's party."

Your stomach dropped. "Oh fuck Mark. I panicked—I didn't even realize."

He smirked. "Yeah, I noticed."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "It's fine, I'll just tell them we broke up or something."

Mark nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good to me."

A brief silence passed before he glanced at you. "Now, if you don't mind or anything... do you wanna grab a real lunch?"

You blinked at him before breaking into a smile. "Yeah that sounds good... like our break up hangout." You giggled.

He chuckled. "Yeah, something like that."

You paused. "I'm not paying for you." You looked at him with squinted eyes. 

Mark scoffed. "I guess not." 

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The two of you sat at the table, the world outside fading as you talked and ate, lost in conversation. There was something surprisingly natural about it—like you'd been friends forever.

You swirled your drink absentmindedly before slipping in a question. "So, like... what do you do?"

Mark blinked, then grinned. "Oh... I'm a music major. So... make music, I guess?"

"Oh that's sick. So you just write music for class? That sounds fun... and easy." You teased, raising an eyebrow.

Mark scoffed, shaking his head. "It's not actually. Right now, we're starting a project where we have to tie music and cinematography together. It's due in like a month.

You tilted your head, thinking. "So, February 7th? That's such a long time."

"Mhm, that's not even enough time." He said, nodding seriously.

"You'll be fine, it's easy." You waved him off.

"And it's summer." He shot back.

"What?" You asked, furrowing your brows.

"Oh, I thought we were lying about things." He said with a cheeky smile.

"Mark, please." You giggled, shooting him a playful glare.

Still smirking, he leaned back. "Alright, since my major is so 'easy', what's yours?"

"Digital Art and Media." You replied.

Mark's eyebrows lifted. "That's why it's easy for you, you do photography and digital art."

"I only took one photography class, relax bud. I'm not an expert." You said, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Yeah, whatever. More experience than me." He said, playfully rolling his eyes right back.

"Yeah, yeah."

Time slipped away unnoticed. What was meant to be a quick lunch turned into two hours of laughter, and playful conversation. You hadn't even realized how long you'd been sitting there until you glanced at the time and your stomach sank.

"I'm so sorry Mark, but I have an assignment due that I have to do." You said, frowning.

He gasped dramatically. "Wow, you need better time management."

You scoffed. "Yeah? Well, I guess time passes when you're having fun with someone."

The words left your lips before you could process them. The moment hung between you for a split second too long before Mark's grin widened, his cheeks rounding.

"Yeah... that's true."

You cleared your throat, shaking the moment off. "We should definitely do this again... but, you know, as regular friends." You shot him a bright grin as you stood up.

Mark nodded quickly, standing up beside you. "Yeah, no, yeah... totally." He smiled, but there was something in his expression.

"Well, I had fun. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, see you later." His gaze lingered as you waved and walked away, feeling lighter than before.

Hours later, you were deep in your assignment, tackling it with as much focus as you could. The only problem? You'd made the grave mistake of leaving your phone off Do Not Disturb.

It buzzed. Once... twice, a few unimportant messages. Then, one caught your eye, a familiar username.

@onyourm__ark

Your fingers hovered over your phone. You needed no distractions, but the message was simple.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

Curiosity won.

"Yeah, what's up?" You typed back.

His response came almost immediately.

"Do you like... actually need me to go to this Valentine's party thing?"

You bit your lip, considering. "Would you? What would you want in return?"

The three little dots popped up. Then:

"Well... your major is like really really cool... and exactly what I need for my project. So, could you help me with the project over the month? If I get an A, then I'll go with you."

You tapped your fingers against your desk, thinking. 

"Hmmm... that's a good deal actually."

Before Mark could even finish typing a response, you sent another.

"Eh, that's too much work though. Look, I'm currently working on something right now... my classes are hard this semester."

His reply was immediate.

"Oh... I thought it was so 'easy.' 😂"

You groaned, shaking your head. 

"Yeah, when that's your only class. I appreciate the offer, but I can't. I'll just tell them we broke up lol."

"Ok ok... good luck with them."

"I'll manage.🫡"

You put your phone down, determined to get back to work, but your mind kept drifting. You didn't even know what the project fully was, you could at least hear him out... right?

With a sigh, you hesitated before unlocking your phone again, opening your messages with Mark.

"So like... what's the project? What do you have to do?"

This time, the response came instantly. Almost like he had been waiting for you to ask.

"I have to make a song and record a music video for it."

Your eyes flicked over the message. 

"So just videography, and text work?"

"Not even... the song doesn't have any lyrics, so just videography."

You chewed your lip.

"That doesn't sound too bad."

"It sounds like someone's changing their mind👀... I hope."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. 

"Perchance."

"Say yes, say yes, say yes."

You sat there, staring at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You weren't actually considering this, were you?

...Maybe you were.

"Ok, fine."

His response was immediate.

"YESSIR!"

You chuckled, shaking your head.

"Let's meet up sometime next week and get started, if that's okay with you?"

"Yeah, that's perfect."

You locked your phone and leaned back in your chair, exhaling.

This was going to be... interesting.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

It was the next week, and you two finally met up at the park.

"Y/n!" Mark called out, waving you over with a bright grin.

"Mark!" You waved back, jogging slightly to meet him.

The two of you sat on a wooden bench, its surface worn smooth from the weather. The cold seeped through your clothes, but the excitement of finally starting the project kept you warm.

"So, what's the plan for this music video?" You asked, tucking your hands into your pockets.

Mark exhaled, his breath visible in the cool air. "Well, I want it to be naturally focused—kind of like me being out and about. Then I also want to show my process—like me writing and recording the music, you know?" His gaze flickered to you, his cheeks slightly pink from the cold.

You nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, that sounds sweet. Do you have everything you need?"

"Yep! I even brought the camera with me." He reached into his bag and pulled out a silver camcorder, a Spider-Man keychain dangling from the side.

You couldn't help but smile. "Oh, that's cute."

Mark chuckled, spinning the keychain between his fingers. "I haven't used this thing in ages though... let me make sure it's working." He flicked it on, the lens whirring softly as it adjusted. Without warning, he turned it toward you.

"Say hi Y/n." He prompted.

You straightened up, flashing a peace sign at the camera. "Hi hi, hello!"

Mark grinned behind the camera. "We're here with the super duper awesome Y/n."

"In the flesh." You responded, throwing up two rock hand signs.

Mark laughed. "In the flesh?" He turned the camera toward himself, raising an eyebrow.

You smirked. "We have a hater here guys." You motioned for him to hand over the camera, and he did so with an amused expression.

You turned the camera around, focusing on him. "Look at this hater. Super duper hater Mark."

"In the flesh." He said expressionless, before glancing at you to catch your reaction.

You scoffed playfully, rolling your eyes as you turned the camera to frame both of you in the shot. "Alright, and with that... this test video is over." You smiled, locking eyes with Mark for a beat before looking back at the lens.

After stopping the recording, you both huddled together to watch the clip, laughing.

"Is this the type of video you're looking for?" You asked, glancing at him.

"Yeah, basically. This is awesome." His smile was wide and genuine.

"Great." You mirrored his smile, the warmth between you two making the cold a little more bearable.

A gust of wind rustled through the trees, and Mark tucked his hands into his sleeves before glancing at you. "Do you want to grab some lunch or something? It's on me."

You raised an eyebrow. "Free lunch? Why would I pass on that?"

Mark laughed, standing up and stretching before leading the way. The two of you walked to the familiar cafe where you always met, slipping into your usual routine without much thought. After ordering you found yourselves at your regular table, the conversation flowing as effortlessly as ever.

You set your cup down and leaned forward. "Wait, this would be a great shot." You reached for the camera, and Mark passed it to you without hesitation.

You turned it on, panning it toward him as he casually picked up his cup, taking a slow sip.

A giggle escaped you from behind the camera, and Mark's gaze flickered up. He smirked, trying, and failing, not to laugh.

"Wait, wait." He said, holding out his hand. "Let me capture my POV."

You handed the camera back, and he immediately started recording. First, he zoomed in on his cup, then moved to some of the food on the table, narrating dramatically.

"Here we have... a masterpiece." He slowly panned upward, the lens landing on you.

A small smile played on his lips as he held the camera steady. "Working on the project. This is the same day as the test recording, but who cares?"

You made an awkward face at the camera before sticking your tongue out playfully. "Documenting history." You teased.

Mark chuckled, lowering the camera slightly. "I think this might actually turn out great." He admitted, glancing at you.

You met his gaze, something lingering between the two of you.

You agreed softly. "Yeah, I think so too."

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

You had been recording with Mark for about two weeks now, always keeping the shoots outdoors, but today was different. Mark said it was time to capture one of the final stages—him recording it. For that, he invited you over to his apartment.

You of course agreed. It was part of the project anyway, but what surprised you was realizing that his apartment was only about a ten minute walk from yours.

Taking advantage of the convenience, you decided to walk there, stopping by a store on the way to grab some supplies for a separate project you needed to work on while Mark was busy. As you waited at the checkout, a small Spider-Man figurine caught your eye. Something about it reminded you of Mark—probably that old keychain hanging from his camera. With a small smile, you grabbed it and added it to your purchase.

Soon, you were standing outside his door, a small brown paper bag in hand. You knocked, shifting on your feet as you waited.

The door swung open, and Mark greeted you with a bright smile. "Hey Y/n!"

"Hey Mark." You smiled back, stepping inside and slipping off your coat and shoes.

His apartment was cozy, a subtle scent of coffee and something faintly citrusy in the air.

"This place is nice." You commented as he led you toward his studio room.

"Aw, it's nothing." He said calmly, but there was a hint of pride in his voice.

You stepped into the music room, immediately noticing how it felt both chaotic and comforting. Wires across the floor, tangled yet somehow purposeful. Instruments leaned against the walls, and scattered notebooks were filled with what you assumed were unfinished lyrics. It wasn't pristine, but it felt real—lived in.

"Sorry for the mess." He said sheepishly, tidying up a few papers.

"No, it's cute. I like it."

He paused at that, looking at you for a moment longer than necessary, a small genuine smile tugged at his lips as he let out a soft giggle. "Thanks..."

You cleared your throat, settling in. "So, you have some finishing touches to do?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I just need to tweak a few things, then record. You can work on your project while I do that—I'll just set up the camera to capture everything, if that's cool?"

"Of course, do your thing." You assured him.

Mark adjusted the camera on its stand, making sure it had a good angle before grabbing his guitar and plopping down on the couch.

"I hope the noise isn't too distracting." He said, glancing at you.

"No, you're good." You gave him a reassuring smile before pulling out your supplies.

As you sorted through the contents of the bag, you came across the Spider-Man figurine. You hesitated for a second before looking up.

"Oh uh, Mark?"

He immediately looked over, giving you his full attention.

"I got you a little something. I saw it at the store and thought of you." You pulled out the figurine and held it up, waiting for his reaction.

His eyes widened slightly before a grin broke across his face. "Oh my god!" He took it from your hands, examining it like it was the coolest thing in the world. "This is literally my favorite... thank you so much."

You laughed at his enthusiasm. "Yeah, yeah, you're welcome."

Mark immediately ran over to the camera, crouching in front of it with the figurine. "Look at this super cool gift Y/n gave me. Isn't it epic?" He held it up proudly, his smile contagious.

You shook your head, watching him with amusement.

"Everyone say 'Thank you Y/n.'" He continued, turning the camera toward you.

"Thank you Y/n." He said in a lighter voice. 

You rolled your eyes playfully, but smiled. "You're welcome guys."

Mark turned the camera back to himself. "But wait, what is Y/n working on? We've been stuck on me when we have a hardworking creative genius over here."

You lifted the almost finished postcard you had been making. "Well guys, I just have to make some postcards."

"Ooo, pretty." He said in his high pitched voice again.

You smirked. "Wait—me or the postcard?" It was meant to be a lighthearted joke, but Mark answered instantly.

"Both."

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown off, but he just grinned at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Clearing your throat, you turned the postcard over in your hands. "You know, why am I even making this? My major is digital design."

"Crazy wonders of the world." Mark said, raising an eyebrow dramatically.

"I know right?" You giggled.

"Wait, hold up the postcard." He said suddenly.

You obliged, holding up the small card that was a sunset over the city skyline.

Mark placed the Spider-Man figurine in front of it, adjusting the camera's angle. "Spider-Man Mark in Y/n's pretty city." He moved the figure as if it were walking.

"Pretty Spider-Man Mark in Y/n's regular city." You corrected teasingly.

"Ah, that's not true. It's not regular, nothing you do is regular."

You turned to him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Mark immediately panned the camera toward you, catching your reaction.

"Guys, did you hear that?" You asked, smiling.

"I think they did... uh oh. I've been caught." He said dramatically.

Laughing, you shook your head. "Alright, alright, let's get back to filming."

Mark sighed, setting the figurine aside. "Okay, I'll finish recording my song. Back to boring me."

"No, I should be recording this part." You insisted, spinning around in his desk chair. "That's literally the point of the project."

"It's fine—"

"Nope." You stood up, grabbing the camera and plopping onto the bean bag in front of him. "Alright, let's hear it."

Mark adjusted himself on the couch, strumming a few simple notes at first as you zoomed in slightly.

"We want to hear the song!" You said in a high pitched voice behind the camera.

Mark looked up, straight into the lens. "Guys, you have no say in this."

"Hey! Don't talk to them like that. We all want to hear the song... you must oblige."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, all of you?"

"Yes." You nodded, keeping the camera steady.

"Well... I guess that means I have no choice." He sighed, dramatically adjusting his posture. Then his expression softened. "Alright. Here goes."

As he began playing his eyes fluttered shut, lost in the melody. The notes filled the room, smooth and rhythmic, but when he opened his eyes again, they didn't go to the camera— they went straight to you. Suddenly, he stumbled. "Wait—I'm nervous when you're looking at me play... turn the other way."

"What? How am I supposed to turn away? I'm literally filming. If you suck, just say that." You teased.

Mark groaned. "That's not fair."

"Fine, fine, I'll close my eyes." You smirked. "You're lucky I'm talented and can record with my eyes closed."

You heard him chuckle before he started playing again and this time, he didn't stop. The music wrapped around you, soothing you into a quiet rhythm as you swayed slightly.

When you finally opened your eyes you smiled. "Wow... you're good."

He set the guitar down. "Me? Nah."

"You're definitely better than me." You admitted.

"Wait—you play?"

"Barely."

"Give it a try."

"Oh no, no, no—"

"Oh yes, yes, yes."

And before you could argue, he was handing you the guitar and taking the guitar from you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You hesitated, staring at the guitar now resting in your lap as you glanced up at Mark, who was grinning.

"Mark, no. I can't." You said, shaking your head.

"Yes, you can." He countered, adjusting the camera to make sure it was still recording. "If you guys want Y/n to play say, 'Play Y/n.'" He turned back to you with a teasing smile.

"Play Y/n." He said in that high pitched voice again.

You groaned, pointing at the camera. "You guys are traitors."

Mark beamed. "You must listen. You must oblige, right?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't fight your own smile. "Fine, but I'm telling you I suck."

"It's okay, take your time." He reassured, watching you expectantly.

Taking a deep breath, you positioned your fingers awkwardly on the strings, recalling the few chords you knew. You strummed slowly, hesitant. The sound wasn't smooth—it was a little choppy, a little messy, but you pushed through, playing a simple tune you vaguely remembered.

As you focused on the guitar, you felt Mark's gaze lingering. When you glanced up, he was watching you with a small smile.

"Okay, I'm done." You announced quickly, placing the guitar back on your lap like it was some kind of dangerous weapon.

Mark clapped dramatically. "That was good!"

"Mark, do not lie to my face right now."

"I'm serious!" He leaned forward. "Better than some people in my classes, I swear."

"Right..." You scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes.

"I'm not lying! It takes practice." He insisted. "You're the best in my eyes, okay?"

Before you could process his words, he gently took the guitar back from you and placed it across his lap.

"You'll get better, it's all about growth." He continued, casually strumming a few quick chords.

"Oh, now you're just showing off."

He grinned. "No I'm not, stop."

You shook your head, still smiling, before glancing at the clock. It was getting late.

Mark must've noticed too because his fingers slowed on the guitar. "You should probably head home soon, huh?"

You sighed. "Yeah... probably."

A beat of silence passed between you, filled only by the faint buzz of the camera still recording. Neither of you moved right away.

Then Mark stood up abruptly. "Wait, let me walk you home."

You blinked. "Mark, it's literally a ten minute walk."

"So?" He shrugged, grabbing his hoodie off the back of the chair. "It's dark out."

"I'll be fine." You reassured him, standing up and stretching.

"Still, I wanna make sure." He smiled at you.

You held his gaze for a moment before exhaling in defeat. "Fine, but if we get jumped you better be ready to fight for your life."

Mark laughed as he grabbed his keys. "Don't worry, Spider-Man got you."

As you both stepped outside into the cool night air, walking side by side under the streetlights, you found yourself stealing small glances at him.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

The familiar ding of Mark's apartment buzzer echoed as you rocked back and forth on your heels, hands stuffed into the pockets of your hoodie. Moments later, the door swung open revealing Mark in a black hoodie and sweatpants, hair slightly tousled like he'd been running his hands through it.

"Y/n! My favorite editor has arrived." He said with a teasing smirk, stepping aside to let you in.

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside and kicking off your shoes. "Flattery will not make me do extra work Mark."

"Damn...worth a shot."

He led you into his workspace, where his laptop was already open, the editing software pulled up on the screen. A few loose papers and a notebook was scattered across the desk. You settled into the chair, rolling up your sleeves, ready to finish what had been weeks of filming and late night texts about clips and transitions.

As Mark settled onto the couch behind you, tuning his guitar absentmindedly, your eyes drifted to the notebook lying open beside the keyboard. The title at the top caught your attention.

200

Your brow furrowed as you skimmed the first few lines.

"Hey, what's this?" You asked, fingers brushing the edge of the page.

Before you could read any further Mark was suddenly there, reaching over your shoulder and snapping the notebook shut in one motion.

"Nothing—just a project for another class." He said quickly, his voice a little too casual.

You arched a brow, turning in your chair to look at him. "Oh yeah? What class?"

He blinked. "Uh—songwriting."

You smirked. "You're a bad liar."

"I am not lying." He countered, crossing his arms, but the way he avoided your gaze told you otherwise.

You let it slide—for now. "Fine Mr. Songwriter. Let's get back to the actual project before we run out of time."

He exhaled in relief, moving back to his spot on the couch as you clicked through the footage. The two of you worked, laughing over bloopers and trimming clips.

After a while, Mark leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of the chair. "Hey, so... I wanna learn how to add text to videos."

You glanced at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah, like... just in case I ever need to make a music video by myself." He explained, his voice dipping slightly.

You smirked, already sensing where this was going. "You mean in case I'm not around to do it for you?"

He grinned, not even denying it. "Exactly."

You hummed, clicking through the editing software. "Alright, pay attention."

Mark pulled his chair up beside you, leaning in way too close as you navigated the program. You felt the heat of his gaze more than once, but you pretended not to notice—until you did.

"You're not even looking at the screen." You said, turning toward him.

"I am." He defended, but his smirk gave him away.

You huffed, placing your hand on the mouse. "Watch closely."

You leaned in to type and in the process, your knee brushed against his. Instead of moving away, Mark just smirked slightly, shifting even closer.

"So, you click here to add a text layer." You explained, voice steady despite the way your skin tingled. "Then you can choose the font, size, and animation style."

"Mmm, what if I want it to fade in all smooth and cool?"

"Then you'd go to transitions and—"

You clicked the wrong thing.

A bright pink, curly font popped up on the screen, reading: SUPER AWESOME Y/N IS THE BEST.

Mark burst into laughter. "Ohhh, I love that...perfect title."

You groaned trying to fix it, but he grabbed your wrist gently. "Wait, wait. Keep it."

"Mark, no."

"Mark, yes." He teased, his fingers still lingering on your wrist. "It's only fair, you are super awesome."

You shook your head, deleting the text despite his protests.

You both finished the editing, but before you could say you were done for the night, Mark stretched with an exaggerated groan.

"You know what? You should stay for dinner." He said casually.

You blinked. "What?"

"Stay for dinner." He repeated, standing up. "I'll cook."

You raised a suspicious brow. "You cook?"

He scoffed. "First of all, rude. Second, yes."

You crossed your arms, pretending to consider. "Mmm, free food... and potential food poisoning?"

Mark clutched his chest dramatically. "Wow, you wound me."

You laughed, standing up. "Fine, fine. I'll stay, but if I die I'm haunting you."

"Deal." He said, heading to the kitchen. "Now sit back, relax, and prepare to be amazed."

You settled onto a stool by the counter, watching as he pulled out ingredients. To your surprise, he actually seemed to know what he was doing, chopping vegetables with ease, humming under his breath as he worked.

"So, what is your specialty Chef Mark?" You teased, resting your chin in your palm.

He grinned. "Tonight? Stir-fry."

As he cooked, the conversation flowed easily. You talked about music, future plans, dumb childhood stories. At one point, Mark wiped his hands on a towel and reached over to poke your cheek.

"You always do that when you're focused." He pointed out.

"Do what?"

"That little frown." He mimicked, scrunching his brows.

You rolled your eyes, swatting his hand away. "I do not—"

"You do." He countered, turning back to the stove with a smug smile.

Dinner was surprisingly delicious. As you ate, the conversation slowed, settling into something quieter.

"You know." Mark started, twirling his fork. "I'm kinda sad this project's ending."

You glanced up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He met your eyes. "It was fun having you around. Working on something together."

You felt warmth spread through your chest. "Yeah... it was."

Mark hesitated before adding, "We should do it again sometime."

You smiled. "We should."

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

You and Mark had finally decided to take a break from all the work, choosing a laid back hangout where you didn't have to worry about editing, filming, or anything productive. Not that it ever felt like work, anyway—not with him.

The two of you strolled down the sidewalk, warm coffees in hand. Laughter spilled from your lips as Mark animatedly told you some story, his voice light and his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold.

"Wait, wait... so you're telling me he actually tried to—"

"Y/n?" A familiar voice cut through your laughter, making you pause mid step.

You turned toward the sound and immediately spotted Jaemin approaching, his usual smug grin plastered across his face. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his coat, but his sharp eyes flickered between you and Mark, already scanning for... something.

"Jaemin... Hi!" You greeted, putting on your best casual smile.

Mark lifted his hand in a small wave. "Hey man."

Jaemin's smirk deepened as he reached you both, tilting his head slightly. "Feels like I haven't seen you in forever." He said, his gaze still shifting between you and Mark, clearly analyzing.

"I know right?" You chuckled, shifting on your feet. "I've just been, you know... busy with my boyfriend." You emphasized the word, nudging Mark slightly with your elbow. He played along instantly, nodding in agreement with a small smile.

"Ahh, right." Jaemin said, dragging the words out as if he were testing how it felt on his tongue. His expression remained unreadable, but the skepticism in his eyes was unmistakable. "You guys look... closer than ever."

"Well, yeah." You replied, flashing a polite smile. "That's sorta what happens when you date someone."

Mark let out a quiet chuckle beside you, sipping his coffee.

Jaemin squinted at the two of you, lips pressing together like he was trying to piece something together. The silence stretched just a little too long before he finally let out a small hum.

"Hmm. Yeah, you're right."

"Well." You started, eager to end the interaction before Jaemin could get any ideas. "We're gonna get going—"

"Wait."

Your heart sank just a little.

Jaemin grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. "We miss you." He said, looking directly at you. "Why don't you and Mark stop by this Saturday? Hang out with everyone... you know, like the old times."

That smug expression on his face told you that declining wasn't going to be easy. You opened your mouth to politely decline, but before you could get a word out Mark beat you to it.

"That sounds fun, right babe?" He said smoothly, turning to you with a warm smile that almost looked genuine.

You blinked at him.

"Yeah, totally." You managed, forcing a smile back as you turned to Jaemin. "We'll be there."

Jaemin took a step back, satisfied. "Great! Just don't break up before then or anything."

Mark let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, we're good man."

Jaemin hummed again, still looking just a little too suspicious for your liking. "Kay... see you then."

With that, he finally walked away leaving you and Mark standing there in unison. You both let out a synchronized sigh.

"That was..." You trailed off.

Mark shook his head, smiling slightly. "I can see why you'd be scared to date someone...he's scary."

You laughed. "I'm not scared of him."

Mark raised a playful brow. "You sure? He had you real close to sweating back there."

You rolled your eyes. "I just think it's annoying."

Mark smiled, but then as if something weighed on him, his expression stiffened just a little. He glanced down at his coffee, rolling the cup slightly between his hands. "Seriously though... why don't you date anyone?"

You hesitated for a moment before exhaling through your nose. "I just don't want to." You shrugged. "I feel like relationships don't last. They start great, then fall apart."

Mark's gaze softened. "What makes you feel that way?"

You pressed your lips together for a moment before answering. "Just... a past relationship. It didn't work out, and honestly I don't think it's worth trying again. I'd rather just be by myself."

Mark didn't say anything right away, but you could tell something shifted in his demeanor. His usual playfulness dimmed just a little, like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if he should.

Finally, he offered a small smile. "Well... I get it I guess. If you don't try again, you won't ever know though."

"Then I guess I'll never know." You replied simply.

Silence settled between you, not awkward, but thick.

Mark looked down at his phone, biting his lip. "I should probably head out."

"Oh, okay." You said, nodding as you adjusted your coat.

He hesitated for a second before flashing his usual easygoing smile. "I'll see you this weekend, yeah?"

"Yeah... see you then." You said, forcing a small smile back.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

When you arrived at the hangout together, arms casually brushing, laughter slipping easily between you, no one batted an eye. You were affectionate without forcing it, leaning into each other, whispering small things that made no sense to anyone else, it felt effortless.

As the night wore on someone suggested a drinking game—Truth or Dare, with shots.

The group quickly agreed, the buzz of alcohol already making everyone a little looser, a little bolder.

"Drinking Truth or Dare?" Mark asked, raising a curious brow as he turned to you.

"Yeah, we do it all the time." You replied, already a bit tipsy, your tongue a little looser than it should be. "You don't have to if you don't want."

Mark smirked. "No, I want to."

And with that, the game began.

The first round started with a collective shot to get things going. The group quickly fell into a rhythm—questions growing more personal, dares becoming more ridiculous.

Then it was your turn, and your gaze flickered over to Jaemin.

"Jaemin." You said, a slow smirk creeping onto your lips. "Truth or dare?"

He leaned back casually, but cocky. "Truth."

You twirled your shot glass between your fingers as a sinister thought grazed your mind. "Is it true you've been thinking about breaking up with your girlfriend?"

The air tensed. Jaemin's easygoing expression fell for just a second, his jaw clenched.

"Y/n, what the fuck? No." His voice was sharp as he reached for another shot and downed it in one go.

You shrugged, unfazed. "I was just curious. You always made fun of me for being single so... this is ironic, isn't it?"

Jaemin exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Okay, I've got a truth for you then Y/n."

You raised a brow, taking a slow sip of your drink. "Fine, hit me."

His eyes darkened just a little, his smirk twisting into something sharper. "Is it true that the reason you took this long to get into a relationship is because of how shitty your ex treated you—that you tolerated for months?"

The table went quiet.

You felt your stomach twist, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes, refusing to let the weight of his words show on your face. "Jaemin, please."

Jaemin shrugged like it was nothing, but the tension between you two was thick. This happened often, your tipsy back and forths, but tonight it was different.

"Okay Y/n. Truth or dare?" Chenle's voice cut through, attempting to redirect the conversation.

"What? I just went." You said, shooting him a look.

"Go again." Chenle pressed, his gaze locked on you.

You sighed, deciding it was better than letting Jaemin's words linger. "Fine, dare."

A slow grin spread across Chenle's face. "Alright, I dare you and Mark to do seven minutes in heaven."

You blinked. "What, are we teenagers? Seven minutes in heaven?"

Mark turned to you, his expression unreadable, but amused.

"You picked dare." Jaemin's voice cut in. "You have to do it."

"Jaemin, hush." Chenle muttered, shooting him a look.

You sighed dramatically before standing. "Fine, whatever. C'mon Mark."

Chenle led you to a small, dimly lit closet, shoving you both inside before closing the door behind you.

The space was tight—so tight that your knees brushed his, your shoulder pressed into his chest. A dim, flickering light illuminated the space, casting soft shadows on Mark's face.

"Wow, this is kinda snug." You murmured, shifting slightly.

Mark let out a breathy chuckle. "Yeah... sorry, my hand kinda hurts. Do you mind if I...?" He gestured vaguely, and you understood immediately.

"Go ahead." You said, letting him wrap his arm around you to ease the angle.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, the sound of muffled voices outside the only thing filling the space, then Mark spoke.

"You know..." His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. "You're more than what you've had in the past... no matter what Jaemin says."

You stilled, no one had ever said that to you before. You turned to him, meeting his gaze in the dim light. His expression was softer than usual. Without thinking, you reached forward and pulled him into a hug.

"I appreciate you so much Mark." You whispered, your arms tightening around him.

His breath hitched slightly before he returned the embrace. "I appreciate you too."

When you pulled back, you were still close—so close that your breaths mixed, your faces mere inches apart. Mark looked at you, his gaze flickering down to your lips. Before you could process it, he leaned in.

And you let him.

The kiss started slow, tentative, unsure—before something in both of you snapped. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you melted into him. The kiss deepened, your fingers tangling in his hair, his grip tightening just slightly as if afraid you'd pull away.

You made a soft noise against his lips, and it was all he needed to kiss you harder, more desperately.

He broke the kiss for a second, looking at you with glossy eyes as you both caught your breaths. Before you could lean in, there was a knock on the door.

You both froze, your lips slightly parted, your breaths uneven.

Chenle's voice came through. "Alright, time's up."

You swallowed, pulling away fully. Mark's ears were flushed pink, his chest rising and falling just as fast as yours. Without a word, you reached for the doorknob and stepped out.

As you both took your seats, the air between you had definitely shifted. You avoided looking at Mark, but every time your eyes accidentally met, you couldn't help but smile. It was stupid, but something about it made your whole body feel light. Jaemin, of course was the first to notice.

"What, did you guys fuck or something?" He asked, staring at the two of you.

"Cut it out." Chenle interjected. "If she's calm now, then you need to be— or do we need to send you to the closet?"

You let out a small giggle at that, shaking your head.

Jaemin scoffed but let it go, leaning back in his seat. "Whatever." He said "She knows I love her." He said, quietly.

Something in his tone made you pause for just a second, but before you could even unpack that your eyes flickered back to Mark, and just like that, the rest of the room faded.

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February 7th – The Day the Project Was Due

The moment you woke up, you grabbed your phone and texted Mark.

"It's the day!"

It didn't take long for him to reply.

"Yep."

You smiled, quickly typing out another message.

"Have you turned it in already?"

"Yep."

You paused for a moment, his short responses making your fingers hover over the keyboard. Maybe he was just busy... maybe you were reading too much into it.

"And you told me that everything should be graded by the 12th?"

"Mhm."

Your stomach twisted slightly, this wasn't like him. Usually Mark was more responsive, more animated. Right now, his texts felt distant, dry. You tried to shake the feeling.

"Well... good luck. I'm scared for you 😭."

"Thxs."

That was it... just thxs?

Something felt off, you couldn't quite put your finger on it—maybe it was the lack of emojis, or the way you were imagining his voice flat and indifferent.

You hesitated before typing:

"... Are you okay?"

"Yep, I'm cool."

You frowned.

"You sure?"

"Yep."

There it was again. The same short response.

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard, but you decided not to push. If something was wrong, he'd tell you.

"Um... okay. Anyways, do you want to meet up for lunch today? I'm reallyyyy craving a sandwich right now."

A moment passed before his reply came in.

"I can't today... sorry."

Your stomach twisted again, but you forced yourself to brush it off.

"Oh... that's fine. I'll talk to you later."

You sat with your phone in your lap, waiting—hoping he'd text first like he usually did, but the hours passed, and there was nothing. No check-ins, no requests to hang out. Something didn't feel right. Just radio silence.

You sent a few more texts over the next few days, but his responses were slow and repetitive.

"Not today, sorry."

"I'm busy, maybe later."

"Sorry, can't."

Days blurred together, and before you knew it, it was February 12th. You grabbed your phone, barely able to contain your anticipation.

"Today's the day... I'm nervous... excited."

Mark's reply came a few minutes later.

"Lol yeah."

You hesitated. His texts still felt off, but you pushed the thought aside.

"Make sure to update me!"

This time he didn't even respond with words. He just liked the message. Your stomach sank slightly, but you told yourself it was fine... maybe he was just stressed.

You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, but the message didn't come until late—almost 11 p.m.

"So... I got a B."

You blinked at your screen, rereading the message. A B? After all the work you both put in?

"WHAT?" You typed back, your frustration evident.

"Yep."

You knew he had wanted an A. That was the whole deal, if he got an A, he'd go to the Valentine's Day party with you.

A small pang of disappointment settled in your chest as you hesitantly typed:

"Aw man, does that mean you won't go to the Valentine's party with me?"

A pause.

"Well... A deal's a deal. So no."

You frowned, staring at the screen. You knew it was silly to be upset—after all, this was fake and yet... it still kind of stung.

"Aw :("

"Sorry man."

You sighed.

"Nothing for you to be sorry about. We worked super hard... your professor will get knocked off their feet next time... swear."

"Yeah haha."

The conversation felt like it was ending, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"I hope you're okay?"

A moment passed before he replied.

"I'm fine."

You stared at his response for a moment before liking the message. That was that, The deal was off... no party, no fake date. Just like that, your arrangement was over. And maybe... maybe it was for the best.

Right?

You were half asleep when your phone buzzed again. Groggily, you reached for it, expecting it to be some random notification, but it wasn't.

It was Mark.

"I mean... are you still going to the party?"

Your eyes widened slightly. You sat up, rereading his message just to make sure you weren't dreaming.

Your fingers moved quickly.

"Probably, so I at least won't be alone on Valentine's Day 😂."

A few moments passed before he replied.

"You don't have to tell them we broke up and all that... maybe just say I'm sick or something."

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"Then they're gonna be expecting you to go to future couple things. Might as well tell them we broke it off now."

A pause.

"Ah... yeah, right. Sorry."

You sighed.

"No need to be. This was bound to happen anyways. We can't fake it all our life."

The words felt wrong as you typed them.

"Yeah."

And that was that. The end of the story, at least... that's what you thought. Until the day of Valentine's Day, when your phone buzzed again.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

You stared at the name on your screen. Mark.

A part of you had expected the conversation to end earlier, but here he was, still texting about it.

"Did you already tell your friends we broke up?" He asked.

"Well... yeah." You replied, faster than you intended.

There was a long pause. The three little dots popped up for a second, then disappeared. You swallowed, waiting for his next message.

"Damn it. My teacher just randomly curved my grade. So I'm at an A now."

The abrupt change of topic made you blink, but your fingers moved quickly across the screen.

"Omg, that's amazing. I'm proud of you. I know you wanted an A."

"Thank you, thank you—but what about you?"

"What about me?"

"I have to hold up my end of the bargain."

Before you could ask what he meant, another text came through.

"Is it too late to come to the party with you?"

You froze, rereading the words. Deep down, you were excited—excited to spend another moment with Mark, when lately the people around you felt a little unbearable. You knew you shouldn't be so eager, but still...

"I mean... I guess not. I do want to see the look on Jaemin's face when you walk in anyways. He's been taunting me and I haven't even seen him in person yet. You don't have to come though, I promise."

"A deal's a deal."

A small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips.

"Sounds great."

"Is there a dress code? Do you want to match or something?"

"I mean, that's up to you."

"I told you I was gonna be the best boyfriend they've ever seen... for that, you have to tell me how the best boyfriend is supposed to be."

"Just be you."

He saw it instantly. The typing bubbles appeared, then disappeared. You wondered what he was about to say but changed your mind on. Before he could reply, you sent another message.

"We have to meet up early so we can get each other gifts. "

"Yeah, for sure. I can come pick you up in about three hours, okay?"

"Sounds good to me."

You set your phone down, exhaling. Three hours.

Time slipped by faster than you expected, and before you knew it, there was a knock at your door. When you opened it, Mark stood there with his usual bright grin.

"Long time no see." You greeted, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.

"Long time no see." HE echoed, his eyes flickering over you before landing on your sweater.

You followed his gaze, then looked at him.

"Oh, we're matching?" You asked, noticing the way his red sweater mirrored yours.

Mark chuckled. "Yeah. Great minds think alike, I guess."

"So, are you ready to go?" You asked, slipping on your shoes and shutting the door behind you.

"Yep." He said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

The drive to the store was filled with the usual back and forth, music playing softly in the background as Mark tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Every now and then, you caught him sneaking a glance at you, but he never said anything about it so you didn't either.

"Okay." You said as you walked inside the store together. "We pick out a gift in five minutes, and no peeking at each other's choice until the party."

Mark let out a small laugh. "You think you can find me something good in five minutes?"

"Obviously." You smirked. "But you? I don't know Mark. I feel like you'll panic buy the first thing you see."

"Wow." He placed a hand over his heart. "That's the faith you have in me?"

"Prove me wrong then."

His eyes held yours for a moment, something unreadable flickering in them before he exhaled and nodded. "Alright, five minutes. See you at the door."

You grinned before spinning on your heel, heading straight into the aisles.

Mark found himself standing in front of a shelf filled with different gift options—some fun, some practical, some completely ridiculous. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing over at where you were browsing on the other side of the store. You looked so at ease, so sure of yourself. Mark? Not so much.

It wasn't that he didn't want to get you something—he did. Maybe a little too much. That was the problem. How was he supposed to pick something casual when everything in him wanted to get you something that meant more?

Sighing, he grabbed some crochet flowers off the shelf, inspecting it. It had to be just enough. Not too much, not too little. Just enough, plus, he remembered you saying something about roses in the past.

At exactly five minutes, you both arrived at the door, each holding a gift bag.

"Done?" You asked, tilting your head.

"Done."

You squinted at his choice. "Did you panic buy?"

He scoffed. "No faith. Absolutely no faith in me."

As you both headed back to the car, the air between you felt lighter. The slight hesitation in Mark's eyes was still there, but he was smiling—really smiling—and it made something in your chest warm.

By the time you arrived at the party, the house was already buzzing with music and laughter. Groups of people were gathered in the living room, some sprawled across the couches, others standing with drinks in their hands.

All eyes turned when you and Mark walked in together.

You felt it instantly—the shift in the room, the way conversations paused, the way Jaemin's smirk deepened as he leaned back against the counter.

"Well, well." Jaemin drawled, crossing his arms. "Look who decided to show up together."

You rolled your eyes. "Don't start."

Mark, to your surprise, just smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder with ease. "What? We always keep people guessing, right?"

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but said nothing.

You turned your head slightly, looking at Mark. His hold on you was relaxed, casual—like it was nothing at all. His fingers lightly pressed against your shoulder, and when you glanced up at him, there was something in his expression that made your stomach flip. Maybe tonight was going to be more interesting than you expected.

The night unfolded in a blur of laughter and chatter, the energy in the room buzzing as the party carried on. At first, it was subtle—the way you and Mark naturally gravitated toward each other, always within arm's reach, but then came the couple's games.

Someone had pulled out a deck of "Couple's Challenge" cards, a ridiculous party game daring pairs to complete tasks together.

"You two are playing." One of your friends declared, shoving the deck into your hands.

You barely had time to protest before Mark shrugged. "Might as well." He said, flashing you a playful grin.

Your heart stuttered for a second, but you rolled your eyes. "Fine, ut if we lose I'm blaming you."

The first challenge was simple—"Hand holding for the next three rounds." Mark didn't hesitate. His fingers slid between yours, warm and steady.

"Easy." He murmured, giving your hand the smallest squeeze. You told yourself it was just part of the game, but the way your pulse quickened said otherwise.

The next challenge was worse.

"Whisper something sweet in your partner's ear."

You barely had time to react before Mark leaned in, his breath warm against your skin.

"You look really pretty tonight." He whispered, low enough for only you to hear.

You froze, heat rising to your cheeks as your grip on his hand tightened.

"That's cheating." You muttered.

He only smirked. "You gonna call a ref?"

Before the next round could start, someone announced: "Cookie decorating time!" and everyone quickly moved toward the kitchen, where trays of plain sugar cookies and bowls of colorful icing were laid out.

You and Mark grabbed a spot at the counter, picking up two cookies.

"What's the plan?" You asked, squeezing a tube of red icing.

Mark tapped his chin, thinking. "I'll make yours, and you make mine."

You raised a brow. "So we're setting each other up for failure?"

"That's the spirit." He teased.

You narrowed your eyes at him before getting to work. Five minutes later, Mark burst out laughing. "What is this?" He asked, holding up his cookie—a lopsided mess of icing with a poorly drawn smiley face.

"It's you." You said proudly.

"This looks like a crime scene."

"You're ungrateful."

"Let's see yours then." He slid his cookie toward you, and to your surprise, it was... actually kind of cute. A small heart drawn in icing, a little crooked but undeniably sweet. You blinked at it, warmth creeping up your neck.

"Not bad." You admitted, trying to sound unaffected.

Jaemin, still lounging across the room, clapped his hands together. "Alright." He said, his smirk widening. "Since we're all feeling festive—why don't we open gifts?"

The room filled with murmurs of agreement, but your heart skipped. You turned your head slightly, meeting Mark's gaze. His hesitation was brief, just a flicker, before he nodded.

"Guess it's time." He murmured.

The room was filled with scattered wrapping paper and laughter as gifts were exchanged, the warm glow of the fairy lights adding to the cozy atmosphere. One by one, people unwrapped their presents, each reaction bringing a new wave of excitement.

Finally, Jaemin leaned forward, smirking. "Alright lovebirds, your turn."

"Alright, alright." You said, reaching for the small bag you had picked out earlier. You handed it to him with a teasing smile. "Here you go. Try not to cry."

Mark took the bag, holding it up dramatically. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness what is about to be the greatest gift ever given."

Laughter erupted around the room, but you just rolled your eyes. "Oh my God, just open it."

Mark finally stuck his hand in the bag, pulling out a sleek, keychain shaped like his favorite guitar.

His eyes widened slightly before he let out an impressed whistle. "No way." He said, running his fingers over it. "How did you even find this?"

You shrugged, grinning. "I have my ways."

He twirled the keychain between his fingers before nodding in approval. "Alright, I'll admit it—this is actually sick." He turned to the group. "Thanks, really." He murmured, and for a second, his voice was softer, more genuine.

You felt your heartbeat stutter.

"Okay, okay." Jaemin interrupted, smirking. "Now, what did you get for her Mark? Better be good."

Mark grinned, reaching behind him and pulling out a simple brown paper bag. "Alright, I went with something classic."

You took the bag from him, curiosity bubbling in your chest. As you opened it, your breath hitched.

Inside was the bouquet of crochet roses, your favorite flower.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. "Oh my God... you remembered?"

Mark's smile softened. "Of course I did."

A collective "Aww" echoed through the room as you stared down at the roses, warmth spreading through your chest. It was such a simple gift, but it meant more than words could express. Before you could say anything else, Mark clapped his hands together.

"Alright, I actually have one more surprise."

Your brows furrowed. "Wait—what?"

He stood up, brushing his hands off. "I'll be right back."

The group looked around with curiosity as Mark disappeared down the hallway. Moments later he returned, carrying his laptop.

"Uh... can I hook this up to the TV?" He asked, looking toward Jaemin.

Jaemin raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Yeah, go ahead man."

Mark quickly connected the laptop, and after a few seconds, the screen flickered to life. Your stomach flipped when bold white letters appeared on the dark background.

"200, by Mark... for Y/N."

Your breath caught in your throat and then, music started playing.

“First, you crashed into my life and you just broke, my roof and my window, girl, you had me shook—”

Your eyes widened in shock. It was the song you had found in his notebook. The one he had been working on, the one he had never let you hear.

Your heart pounded as the video started and suddenly, you were on screen.

The footage was a collection of moments—the two of you laughing during late night study sessions, joking around between takes for the project, him catching you off guard with his camera and you playfully shoving him away. The edits were smooth, timed perfectly to the beat of the song. You felt mesmerized as you listened to the lyrics.

They were about you.

Every verse, every carefully chosen word—it was all about the moments you had shared, about the way you made him feel, about the way he saw you when you weren't looking.

You barely noticed the people around you reacting. You were completely lost in the song, in the video. When a clip of you making a ridiculous face appeared you let out a soft laugh, covering your mouth. When the video cut to Mark recording you while you weren't looking, glancing at you, your heart clenched.

And then all too soon, the song ended.

The screen faded to black, and for a moment silence filled the room.

Jaemin just shook his head, muttering, "Wow." as everyone broke into collective "Aw's"

You turned to Mark slowly, your eyes shining. "You really did this... for me?"

Mark rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little sheepish. "Yeah. I mean... yeah."

You could only look at Mark.

And he could only look at you.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

When you arrived at Mark's apartment after the party, it was quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the heater as you stepped inside.

"You really learned how to edit lyrics for this?" You asked, shaking your head slightly as you set the bouquet down on the counter. "Mark, that was so thoughtful... really."

He glanced at you with a small smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Learned from the best... for the best."

His words made your stomach flip, but you ignored the feeling and nudged his shoulder playfully. "You didn't have to do all that for me."

Mark raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. "I told you I was gonna be the best boyfriend."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Well, you got a B, so you really went far and beyond."

For a split second, something flickered across his face—hesitation. His body stiffened slightly, and he averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well..." He trailed off, voice quieter. "She curved it... so I technically got an A."

You slowed your steps as you both entered his studio, brows furrowing. "Does your teacher provide feedback?" You asked, curiosity creeping in.

Without thinking he replied, "Yeah, of course."

Something about his tone made you pause. "What feedback did you get? I'm just wondering why you got a B in the first place. Not trying to toot my own horn, but the video was pretty nice... and the song—don't get me started, it was beautiful."

Mark let out a nervous chuckle. "Uh, yeah... haha. Sucks."

You narrowed your eyes. "Let me see it. I wanna read it."

Suddenly, he looked really nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Oh, uh—you wanna see it right now? My phone is dead, so we can't."

You turned your head toward the couch, where his phone was lying face up. Right on cue, the screen lit up with a notification.

Mark froze.

"You just got a notification." You pointed out, looking at him suspiciously.

His laugh was forced. "Oh, that's funny. Haha. Well, it's about to die..."

"Ah okay... but your computer's right there." You said, nodding towards his desk.

He followed your gaze, swallowing hard. His entire body tensed, and you could practically see the internal panic. Before he could come up with another excuse, you sat down in his desk chair and gestured at the laptop. "Just open it."

Mark hesitated. "Oh, I forgot my password."

You slowly turned back to him, deadpan. "Mark... What's wrong with you?"

He didn't respond.

"You're acting really weird, just open the computer."

His hands twitched at his sides before he finally moved forward, his fingers slightly shaky as he clicked onto the website to check grades.

"Log in." You said, watching him carefully.

Mark exhaled slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Are you sure you wanna see it?" He glanced at you briefly. "I just don't want your feelings to get hurt or anything."

"They're not." You said, glancing up at him.

He let out a dry laugh. "No, but they are."

You stared at him, your confusion growing. "Mark... just open it. I didn't sit here working on this project to not see what went wrong."

He nodded, pressing his lips together before finally typing in his username and password.

Incorrect password.

"Oops." He muttered.

You tilted your head. "Take your time."

He tried again. Incorrect.

And again. Incorrect.

"Mark." You said, your voice firmer now. "Seriously, what the fuck?"

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but then he suddenly stepped back, raking his hands through his hair in frustration.

You stared at him, concern creeping in. "Mark, what's wrong—"

"I lied." He blurted out.

"What?"

His jaw clenched. "I lied."

A heavy silence settled between you. You shook your head slightly, still trying to piece together what he was saying. "About what?"

He exhaled sharply, his hands still gripping his hair. "I lied about the feedback. I lied about the grade. I've lied about everything."

You felt your heart drop. "What are you talking about?"

His gaze finally met yours hesitantly. "I got a perfect score, okay?"

"Wait... why did you lie to me?" You asked, your voice was quieter now. "Did you not want to go with me or something? You know you could've just said that."

A flicker of panic crossed his face. "No, no—it's not that."

"Then why?" You pressed, your emotions starting to surface.

Mark swallowed hard, his usual easy confidence completely gone. He looked at you, his expression torn, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"Y/n, I can't."

Your chest tightened. "No, you can. You literally can. Are you playing with me right now?"

He quickly shook his head. "No, no—I swear I'm not. Please Y/n... I don't want to ruin anything."

Your lips parted slightly, hurt creeping into your voice. "You kinda already did." You turned to leave, your heart pounding, but before you could step out of the room—

"I like you."

You froze, your fingers curling slightly at your sides, your back still turned to him.

Mark swallowed hard before continuing, his voice softer now. "I've liked you this whole time... but this was all fake. And then you told me you didn't want a relationship, and I just—I didn't want to ruin anything."

Slowly, you turned to face him.

He looked wrecked.

"And then the kiss and everything was so... complicated." He went on, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know what to do, I was scared."

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

You exhaled shakily. "Do you know how unfair that is?"

Mark's brows furrowed. "What?"

You swallowed hard, your emotions rising to the surface. "I tried so hard to keep my feelings in check, to remind myself that this wasn't real. I told myself over and over again that I couldn't like you, but you... you were just lying to me the whole time?"

"Y/N—"

"What?" You said, a broken chuckle escaping your lips.

His gaze searched yours, uncertainty flickering across his face. "I—I didn't know you felt that way. You told me..." He trailed off, voice hesitant.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "I know what I told you, and I was so stupid for saying it."

Mark's eyes softened, studying you carefully, taking a step closer

"So... you do want a relationship?" He asked, his voice uncertain.

You hesitated, lips parting slightly. "I don't know." You admitted.

His face dropped slightly, just for a second—but before he could say anything you spoke again.

"Try asking."

Mark blinked, his frown fading as realization washed over him. Slowly, a smile tugged at his lips, cautious at first—then warm. He took another step forward, reaching for your hands, his fingers curling gently around yours. His touch was warm.

"Y/n." He murmured, voice softer now.

"Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?"

Your heart swelled at the way he said it—so sincere, so hopeful. A slow smile spread across your face as you nodded.

"Yes. I will."

Before you could say anything else, Mark let out a breath of relief, grinning as he pulled you in—his hands slipping around your waist, yours resting on his shoulders, and then he kissed you.

It wasn't rushed or hesitant like before. His lips moved against yours with a mix of relief, excitement, and something deeper. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, as if he was afraid to let go now that he finally had you.

You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, smiling against his lips. When you finally pulled away, Mark rested his forehead against yours, breathless and grinning like an idiot.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, like, for real." He admitted.

"Well, now you can do it whenever you want."

His eyes gleamed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Mark hummed, brushing his nose against yours before pressing another soft kiss to your lips.

"Best. Valentines. Ever." He murmured against your mouth.

You laughed, pulling him closer. "Yeah. It really is.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸

The group hangout was going great—laughter, drinks, and playful chatter filling the air as everyone lounged around in Jaemin's living room. You were curled up next to Mark on the couch, his arm draped casually over the backrest behind you.

Jaemin squinted at the two of you, tilting his head. "Something feels... different between you two."

You glanced at Mark before turning back to Jaemin with a playful smile. "Well, we just hit our one month anniversary."

Mark's gaze flickered to yours, amusement twinkling in his eyes. He smiled softly, playing along.

Jaemin blinked. "Wait, what?" He leaned forward, looking genuinely confused. "Hasn't it been like... three months since you told me y'all got together?"

You and Mark just stared at each other, expressions blank as the realization sank in. Mark was the first to recover, turning back to Jaemin with the straightest face and shrugged.

"Yeah, whatever." He said smoothly. "Time is an illusion."

Jaemin shook his head, chuckling. "Y'all are so weird. I don't get paid enough to deal with you two."

"You don't get paid at all." Someone added from the other side of the room.

"Exactly."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you turned to Mark. He was already looking at you, his eyes warm.

"Time is an illusion?" You teased quietly.

Mark tilted his head, grinning. "Hey, it got us out of that conversation didn't it?"

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. "You're ridiculous."

"You like it." He shot back, bumping his knee against yours.

And yeah—you did.

Jaemin's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "I still think something's weird about you two."

"Maybe you're the weird one." Mark countered smoothly.

Laughter rippled through the group again, the conversation shifting to something else. But you and Mark? You stayed in your little bubble.

Maybe time was an illusion, or maybe for the first time, it was finally moving exactly the way it was supposed to.

── 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🎸 ──

[evilminji]

You knooooowwww... >.>

The only difference, technically, between a school in the Zone? And on Earth? Is the American government won't recognize your Zone diploma...

Not accredited. But like..... I'm JUST SAYING? If you didn't try to pass your school off as some Big Ivy League type? Pulled the "oh yeah, you'd never have heard of it, it's local." And the COMPUTERS say it's legit?

How many people will dig deeper?

If you legitimately have the knowledge, you legitimately have the knowledge. Not YOUR fault you left out the whole "extra-dimensional" part. It makes folk nervous! And nervous folks get stabby.

So like? If you were ALREADY planning to "Move" as you euphemistically put it? Talked it over with your VERY concerned folks and friends? Who do NOT like the look of the steady but concerning rise of Anti-Ghost Powers That Be? Who finally put their foot down and reminded you that you are a TEENAGER and it's NOT your responsibility to fix the world?

Well...

Fuck those guys, I guess. You'll miss the old house, but Team "Taking our ball and going literally anywhere else" makes some good points. Why ARE you putting up with this?

And honestly, you've never SEEN your dad have so much fun. Him and the Reality Realtor just sorta... Vibe. Himbo to Himbo communications. Smatters of advanced physics. Fudge. It's great.

They move the portal. Collapse the old one in a way that makes it impossible to recover or recreate. You... kinda don't want to ask. They had that "mad scientist glint" in their eyes.

And while everyone's checking out brochures to different realities? You? Head off to the nearest College. It's the Zone, so technically you could go to any of endless billions. But you'd like your education some time this century.

Cue! Danny Fenton! Entering?

Academia's wet dream. A sprawling CITY of a college. Where the classes are on EVERYTHING and the price is FREE. People have Obsessions okay?? They NEED to teach. Debate and discuss! Study! Right papers and read them! It's been going on a while! And what happens when you find a subject that's NOT covered?

YOU COVER IT!

It's like if New York was a College. Good fucking luck find the dorms. Sleep on the floor like the rest of us, you casual.

Danny was Not Prepared ™.

He loves it though.

Classes on aeronautics next making the perfect sandwich, shoved next to historical basketry, stacked above alien slam poetry. But only on Tuesdays! Ever shifting. Breaking his Fenton Born Adhd in to a fine PASTE to be smeared upon bread. Happy mental stimulation chemicals go Brrrrrrrr

If it wasn't wildly inappropriate, he would LICK IT to claim it as his then wrap around it and gaurd like a territorial cat. He thought he HATED school! Turns out he just hated high-school. College though? College, or at least ZONE College, is fuckin AWESOME.

He's sit in SO MANY random classes just cause.

Picked up and dropped them at a whim. When they no longer sparked joy. He's been a flighty bitch and for once? No one CARES. No one says "you HAVE to commit and stick with this FOREVER once you choose this" and? It just? It's so FREEING! He's learned so MUCH!

He's probably gonna come back!

Which? Is how a deeply, DEEPLY weird aerospace engineer from supposedly bumfuck NOWHERE, end up working at Wayne Industries. He's.... a lil crazy behind the eyes. Ha ha... CONCERNING ™!

Dude sleeps on the lab floor. Has weirdly spotty knowledge. Can be an unprecedented genius one second and not know who the current president is the next. Doesn't know what DAY it is. Forgets to eat. Tried to make a fusion reactor out of the break room toaster before Sandra from accounting distracted him with pictures of her cat.

It's like he wanders through life blissfully unaware that he is both terrifying and about three seconds from killing them all. Then FUCKING TRIPS because he forgot to tie his shoelaces again.

Who hired this man?

WHY!?

I mean, we KNOW why. Probably to put him on a watch list. But? He's like a terrifying murder puppy! Built like a tank! That's stoned out of its mind half the time. And have you HEARD his college stories? That CAN'T be legal. Was this guy raised in a cult!? Aaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!????

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @dcxdpdabbles @hypewinter

[plutoslastwords]

Obsessed with baby Norris!!! Do you think you could cook up some hurt comfort for us? Or even a sick baby Norris xx

sick day

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: for the first time, baby norris picks up a bug, lando has to cope with his darling girl feeling under the weather

w/c: 1.2k

warnings: vomiting!!!! not super graphic but if you have emetophobia and feel like this may not be for you pls don't feel the need to read :)

a/n: on a writing spree atm, idk what's happening to me

~~~

Generally, you were a pretty healthy child, much to Lando’s relief, he’s not sure if he could manage seeing you ill. It would probably be harder for him than you. You manage to charge through your first 18 months of life without having any major illnesses, maybe a cough or a snotty nose here and there, but all toddlers have a cough, it’s a rite of passage. 

When you turn about 1 and a half, Lando enrolls you in a playgroup, somewhere that you can go whilst he works, where there are people to look after you and play games with you. You can make new friends, and he can meet more parents, you both love it.

However, it doesn’t seem to occur to him that the playgroup is literally a walking germ fest. A room full of 1-3 year olds who’s favourite activity is to stick their grubby hands into anything and everything that they see. Therefore, it comes as a bit of a surprise to him when you fall ill, and he doesn’t really know how to cope.

You normally come to wake him up as soon as the sun has started to think about rising over the horizon, jumping on his bed with a ‘daddy!!!!’, and shaking him awake. This morning, however, Lando wakes up before he even hears a peep out of your room. He doesn’t think much of it, presuming that it’s probably because you stayed up a little later last night, and you had had a long day the day before. 

He goes to the kitchen to start making some breakfast, deciding to let you have a little lie in, maybe he’ll drop you off at playgroup a bit later today. Unfortunately, his plans are all halted when you finally come into the kitchen, pale and in tears.

“Daddy, I don’t feel good…” You mumble, rubbing your tear filled eyes. 

“Oh god baby… you don’t look super well… come here, let Daddy feel your forehead..”

You toddle over, slowly, the usual spring that you have in your step gone, your walk turning into more of a slump than anything. As soon as you get within reasonable distance of where he is at the kitchen counter he scoops you up into his arms, placing the back of his hand against your little forehead. 

He winces when he can immediately tell that you’re feverish, “God, you’re burning up angel…” he mumbles, “Do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

He curses in his mind when you reply with a weak nod, “Okay baby, we’re gonna get you nice and comfy on the sofa, not gonna go to playgroup today I don’t think…”

You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries your fragile form over to the big sofa, gently wrapping you up in a nice fuzzy blanket.

“Is there anything that you want, baby? Some water?”

You just shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as if you were trying to will the illness out of your body. Lando’s heart hurts at your desperate form. 

“My poor angel…” He sighs, running a hand through your messy hair, “Daddy’s gonna stay with you all day, okay? You’re gonna start feeling better…”

That prompts a small smile from you, you like the idea of having a whole day with him, but it’s nothing compared to the normal grins that you flash at him when he suggests something like that. 

For a while you two just sit on the sofa, you going in and out of slumber whilst resting against his chest. At one point he decides that even though you’re not feeling great, you should probably eat something, if not your energy would collapse completely. 

Detaching himself from you, he places a kiss to the top of your head, heading into the kitchen, passing by the discarded breakfast from earlier, and grabbing you just a plain slice of toast, he didn’t want you having anything too flavourful, worried that it would just make you feel even more ill. 

He returns with a glass of water along with the toast, “Baby, can you try to eat this for me, please? It might make you feel a bit better…” he asks softly. 

“‘M not hungry daddy..” You mumble back in response, your little hands clutching tightly onto the blanket that you’re wrapped in.

“I know darling,” he sighs, “but you still gotta eat… just a few bites for me? Please?”

He comes over to sit back next to you, ripping off a small bite size portion of the toast, and coaxing it into your mouth. You reluctantly accept it, chewing it slowly and seeming to have a bit of a struggle to swallow, but you manage it in the end, which gives him a slight sense of relief. 

Although you manage a few more pieces of the toast, it doesn’t take long until your sick body decides that you can’t take it anymore. This leads to the first trip to the bathroom of the day, Lando’s heart breaking as your little body shakes with your retching. 

After cleaning you up, he takes you back into his arms, carrying you back over to the sofa, “Try to go to sleep, my darling… you might feel better for a nap…”

You give him a slight nod, snuggling into your plethora of blankets and pillows, starting to doze off. As you sleep, he rubs your hair, his chest aching with sympathy of how you must be feeling, his poor, darling, angel girl…

By lunchtime you seem to have improved, albeit only slightly, still feeling horrible, but you can stomach a couple bites of a plain biscuit without needing another trip to the bathroom. At this point, Lando is more worried about how hot you’re getting, even though you demand that you’re very cold. 

Much to your dismay, he grabs an ice pack to put on your head, to help and control your rapidly growing temperature. As much as you hate it, it does help to make you feel a bit better.

“That a bit better, my love?”

“‘S cold daddy…”

“I know my love… but the pesky bug has made your body all hot, we gotta cool you down, don’t want you going up in flames!”

You let a slight giggle out at that, giving hope to Lando that you’re feeling at least a little better, if you’re able to laugh at him. 

For the rest of the day, Lando stays by your side, letting you watch all the cartoons that your little heart desires on the TV, pretending to be just as interested in them as you are. 

When it reaches dinner time, you are definitely much perkier, giggling almost like you do when you’re fully healthy as Lando pulls funny faces at you.

“Daddy…”

“Yes, my angel?”

“Can I be sick everyday?”

“Everyday? My love, why would you wanna feel yucky all the time?”

“Cause I could be with you all day… watch cartoons…”

He nearly breaks down in tears right then and there.

“Oh, my angel, you’d get bored of me eventually… you wouldn’t get to go to playgroup! Wouldn’t be able to see all your friends!”

You hum, seeing his point, “But I like having a daddy day…”

“I like it too, baby…” He smiles, pressing numerous kisses to your forehead as he holds you close in his arms. “Daddy loves you, okay? You don’t go forgetting that…”

“Love you more, Daddy..”

~~~

a/n: tysm for reading!!! requests are always open x

[navybrat817]

Any thoughts for WETnesday with Bucky?🤭🤭

Okay, Syd. I wrote this after work for Wetnesday and promptly fell asleep. So, I'm posting this on Thirsty Thursday! And that has to be Mr. Barnes before you two are married.

Dinner Plans

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't want to be late for dinner, but you don't seem to be in a rush to go.

Word Count: Over 2.8k

Warnings: Established relationship, quick unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, lovelies), possessive behavior, a bit of humor and fluff, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I love this couple, okay? @targaryenvampireslayer and @starlightcrystalline, I hope you enjoy! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was still early in the evening as Bucky got ready for dinner. Checking his watch once he put it on, he sighed. If he was late, Steve would give him a hard time. And if Steve gave him a hard time, Sam would only give him the gasoline to fuel the fire. Just the thought of it had his face shift to his grumpy stare you loved.

His gaze softened when you went to the vanity. Would the guys give him a hard time if he said he was in love and wanted as much alone time with you as possible? How being with you was like floating on a cloud and being pulled back down to earth all at once? He didn’t care if they’d call him out for being sappy. He sure as hell suffered enough in his life that he could afford to be appreciative of you and maybe a little selfish when it came to you.

But checking the time, he grumbled. “We were supposed to leave five minutes ago,” he said.

He would’ve rather gone to a hole in the wall kind of place or a diner to have dinner, but it wasn't his turn to pick the dinner out with some of the gang. Plus it was nice getting to dress up with you since you liked how he looked in suits. To be fair, you said he looked good in anything and he felt the same way about you. How you always managed to look like a goddess, he’d never know.

You hummed. “We still have a few minutes to spare,” you said, which he wasn’t sure how you knew since you hadn’t looked at the time. “And you are not dressed yet, so it’s not like we can head out the door.”

He paused to stare at you. “Neither are you,” he pointed out, licking his lips as you leaned forward a bit more as you applied your makeup. He shook his head after a moment, trying to snap himself out of the spell you always managed to put him under. “I’m bringing you one of my cardigans to put over your shoulders in case you get cold.”

Because the weather was nice for the evening, you picked out a sleeveless dress. He didn’t know if the restaurant would be cold though, and he didn’t want you shivering through the meal. You likely had something to match your dress, but putting one of his cardigans over you was like that extra touch of belonging to him in case anyone got any ideas.

“You just want one of your shirts draped over me like a big neon sign that says I’m yours and you don't want guys checking me out on my dress,” you said like you knew exactly what he was thinking. There was no reason to deny your words since it was the truth. “But I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

“I do like my clothes draped over you,” he smirked. He liked having his smell on you, too. “But you know what I don’t like? Steve and Sam bitching if we’re late. It’ll spoil my appetite.”

“Aww, my poor super soldier,” you teased, smiling at him in your reflection and making his heart skip a beat. “If we’re late, you can just blame me. I won’t let them give you a hard time, okay?”

Bucky couldn’t blame you though. Not entirely. You were late getting in the shower thanks to him insisting on the two of you staying in bed. Serum stamina or whatever you wanted to call it, but he felt bad some days for his almost constant need. You didn’t seem to mind though.

“They won’t believe me,” he said, staring again when the strap of your bra slipped from your shoulder. “And baby, you know I adore you, but you need to quit distracting me so I can finish getting dressed.”

Ever since you moved in, you’d been a distraction in a wonderful way. He often found that he’d pause to look at photos or little touches you incorporated into the place, giving him a chance to reflect on memories you made together and even learn more about who you were before you met. Hearing your laughter or voice call to him from another room also made him drop whatever he was doing, too. Sharing a space with someone could be daunting, but it was easy with you, like you had lived together for years. It made him look forward to more.

“Me? Distracting you?” You turned your head toward him and gave him an innocent glance. You were anything but innocent. “I'm not doing anything.”

Bucky almost snarled. Like hell you weren't doing anything. Swaying your hips and prancing around in your lingerie before you sat to get ready, lingerie which barely covered your gorgeous tits and sweet cunt. He wanted to rip it to shreds or tear it off with his teeth. You wouldn’t mind, right? He could always get you more to destroy.

“Not doing anything? Look at you,” he said incredulously as you turned back to the mirror and pushed your bra up. He should’ve been holding your breasts. “Why aren't you wearing a robe?”

You tilted your head. “Well, you said before I got in the shower that we were in a slight rush, so I figured putting on the robe was a waste of time. At least I have my underwear on, though I know you’d rather I be naked.”

If Bucky had his way, you’d be naked all the time. At least, when you two were at home. Logically he knew he couldn’t have that at work, functions, or anything of that nature, but the image in his head was nice. “For such a rush you seem to be taking your time.”

“I'm not taking my time. I'm finishing my makeup,” you argued, carefully applying your lipstick. “Like it?” you asked, blowing him an air kiss. It was a pretty shade. It would look even prettier smeared around his cock.

He closed his eyes with a groan. Some days he felt like a caveman with the thoughts that consumed him. “You look beautiful,” he said once he opened his eyes. Like always. “Now get your dress on so I can show you off before I put the cardigan on you.”

“Show me off?” You slowly stood from your chair and gave him a generous view of your backside. His cock twitched in his pants, and there was no reason to hide the pure lust in his eyes when you turned to face him. “You flatter me, Mr. Barnes.”

He chuckled. It always did something to him when you called him Mr. Barnes. It was something affectionate, sweet. “I think you’re the one flattering me, Mrs.-” he exhaled before he could finish, and he heard the hitch in your breath across the room.

“What was that?” you asked breathily.

He adjusted the watch on his wrist and avoided your gaze. You were his girl, yeah, and the love you had for each other spoke volumes, but you weren’t his wife. Not yet. God, how he wanted you to be- for you to take his last name, wear his ring on your finger, be his partner in all aspects of life. He wanted it to be more than just a dream.

“I didn’t say…” He cleared his throat and put on a blank face, only because he didn’t know how you’d react. “Anything.”

Your eyes raked over him before you beckoned him forward with a finger. He swore no one would ever control him again after HYDRA brainwashed him, but you could’ve commanded him to do anything. It didn’t frighten him because you would never harm him, never take advantage of him. Taking him into your care and maintaining his trust was one of the ways you showed you loved him.

Once he stood in front of you, barely an inch away, you whispered, “Were you about to call me Mrs. Barnes?”

He swallowed hard, his heart racing. It was one thing to say you loved each other, to want a future together, but what if you weren’t ready when he popped the question? “I was,” he whispered back.

You smiled, not looking the least bit put off or afraid. He should've known it wouldn't bother you, especially with you being the one to say “I love you” first. “I think that has a really nice ring to it,” you said, your hands moving to unbuckle his belt.

“You think so?” he asked, forgetting for a moment that he was capable of breathing. “You like the idea of being my wife?”

Bucky would no doubt be the kind of husband who’d brag about you. He’d find ways to insert “my wife” in conversations just to let others know that you picked him out of everyone else on the planet. Not just that, he wanted people to know how proud he was to be your man and that he’d find reasons every day to be proud of you.

“I love it,” you confirmed, sighing when he ran his fingertips along your arms. “Makes my heart race,” you admitted. He could hear it. “Makes me wet.”

Bucky arched his hips and pressed up against you. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, not stopping you as you unbuttoned his pants. He was thinking of just cancelling dinner so he could throw you on the bed and stay inside you for the rest of the night. “We need to-”

“Oh. Now might be a good time to tell you that Steve pushed the reservation back by a half hour,” you cut in, mouthing over his racing pulse. “He figured he’d message me since I’m better about checking my phone, and-”

Bucky picked you up with ease and tossed you onto the bed. Your wide-eyed expression as you bounced nearly had him busting out of his pants, and he didn’t hesitate to crawl over you and pin you down. Relishing in the moan you let out when he lightly bit your neck, he did it again a little harder. “No wonder you took your time and teased me,” he smirked when you squirmed beneath him. “My future wife.”

“My future husband,” you moaned, bucking your hips up. “Need you in me. We can be quick.”

You got a hand in his hair and forced his head up to yours, your tongue impatiently pushing into his mouth. He groaned in understanding, feeling just as desperate as you. Knowing how turned on you were at the thought of being his wife turned him on, and he could barely form a coherent thought as he took his cock out and gave it a couple of quick pumps.

“Say it again,” he demanded, shoving your panties aside and rubbing the head of his cock along your slit. He took his time earlier today stretching you, and he wanted nothing more than to feel you around him again.

And the way you reached between your bodies and gripped the base of his cock, he knew you wanted the same when you said, “Fuck me, my future husband.”

He eased in gently, making you whine. He thought he’d whine, too, for a second because of how good he felt. God, how good it would feel to hold your hand one day and feel his ring against your skin. “You okay?” he asked, dragging his thumb along your lower lip once he was fully inside you. You were tight still, so wet, and oh, he was going to fuck you and make it quick, but he wasn’t going to hurt you.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, starting deep into his eyes as you clenched around him with purpose and brushed his hair back. He tried to be still, tried not to thrust like a wild animal. “Are you?”

“I’m okay,” he promised, easing his hips back. “Just hold on while I fuck you.”

Your back arched when he slammed himself back in nice and deep, your cry bouncing off the walls. Here in the comfort of your home you didn’t have to smother any noises, didn’t have to keep quiet. He wanted to tell you how much he loved you, how you were the queen of his world.

Being inside you all he got out was, “You feel so fucking good.”

And because you could read him like no one else could, you tenderly smiled. “I love you, too.”

He threw his head back as you clutched his arms, determined to make you feel good, determined to show you how much he loved you even as he fucked you. “Gonna put you on your hands and knees after dinner. Make you watch in the mirror while I fuck you,” he groaned. “Can imagine it's part of our honeymoon.”

“Please!’ you moaned, trying to meet his thrusts.

Bucky grabbed your thighs to lift you higher, uncaring if he ruined his pants for the evening. Watching you tremble beneath his, a vision of ecstasy, he was happy to stay there forever. Wrapped up in you was where he always wanted to be.

“Gonna come,” you moaned, reaching up to pull his hair again, your body quaking. “Bucky, please.”

Bucky groaned. He hadn’t rubbed your clit how he wanted to. Didn’t get to tear your bra off and tease your nipples. He did promise to fuck you later though, and he’d do all those things and more. “Then come for me,” he smirked, leaning down to say against your lips, “Future. Mrs.. Barnes.”

You got impossibly tight and the flood of wetness that gushed around him triggered his own orgasm, a rush of heat filling him as he filled you. His mouth fell open as you clung to him, and he heard you moan his name as your eyes went glossy. He wanted the image of you getting off to taking his last name etched in his brain for all time. He wanted his name to fall from your lips again and again on your wedding night.

The cloud in his mind began to lift. You, his future wife, were beneath him, still shaking, still holding him like a lifeline. He didn’t want to let you go either. “Holy… shit…” you panted.

He braced himself above you, trying not to crush you as the euphoria slowly faded. It never really went away though. Not with you. “Holy shit,” he agreed. He stayed inside you, your sweet mewl making him smile as he kissed you. “Is this a new kink?” he asked, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, touching his cheek. “New kink unlocked.”

Touching your lips with his once more, he chuckled. “You ruined my pants,” he teased. It wouldn’t have been the first time. The first time you rode his thigh and got your release all over it, he nearly came, too. “Good thing I have a few minutes to change.”

He cradled you close when he shifted to the side, making you moan again. “Yeah, well, you ruined my panties. Fair is fair.”

“I did,” he smirked, running his fingers along your spine. “Hey.”

“Hey what?”

“I love you,” he whispered, wanting to say it as often as he could. They weren’t just words, but a declaration, a promise.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, tracing one of the buttons on his wrinkled shirt.

His lips brushed your forehead. He’d never get tired of hearing you say that. “If I asked you to marry me right now, would you say yes?”

He wouldn’t propose right this second. You deserved something more romantic. But in his heart, he just wanted to hear you say that you’d say yes.

You giggled, your eyes full of love. “I would say yes in a heartbeat,” you replied, kissing him gently. Your answer relieved him. “And I’d marry you anytime, anywhere.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But?” he asked, sensing a “but” in there.

“But don’t ask me right now, okay?” you smiled, in sync with his thoughts. “I mean, I’d like to think my pussy would make you propose now-”

“And it would,” he smirked.

You giggled again. “But ask me when I’m not expecting it… Whenever it feels right to you.”

“I will,” he promised.

“Looking forward to it.” You snuggled closer and missed his look of adoration. “Hold me for one more minute before we get ready to go?”

As if he could ever deny you. “I’ll hold you as long as you want,” he whispered.

He no longer cared if Steve or Sam gave him shit should they show up late. If you wanted him to skip dinner just to hold you, he’d do it. If you wanted him to surprise you when he proposed, he would. And no matter when Bucky asked you to be his wife, he’d make sure it was perfect as it could possibly be.

AHH! I love them so much. How do you lovelies think he proposed? ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[bunnwich]

HELLO! Do you have a summary of how you portray Leona's personality in your stories? I'm a big fan of your Leona and Yuu stories and I've read them multiple times www /gen I always feel like you just nail how he would act and say things and you inspire me to work on my own fics and get better at writing scenarios with him. Than you in advance ily🙏 🦉anon

How I Portray Leona in General and in Romance

HI ANON! So I've gotten this question a few times and someone in my discord asked me basically the same thing so I'll share with you what I wrote a few months ago about Leona and the general way I write him. (it's quite funny bc a lot of these things come up in Chapter 7 when we see his dream. I AM CURSED WITH APOLLOS'S GIFT OF PROPHECY WITH THIS MAN ISTG)

I hope this is helpful?? I would like to point out that the way I write Leona is fully based on my biases and life experiences. And that a big part of fandom is projecting what you wanna see in characters while still making them feel like the same character we know in canon, yk? Good luck with your fic writing! And thank you!! mwah mwah.💚 --

So Leona takes himself as a direct person, BUT he hides A LOT. He purposely misdirects people to get a reaction out of them. (Ex: pretending to be incompetent to anger someone) or he's playing with them. HE LOVES GAMES. Everyone is a chess piece, he has to feel in control bc that’s all he has ever had over everyone else; his wits. He’s a dickhead. He will say offensive shit to scare people off.

It’s a test to see who sticks around. He has no reservations when it comes to this. You take him as he is. And despite how some people write him he’s kinda silly? Like dad jokes. Why does he joke so much about eating people, who knows? (He says shit like Namby-pamby ffs) Why are you a 40y/o in a 20 y/o body?

I HC he purposely talks casually and gruff to distance himself from his upbringing. (I like to mix proper language and slang with him bc it feels right? Also lots of animal puns, and nicknames. HE'S CORNY AF)

In general, I don't think Leona is an entirely romantic person in canon, however in my timeline, I do HC that he, like Scar has this “want vs need problem” with connection to others. He thinks it's just praise he wants (or to be king) BUT he NEEDS TLC. What was Scar MOST jealous of at the end of the day?? Mufasa’s connections, a ✨queen✨, a family! BEING KING DID NOT MAKE SCAR HAPPY!! He needs to be needed and in Chapter 2 novella, he admits he HAS to numb himself to not care. I feel like this is something he constantly battles with. Yeah, he's lazy but it's partly bc he’s tired. He’s burnt out.

On the surface, he projects 100% nonchalance. He wants you to think everything he says is just "off the cuff", but it's not. He plans everything!!! He’s a mentor, big bro, caretaker. He is not the best at comforting words but he enjoys being a leader bc people appreciate him and look up to him. Something he never got at home.

Leona and ✨Romance✨

He fools himself into thinking he has the upper hand at first and keeps his distance keeping an eye on the object of his affection. Why would you catch his eye? Well, his greatest strength is picking up on OTHER STRENGTHS. Chessmaster. He is a mentorrrr and caretaker lowkey, he wants others to NEED him and rely on him. HE WANTS YOU TO NEED HIM.

At first, he would place himself in your path, trying to be helpful in a very tsundere type way. But he would still be causal and keep ruffling your feathers to gauge how you feel for him. He guards his heart pretty heavily. And more and more he is slowly collecting info about you he would find more ways for these meetings to happen until he realizes: "Oh shit, I’ve caught feelings." This one is the winner. He’s the king of nonchalance but also...he’s a very overly sensitive person. No doubt he’s freaking out a little, he doesn't wanna screw this up. But, he’d never show it.

I do think he wants to be challenged and given some pushback (insert manga panel about "something being harder to get and therefore is better"), He wants to WORK for it, to prove himself to you that you SHOULD choose him. He wants to impress you. It makes him feel alive. A person who keeps him on his toes.

And once this ”game” of cat and mouse starts to happen. He might start to let his guard down if you are shown you can be trusted with his VERY VERY delicate feelings, that you DO accept his flaws, treat him differently than all others, and see past his gruff demeanor. It is a test of sorts. He is testing that you can “handle” him. MORE GAMES.

He’d let you set the pace though. He won't be the first to give in. To kiss you or confess first. But he would fall first HARD. He’s not been given much one-on-one attention in his life so he would crave that time with you. Physical touch is a big one, but he would not be pushy. He'd tease your boundaries and become addicted to your time together.

But yeah, this push and pull goes on for a while, all the while he’s gauging how you react to this. Memorizing it all.

He’s def one of those texters who erases their sentence like 5 times when they are nervous bc he is cookin' up the RIGHT response to endear you. (Not in a sappy way of course more in a: “I know you miss me, mouse.” snarky sorta way.) Though he can be self-deprecating on bad days. He’ll act confident, though soften up behind closed doors.

I think once he realizes that you have picked up on his simpery and there's no going back...all bets are off. He doubles down, no longer ashamed of hiding it. (Assuming at this point the person has reciprocated these feelings too!) He wants to be yours and he’s not subtle. Someone to be by his side.

Then you get the REAL simp Leona, who lowkey mumbles the sappiest shit to you in his native language when he holds you, (bc he’s still embarrassed to be vulnerable, though this will fade over time) He’ll be your biggest supporter, and wants you around him as much as you can be.

This just keeps going until you're married. Congrats you now have a lion to take care of forever.🦁 Hope this helps!✨

[oxymorayuri]

❞𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞❝

Headcanons with my favorite boyssss [ Ace | Kid | Law | Doffy ] Wordcount » 1234 (lol no way... you see it? 1234...) Info » just cute things ;3

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓: Ace: qmech | Kid: skxviii | Law: oyasumi_mofu | Doffy: Hijiki_DaiXt

𝑃𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑔𝑎𝑠 𝐷. 𝐴𝑐𝑒

You both get partner tattoos instead of wedding rings but not something lame like a circle around the ring finger rather something small and personal. You have a little flame on the side of your thigh and he has one on his chest that has something to do with you. Maybe you have a devil fruit or a special weapon? It's up to you :p

You never thought you'd cry at your wedding ceremony because Ace let the most beautiful vows EVER leave his lips. His words were typically Ace and in between your tears he made you laugh. You were almost ashamed when it was your turn because you just wanted to repeat a sentence he once said to you but you changed it a bit… "I'm not interested in living a thousand years, it's enough for me to survive today with you." You spoke. Ace recognized the words immediately and remembered the conversation you shared in the past with a broad grin. He almost yanked you to him and kissed your lips even though the priest hadn't even given his blessing yet. But he doesn't care, he doesn't need the priest's blessings when he has you.

He definitely had his own thoughts about the wedding. For example, he has looked into various traditions… but it seems like he got something wrong… Instead of carrying you bridal style over the doorstep, he carried you all day. As soon as you set foot on the floor to get a new drink, he picked you up in his arms. His statement? "Come on love, when will I have the chance to carry you in your wedding dress again?". Okay that's smooth.

𝐸𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝐾𝑖𝑑

Kid probably would never have proposed to you on his own. You've been together for so long now and every time you've seen a married couple your mood has soured. You were annoyed and also disgusted and one day Killer asked you about it and in the conversation you ironically realized that you also wanted to get married lol… when you were with Kid in his workshop you casually mentioned, that you thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to get married as he was working on one of his new creations. He froze at the word marriage and the next second his machine caught fire because he held the welding rod on it for too long. You both panicked and put out the fire and you realized that he found the topic unpleasant and unnecessary, but you are you and you get everything you want, even if you have to force him! Luckily for you, Killer told you that Kid likes the idea of you committing to him forever, but pshht… otherwise Killer will lose his life.

He will send you away if you want to ask him something about the wedding planning or want his opinion. He'll just tell you that you can do whatever you think is necessary (ugh). You think it's a bit of a shame but you don't mind, you just want him to feel comfortable at his own wedding. After all, it's not just yours. But if it were up to him, he would simply put the ring on your finger and seal your marriage with a big smooch on the lips. But later in the evening you notice that he has circled options he likes or left little notes on your wedding plans and that's when you know you're marrying the right one.

he forges your rings and is quite proud of his work, but secretly nags Killer that he is unsure whether you like the rings. When he saw the sparkle in your eyes and heard your words about how much you love the rings, his heart stopped for a moment only to beat extremely fast. He wanted to marry you right on the spot, but he knows how much love you put into the planning. Happy wife happy life lol.

𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝐷. 𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐿𝑎𝑤

A grand wedding with everyone (including the straw hats etc.) is planned, but he has other plans and takes you to the most romantic place to have a wedding ceremony just for the two of you. The party can still take place afterwards with everyone, you are a little social butterfly after all, but the wedding ceremony? That's between you and him <3

Law, similar to Ace, would want partner tattoos instead of real rings but rather in an intimate place where only both of you will see it… if you know what I mean ;) It's safe to say he'll shower your tattoo with kisses everytime when you're getting busy.

He has already seen you (without you knowing it) in your wedding dress. He knew exactly what was going on when you waltzed happily past him with a big package... And even if he hesitated for a moment, he followed you discreetly like a pretty good stalker… He peered through the gap of the door to the room you shared. You were apparently so excited that you hadn't even closed the door. He heard you squealing happily in the bathroom and without really realizing it, he held his breath until you came out of the bathroom. And then you stood there in your beautiful white dress. The feeling in his chest increased rapidly as he watched you twirl in front of the mirror like a princess. Your laughter makes him grin… "I guess she's just as happy as I am that we're getting married..." he thought to himself with a satisfied expression as he let go of the door and walked away. He leaves you a little moment for yourself and your joy, he'll see you walking towards him soon anyway. He is pretty sure that he will never forget that moment. The sight of you walking towards him will be engraved in his brain.

𝐷𝑜𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝐷𝑜𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑜

You want fireworks that paint your faces in the sky? A thousand white doves that are released when you kiss? A 10 meter high chocolate fountain? A wedding in pink? No problem. Your list is long and you get everything you want. Doflamingo will put together the perfect team to fulfill your every wish. Money doesn't matter, but you do.

You get a ring with a gemstone you've never seen before. Even if you express your doubts that you are afraid of losing this precious ring, Doffy reacts almost insulted. You are the rarest and most valuable gemstone in the world. If you lose the ring, he'll have a new one before you know it.

It's going to be a big big wedding BUT not many people are invited because there's a chance of someone ruining it. Whoever is invited is a big figure or part of the family. Everything is secured but not in an oppressive way. It all plays in the background, because if there were security guards everywhere it would ruin your perfect wedding picture. Nobody is allowed to ruin this day for you and him and if they do, they will pay for it. He also has the wedding broadcast live on TV so that everyone can see that he's marrying the most beautiful woman in the world. How extra.

Masterlist

I hope you enjoyed reading it. See you next time <3

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒚𝒖𝒓𝒊 ♡

[ourdawnishotterthanourday]

Fool In Love — Jeon Wonwoo

✧ Love is a foolish thing ✧

Plot: Picture this… you find out exactly why your boyfriend has been so distant lately.

🎥 Starring: fem!reader x boyfriend!Jeon Wonwoo 🎥 Genre: big time angst 🎥 Word count: 1k 🎥 Warnings: swearing, cheating 🎥 Notes: more angst! sorry but not sorry hehe 🙃 🎥 Shout out: as always, thanks to my lemon drop @nothoughtsjustfic for helping and keeping me sane 💜

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

Set The Scene Masterlist —  Masterlist

“Do you still love me?”

You watched as your boyfriend tore his eyes away from his phone, his face scrunching up in confusion.

“What? Of course I do. Why would you even ask me that?”

“I don’t know. You’ve just been so distant lately, always too busy to spend time with me or too tired to be intimate.” You threw up your hands. “Hell, we haven’t gone on a date in what feels like forever. It just made me start to question everything.”

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses, putting his phone away before making his way over to where you were seated on the couch. 

“You have nothing to worry about, baby. I love you and I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he assured you, wrapping a comforting arm around your frame. 

You nodded hesitantly, still not entirely convinced by his words. While you deeply loved your boyfriend of five years, you couldn’t deny that there was a disconnect between the two of you. Whereas just a year ago Wonwoo would have jumped at the opportunity to spend every waking moment with you, he barely looked at you nowadays. 

No more daily compliments, no more occasional presents, and certainly no more spontaneous dates.

You didn’t quite know what had caused it but you missed what you once had. More importantly, you missed the old Wonwoo. 

“How about we go somewhere for dinner tonight, just you and me? Like old times?” Wonwoo proposed, offering you a smile as he squeezed your arm. 

“I’d love that.” You smiled, a spark of hope settling in your stomach at the thought of rekindling your relationship. 

“Got any places in mind?”

“You remember that Italian place I’ve been wanting to go to?” Your eyes lit up in excitement. 

Wonwoo instantly dropped his smile at your suggestion, his eyes growing wide.

“No, not that one.”

You frowned, not understanding his sudden shift. “Why? We both love Italian food and I’ve heard great things about this place.”

“I’ve heard the food and staff are shit so I’m not willing to risk it, baby. Let’s just pick one we both love, hmm?”

“Wonwoo.”

“Y/N.”

You sighed in defeat. “You’re really not going to give in, are you?”

“Correct. Choose any other place.” He kissed your cheek. 

“Fine, I’ll find us another restaurant. But you’re paying.”

—

You’d been so excited for your upcoming date, carefully planning out your outfit and makeup, making sure to pick some of Wonwoo’s favorites in the hopes of ending the night with some long-awaited intimacy.

But all your hopes came crashing down when the two of you had sat down at the fancy restaurant. 

Wonwoo was distracted throughout the entirety of the dinner, practically glued to his phone which seemed to go off every few minutes. Bad thoughts were floating through your mind as you watched him try to contain his smile every time he glanced at the device, not for a second believing his excuse of being so excited to spend quality time with the love of his life. But you also didn’t want to assume the worst because it was Wonwoo after all, the man who’d promised with his entire heart that he’d never ever hurt you like that. 

And you wanted to believe that, you really needed to believe that. 

But as the days passed, the distance between you never lessened, only seeming to become bigger and bigger until you felt like you could no longer be comfortable in your skin around your boyfriend. 

That’s why you eventually sought out one of your dearest friends on one of those nights where Wonwoo had to work over hours at the office. You were planning to share your thoughts about your relationship with her over dinner, needing to have someone to confirm that you were not actually going crazy. You knew she would understand, having had her fair share of relationship struggles herself.

“You’re telling me he didn’t want to go here? For real?” Nayoung asked in disbelief as the two of you entered the high-class Italian restaurant, several staff members approaching you to take your coats and name of the reservation. 

“Don’t get me started. Something about bad service and food,” you mumbled softly so the staff wouldn’t overhear. 

Nayoung snorted as you began to follow the hostess through the restaurant. “Now that is some bullshit if I ever heard some. I’ve heard nothing but praise. It has one Michelin star for god’s sake.”

“He wouldn’t budge. I wasn’t going to push it. Anyway, I’m glad to experience it with someone who can appreciate it.” You put a smile on your face as you both sat down at your assigned table. 

“Of course, you know I’m never one to turn down a fancy d— oh fuck no.” 

Nayoung didn’t finish her sentence, her eyes focused on something behind you. It couldn’t be anything good judging by the displeased expression on her face. 

“What are you looking at?”

“No, wait!” She tried to reach for you but you’d already turned around, your eyes falling on a couple, the man having just leaned in to kiss the woman on the lips. 

Wait.

“Y/N.”

You couldn’t even hear her since your heart was beating all the way in your ears, drowning out everything around you as you watched the man pull away with a lovestruck look on his face. 

It was the look he used to give you. 

As if sensing someone was looking at him, he slowly turned his head, freezing on the spot as his dark brown orbs connected with yours.

He obviously didn’t expect to be caught here of all places. 

You didn’t waste time making a beeline for the exit, ignoring the desperate pleas coming out of his mouth as you tried to keep it together for just a bit longer. 

Everything suddenly made sense. 

The distance, the phone, the restaurant. 

You should have trusted your gut.

But you chose to believe him like the fool in love you were. 

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[pumkinzee]

TIMELESS ˏˏ HUSBAND!JASON GRACE

summary: Just headcanons of Jason being a SPLENDID husband because I love this man with every cell in my neurodivergent body

pairing: Jason Grace x gn!reader

tw: There is a small section of nsfw BUT there is a cut, so don't worry

This man is a MASTERMIND, obviously you talked to him before he made the "okay, it's the right time" decision.

DEFINITELY he will remember whether you prefer gold or silver, he would be devastated if he was wrong.

I thought long and hard about this...Jason wouldn't ask Leo to help him make his ring. 😔 first I thought about it and then I LAUGHED because it would be "lol my best friend made our ring" and it sounded stupid.

He spent HOURS going from store to store dragging Piper and Leo to pick out the perfect ring until he finally found it.

You were living in New Rome happy and content, yay!

He spent MONTHS planning how to propose, reading up on when it would be a good idea and when it wouldn't, thinking of all the possible reactions if you said no or if you said yes. He was ready

(He wasn't)

He would never admit that he cried when you said yes.

It was a small wedding, believe it or not. Not exactly simple, but somewhat small, with few guests and a lot of ambiance (courtesy of Leo) that made it sentimental and special for both of us

You were the BEAUTIFULEST bride/groom in the world

He would fight if anyone DARED to take the title away from you

He cried when he saw you walk in. Thank you for your attention.

Okayyy 🙄 maybe my intro was BAD but I couldn't just throw out the headcanons I wanted without a little bit of context. SO.

Since your relationship started you had lost the ability to open doors on your own, how did you think he was going to behave in your MARRIAGE?

The door of the car, of the house, of some restaurant, shopping mall, whatever. If it was classified as a "door" he would open it for you

He also pulls up the chair at the table, sits after you, gives you his jacket, helps you jump over mud puddles, puts his hand on the corner of the table when you bend over, walks on the side of the street, pays for all your dinners. That man does EVERYTHING for you

He's fascinated with carrying you. He's also a fan of lifting you up in the air and spinning around with you in his arms while bursting into laughter because he simply loves you too much

He would wear "I LOVE MY WIFE/ HUSBAND" shirts with the most serious face in the world when he goes out to the supermarket or something like that and you're not with him

He has at least one picture of you in his wallet

He sleeps VERY rigid, sometimes you get up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water or go to the bathroom and freak out thinking he's dead. As the weeks went by, he stopped sleeping on his stomach like a dead stone (if that makes sense) and made the decision that cuddling you was much more how

It's like hugging a big teddy bear. He's always the big spoon, even though deep down he's very much in need of affection and wants you to suggest being the small spoon so you can shower him with cuddles :(

Yeah, he probably grew up on strict schedules thanks to the Romans, but I'd like to think he had a hard time sleeping. So, when he was sleep deprived and it was after ten o'clock, I knew it would be a lost night. You both spend the evening sitting at the kitchen counter drinking tea and talking about life

The next day you spend most of the day cuddled up in bed doing lazy

Sticking to the strict schedule: he gets up before you and watches you sleep. He is deeply grateful to have you in his life, he fills your face with soft kisses to avoid getting up and tries to sleep a little longer until you get up

If he doesn't manage to sleep, he gets out of bed, tidies up the house a bit, and wakes you up with breakfast in bed

Whenever he comes home from work, he brings a bouquet of flowers with him

LOVES kisses on the forehead, my baby turns red when you give him one, he literally turns into a puppy in need of affection

nsfw cut!

He was very tense on your wedding night, he wanted everything to go perfectly

Let's talk about how this man has a kink with breeding

Yeah, you guys take care of yourselves. He's walking RESPONSIBILITY. But there are times when he begs you to let him fill you up.

I'm a faithful believer that he's got a happy trail

He's got a lot of it, he's the son of ZEUS, let's talk about that

He likes to use his powers

I mean, if he's fucking you with his fingers, he likes to release little sparks to make you squirm

He loves hickeys. I don't think he would like them in visible places as he likes to keep his sex life private, he doesn't like hickeys on his neck, although he would never tell you that

He is not very noisy, ONLY when he is desperate or submissive

(You once put a tie in his mouth to shut him up and he came in less than twenty minutes)

I'm sorry, but it's kind of hard to provoke him.

Maybe reveal more skin, lie on his legs, massage his shoulders

Idk, okay? I'm asexual lmao

But he SHOWS YOU he wants to do it when he puts his hand on your thigh and gently moves it to your inner thigh

Also when he gets behind you and leaves kisses on your neck....

Baby, take care of him for me, this man has a HUGE dick.

keep that information to yourself

nsfw cut!

GIRL DAD 🙏

If you have kids (more specifically, a daughter) he would find a way to play with them at all times in his free time

If it's a daughter, he would play tea parties with princesses, get her hair and makeup done and do fashion shows in ridiculous outfits

If it's a son, he would love to have those cliché moments where they play ball.

He just wants to be a good father and keep his family away from Zeus/Jupiter :(

My Latin American readers; imagine the 7 of them having a CARNE ASADA at Leo's house, surely, with their kids running around in the yard and playing

Surely he would like to have two children

Thalia is the cool aunt (and lesbian, idk) that every Christmas shows up with cool gifts.

He spoils your children a lot, he has even bought them candy and gifts behind YOUR back.

Of course you notice when you clean their rooms and see a mountain of candy stashed away like drugs

He's very overprotective, postpartum depression gave HIM

His favorite thing in the world is take your kids to work day

He never lets you pick up your kids from school, he has to go himself or he'll throw a tantrum

Halloween is just an excuse to dress up as Superman and earn some candy out of it.

Pets? Yes. DOGS.

Loses his glasses frequently (courtesy of your kids).

If either (or both) of them get any modifications to their powers, he'll get even MORE overprotective.

You'd try to convince him to buy the "If lost return to Jason" and "I'm Jason" shirts.

( eventually you do)

When your daughter has her first boyfriend and introduces them to him, you'll be the calm parent, he'll show why the title of Jupiter isn't just for show.

Poor guy, he will leave that house with a lifetime of trauma.

He's VERY sticky, you literally take care of two kids, a dog and a husband.

©pumkinzee

[authorhjk1]

How would RV make you have the best climax of your life? But the rules are: they can only ride you to achieve the said climax, and overstimulation is a must, besides that what other tricks can they pull out from their sleeves or rather bodies to make sure they can get the best out of you?

I feel like this might be a hard one.

Asking anon

Irene

Your hands are slowly getting numb. For how long are you tied to this chair now? You don't have a watch. But it must have been an hour or two already. Irene seems determined to make you beg for it and make you her pet.

She started out with something simple as a handjob. Just when you were about to cum, she stopped and just left. She came back, wearing another outfit. Then, she gave you head. Before you were able to cum in her mouth, she left again. By now, she must've changed outfits 20 times already, one hotter than the last.

The one she is wearing now is a beautiful pink dress, exposing her thick thighs. Which are currently working hard to make her bounce on your cock. You feel an already familiar tug as she pulls at the chain that is connected to the collar around your neck.

"You like being mommy's pet? You like it when mommy uses you like a little fuck stick?"

You groan at her words as you feel yourself getting closer once again.

"Just say it. You know the words. Say them and I'll let my pet cum."

You bite back another groan, but your hips betray you. Slightly thrusting upwards, you make Irene's head roll back for a moment. But she quickly has herself under control again. Her greedy eyes look at you as if she is thinking about how to torture you next.

"Please, mommy. Can I please cum?"

You finally break. But you know it won't matter. Even if she lets you cum now, the chance of this happening again tomorrow are high.

"What's the magic word, honey?"

"I'm your pet, mommy. My cum and my cock are yours."

"That's a good boy."

She pats your head, not stopping her movements on your cock.

"Then cum for mommy. And you better not disappoint."

Seulgi

"Oh god, you're so big baby. I just can't take all of you. My pussy is so tight."

Seulgi moans on top of you as she keeps up the pace. You discovered early on in your relationship that Seulgi loves praise. Giving just much as receiving.

"I think I'm gonna cum."

You groan, knowing you can't hold back much longer. Seulgi has been riding you for a while now. Everytime you're about to cum, she stops and just cuddles with you before she starts moving again.

"Are you sure? I just want you to feel so good when you cum."

"Yeah, I think I'm reaching my limit."

You hope Seulgi will show mercy.

"Okay then. I need you to fill my little pussy with that cum of yours."

Seulgi's words only quicken the process. She keeps riding you, making sure you can't pull out. You don't plan on doing anything else anyway.

"I love it so much when it leaks out of me. It always feels so good."

Seulgi moans louder.

"Your whole cock feels so good. Just put a load in me. Please."

She sighs and you finally can't hold back any longer.

Wendy

In theory, this sounded easy. You've done this so often with Wendy that this has become something the two of you do daily. You, fucking Wendy's ass.

The two of you love it. And yet, Wendy decided to make a game out of it. She rides you with your cock in her ass. Whoever cums first, loses.

You know how hard it is for her to control herself, whenever you fuck her ass. But this is different. She is in control. She can decide how fast or hard she rides you.

And right now, she is doing it unbelievably slow. You can barely feel gow she is moving up and down, the ring of her muscled barely sliding along your length.

"Wendy...."

You groan, about to give in.

"What is it?"

Her cheeky grin makes you want to keep it together. But you know it's already a lost cause.

"I give up. Just do it properly, so I can cum."

"You're giving up already?"

"Yes."

You see her thinking about it for a moment, but eventually, Wendy picks up the pace.

You groan, feeling how her ass takes your whole cock. She moves up and down on it, squeezing your dick however she wants.

"Do it then. Cum in my ass."

You close your eyes as you feel your orgasm rushing through you. You shoot your load deep into Wendy's ass.

Joy

"What-"

You groan when Joy rotates her hips on top of you.

"What happened next?"

"He asked if I'm a good little slut. I said yes a couple of times, asking him to use me."

You feel yourself pulsating inside of her. Holding onto Joy's hips, you make her pick up the pace a little.

"And then he put his cock inside my mouth and told me to suck it."

You reach upwards to grop Joy's tits through her dress.

"And the other guy?"

A mischievous grin plays around Joy's lips.

"He kept fucking me, telling me what a tight pussy I have again and again. I think he fell in love with it."

Closing your eyes for a moment, you imagine Joy getting fucked by two guys. One using her mouth, the other her pussy.

"How did you make them cum?"

"First, they both wanted to creampie me. But you know how much I love a good facial. So I just kneeled between the two of them and sucked them off, until they came all over me."

"Fuck."

You groan as you reach the edge of your climax.

"But after seeing my cum covered face, they wanted to go again. In the end, they both came like three times."

You dig your fingers into Joy's hips, about to hold her down so you can cum as well.

"And they fucked me yesterday too. Do you remember our call from that day? They both bent me over the kitchen table and took turns on me."

Finally, you climax, filling Joy's pussy with your cum.

Yeri

It is incredible that you were able to not touch yourself throughout the whole day. Yeri kept sending you this type of pictures on purpose, knowing it'll make you weak.

So far, you've only let her suck your cock once. That was almost a month ago. Your parents almost caught you, when they got home. And since then, Yeri kept walking around in slutty outfits or just in panties and a bra at home.

But now she's finally convinced you to fuck her. But you still know it's wrong. She is your stepsister.

"Yeri, this isn't right."

"What are you talking about?"

She keeps on going, making your eyes roll back. Her tight body is perfect for sex, but you can't enjoy yourself to the fullest.

"We are basically siblings."

"No we are not. Plus, when I ride you, it's technically okay."

"What?"

You can't follow her logic, but Yeri ignores you as she uses your cock to make herself feel good.

"That's totally stupid and-"

"No it's not. I just see you as a better dildo. A toy for me to use. If I'm the active party, we aren't having sex. I'm just playing with myself."

"That makes even less sense."

"Oh, really?"

Yeri doesn't stop riding you, despite your complaints. And you know she won't stop, until you've made her cum.

"Yeri, I-"

But you are the one who can't keep it together for much longer.

"You're gonna cum in your stepsister's pussy? Do it. Use it to dump your cum in it."

"What?"

Her teasing you everyday has build up a huge amount of pressure inside of you, which you finally need to release.

"If you fill me up, I'll let you fuck me when I wear these yoga pants you like so much. Where you can see how much I've worked for my ass."

You groan, just thinking about it. You remember the photo she send you yesterday.

"Fuck, Yeri."

"Do it."

She sighs.

A couple of moments later, the two of you cum together.

[amaiaqt]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤミㅤbreaking newsㅤ⋆ ｡˚ㅤ♡ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤif it's okay with you ! ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤkinich !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤoperation: amaiaqt comeback is a go ! ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenjoy, xoxo ♡

"you're being a total creep again, kinich !" ajaw snickers, only for the smirk to fall off his face when he's swatted away for the nth time that hour, snickering turning into cursing. "hey ! why you—"

"for such a small thing, your mouth's big enough for a foot to go down it." kinich grumbles, sick and tired of ajaw's jeering antics. as ajaw yells at him to take his words back, he walks off, his footsteps heavy.

he was supposed to be in a decent mood today; he had a commission that tasked him to head over to your district, so he could have talked to you for a while. but as soon as you saw him . .

"oh, hey kinich ! you looking for kachina ?" you grin cheerily, eyes looking up from the block of wood you were carving just to spare him a glance. just a glance, you looked right back to the wood after a few seconds. "no, i'm—" he tried to correct, but you chimed again. "ooh, looking to buy then ?" he blinks, then nods, thinking you knew about his purpose here after all. but you spoke again, "so what is it ? a gift ?" and you gasp, giving him a teasing look; "for mualani perhaps ?" his eyebrows furrow more than he intended, as a result you laughed it off and apologized. but he was too busy thinking about why everyone seems to think he likes mualani to bask in the sound of your voice. he could ignore it before, when people both of his tribe and mualani's would whisper about what relationship the two shared. it was solid between them after all that they were more siblings to each other than anything else. but when you started to think the same, he didn't like it. he liked you, but you seemed to wholeheartedly believe that he liked someone else . .

he didn't mean to walk off after you told him to wait a moment, he realized now, as he walks away from the spot he was previously standing idly in, watching you work away in your shop before he walked away, that, that was rude. but he doesn't know how to apologize right now.

"give it uuup, they obviously don't like you back if they support the idea of you with someone else. what a shaaaame~" ajaw sings in the background, following after him like a leech.

"they don't know, yet." kinich reasons, but ajaw was always the voice of unreason. "like you plan to let them know, just face it. either you confess and get rejected or never get the chance, you'll come out the loser both ways anyway." ajaw stuck his tongue out, and the urge within kinich to grab it and use it to fling the saurian as hard as he could was strong.

"heey, kinich !!!"

he stops in his tracks, looking back to see you rushing up to him. you panted, leaning on your knees to catch your breath when you reached a few feet away from him. you pat your pockets, looking for something only to groan. "damn it ! i ran all the way up here because you forgot the goods you needed to pick up for your commission, but i forgot them back at the shop myself." you curse, tousling your own hair in habit.

he watches you, his tense shoulders relaxing as he observed how you recovered your breath.

"gee, how do you move so quick ? i could barely run to save my life." you huff, hands on your hips. "then again, moving quick is basically how you make a living. . never mind. anyway, why'd you walk off; was it my comment ?" you ask with a nervous chuckle. "sorry, i was just messin' with you."

he doesn't mean to, but he lets out a huff of a laugh. "it's fine," he steps forward, closer than he means to. "sorry for walking off, if it's okay with you, i can walk back with you to get the items."

"i don't know mualani, are you sure about this ?" he asks, looking down at the bouquet in his hands, fixing up one of the leaves.

"they're gonna love it, trust me !" mualani cheers, "seriously, you should've told me you liked [name], i definitely would have set you up way sooner !"

kinich inspects the bouquet in his hands, mualani had it made for today specifically, so he technically owes her a favor. that aside, the bouquet has some of your favorite colors, but he can't help but think about how he's going to give it to you. he's planned it out meticulously, 70% on the investigation—finding out your favorite colors, flowers—, 10% on making the final decision, and the remainder on the execution. . which he hadn't thought about.

"what a pathetic display ! not only did you get them stupid flowers, but you don't even know how to give it to them." ajaw sticks his tongue out.

"i think it's cute ! the flowers are pretty, and i'm sure they're going to love them—" mualani's words of encouragement are cut off by a playful coo.

"ohoho, look at you two lovebirds." you chuckle, popping out from behind ajaw, and kinich nearly threw the bouquet in the farthest direction possible to divert the scene.

"oh, [name] !" mualani jumps as well, and the pair's fluster probably made the scene look more like what you had mistaken it as.

realizing this, mualani pushes kinich towards you, "oh no, no no no [name], you've definitely got the wrong idea !" she reasoned, grinning as she nudges kinich closer to you.

you, on the contrary, stand confused. "wait what ?"

kinich watches as you blink up at him in confusion, and he looks back at mualani in a rare moment of hesitation. he was certain, but he wasn't. if you supported the idea of him with another so much, then maybe there truly was no chance you had any romantic feelings for him—

"[name], kinich doesn't like me, he likes you !" mualani spoke for him, pushing him forward even more.

"huh ?!"

"well he has for a while now, but apparently even kinich feels shy sometimes ! he even had me help set you two up, had the whole date planned out for you two and everything !"

mualani was saying too much, she was saying everything kinich wanted to himself. it was all on impulse when he suddenly stepped forward and dragged you away from both mualani and ajaw, who blink at each other once you're both gone.

"kinich ?" you stumble after him, utterly confused.

"i'm—i'm sorry," kinich finally says when he stops both of you a good distance away. "mualani was saying everything, i couldn't get a word in."

your eyes widened, "wait, what do you mean ? what mualani was saying was—"

"if it's okay with you [name], i like you. i have for a while now, and i might for a long time."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ© amaiaqt, 2024 ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤdo not plagiarize !

[kiefbowl]

listen to me, this is important. some of you are heterosexual and women and are likely very normal looking, but are convinced you're not attractive. and in some ways you are right, you are like a normal boring person, maybe with a couple odd qualities like a big forehead or snaggle tooth or something. you've probably been teased, perhaps bullied, been told you should "try harder" or are "ugly" or a number of other things that make it seem like you will just always be a normal, boring, ugly person.

okay and probably you will to some degree.

this post isn't about convincing you you're beautiful on the inside, whatever that's your journey I can't convince women who hate how they look not to hate themselves.

this post is warning you about the MEN who will grab hold of you, and try to make you feel lucky that they love you because you are so boring looking and normal and you're just a normal looking every-day person who was called ugly growing up. and they will take you on dates, and be nice enough, and move in with you, be polite to your parents, maybe even marry you. BE FOREWARENED: they are NOT nice!! When someone loves you, you are the sexiest hottest most awoooga person in the world to them. when grown ups love their partners, they want to eat them up slurp them down put their mouth all over everything and they will never ever ever make you feel lucky to have them, they will be like how how how do I have an angel living with me!!!!

YOU! CAN! ALWAYS! DO! BETTER! Do not let lame, boring, unmotivated, exhausting, unskilled, uninteresting, unsexy men catch a free ride on YOUR one wild and crazy life, because they sniffed out the opportunity to grind your self-confidence to dust by guessing that you, like most women, have some body image issues, so that they can guarantee you will be hard pressed to leave them when they "forget" yet again to do their laundry (can you do it?), or pick up their groceries (let's just get pizza), or plan the trip you've been begging them to do for you (I don't know how!). These men will be pleased to give you crumbs, and expect you to lap them up thankfully because you are soooo so so so quote unquote YOU GEE ELL WHY.

NOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You do NOT have to be beautiful to be loved, and you are absolutely capable of not only finding a better man, but thriving without any man!!! YES. YOU. ARE. You do not want to wake up, age 40 - and realize my god I've given this man 15 years of my life, and we haven't seen paris, and we haven't adopted dogs, and I haven't written my novel, and we don't have a retirement plan, and now my knees hurt too much and our mortgage is so expensive. You want to wake up tomorrow, 25 years old, and think "I have 55 more years to have earthshattering orgasms every day and do whatever the fuck I want, god be damned to hell" and then go do that at all possible costs. The perfect nose, chin, and eyebrow does not make your clit work any better.

Do you understand what I'm saying?? THE PERFECT NOSE, CHIN, ASS, BOOBS, WEIGHT, OUTFIT, NAILS, AND EYEBROWS DO NOT MAKE YOUR CLIT WORK ANY BETTER.

[miizuzu]

A Promise Kept - Part 2

“What the actual fuck???!?” You shout as items close by were picked up and thrown towards the naked man on your bed.

“Wait!!! Calm down!! Let me explain!!!” Satoru shouts back as he nimbly dodge every item you throw at him, moving closer towards you. 

“Oh no you don't, stay back!!!” You tried to back away when you noticed him inching closer. 

His movements were quick, next thing you know he had you pinned on the ground. His hands on each of your wrists, knees spread on the side of your thighs. You looked him in the eye before both your attention traveled down his naked body, his cock hanging loose, almost touching you. You let out a horrified scream and your knees move up unintentionally in a defence position, accidentally kneeing him right in the balls.

He froze for a second before rolling off of you and curling into a ball, clutching his member in pain. You cringed and whispered a soft “sorry” before trying to get up and run, only to be grabbed by the ankle and falling face first on the ground. 

“Pl-please… let me… explain.” Satoru is still curled on the ground, he has a death grip on your ankle. 

Your fall had cost you to nosebleed and you covered your nose and looked back at him, “F-fine. Cover up, I don't want to see your thing again. I'm going to the bathroom.”

He nods and lets go of your ankle. You ran into the bathroom, tried to stop your nose from bleeding but decided you should call into work first. After cleaning up, you got out of the bathroom with tissue plugged in your nose to stop the bleeding. You see Satoru dressed now, sitting and waiting for you on the couch. 

You crossed your arms and leaned by the wall, “So? What do you have to say?” 

He was about to come over to you and he noticed the tissue in your nose. “Nuh uh uh, stay over there.” You insisted. He sat back down with both his fists on his lap. 

“Sorry about your nose…” 

“Are you going to explain or should I just call the police now?”

“Okay, okay! So, have you heard that 1% of our population has the power to transmog into animals? Well, I'm one of them.” 

“How the hell did you end up in the pet store then???”

“You remember me saying my best friend is the shop owner? I… asked him for a favor.”

“So you're saying, both you and that shady shop owner were in on this? He knew about you and didn't tell me?”

“Well if you say it this way it sounds bad doesn't it.” 

You let out a heavy sigh as you ran your hand to push your hair back. It was true that you know about the 1% of the population with that power but you've never known or seen anyone with it, they usually keep themselves hidden, not wanting to become outcasts. 

Now what? You didn't think you would become a cat owner and now you find out your cat is actually a person?? To make matters worse, it's the one guy you couldn't stand. It finally made sense to you, how he would just hang around you when you were getting prepared for showers. You are now hyper aware of how he had seen you naked a few times while in cat form. Your face flushed red and you didn't want to see him anymore.

“Get out, before I actually call the police.” 

Satoru slowly gets up, looks at you with big blue puppy eyes, begging you to not kick him out.

“Now!!” You shouted and he walked out of your home. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, you felt a headache coming and you flopped onto your bed, only to be reminded of what he was doing before you arrived, you quickly kicked the covers off before settling down to think everything through. 

At the pet store, Satoru was whining to his friend. “You actually thought this plan was fool proof. You're such an idiot. How did I even let you talk me into this?” face palming himself so hard his hand could go through his head.

“Suguru, you're supposed to comfort me and help me think of something to help get her to not stay mad at me!” Satoru pouts as he glares at his best friend.

“If I get sued I swear to God I will ignore you for the rest of my life.” 

“You don't mean that…”

“Try me.” 

Satoru biting on his thumb nail, feeling frustrated trying to think of ways to get you to forgive him. 

“How did you get caught anyways?” 

“Umm… I was… playing with Jr in my human form… while sniffing her panties.”

“On second thought, you are disgusting. Get out of my shop.” 

Suguru kicks Satoru out. Satoru was banging at the locked doors begging to re-enter, when he realized he was being ignored, he left to go home. 

Satoru has a home, a couple of humongous penthouses to be exact. No one could have guessed why he pretended to be a house cat. Satoru is rich enough that he could live 9 life times and it would not even make a dent to his bank. His parents never really cared what he does, only his happiness matters to them. Which could explain why he is so spoiled and thinks he owns everything. 

He went back to one of his penthouses nearby, laid on his bed as you occupied his every thought. He had never told anyone about meeting you before, he thought you would have forgotten about it by now as well. 

The 2 of you had actually met long again, while you were about 6 years old. Satoru had not gotten used to the transmogrification yet at that time, his ears and tail would show while he was in human form. He would get laughed at by the other kids and would panic and run off. That's when you found him, hiding and crying in a bush, his tail was wagging, knocking the bush which caught your attention. 

“Whatcha doing here?” Satoru jumped at your question, he wasn't expecting anyone to find him.

“Nothing, go away.”

“Are you crying?”

“Do you not understand? I told you to go away.”

“Why are you crying? Don't cry, let's play together!” 

Satoru was shocked, none of the other kids wanted to be near him when his ears and tail were showing, they all seemed to be afraid of him. He stares at your innocent smiling face as you reach your hand out for him. 

“Aren't you… scared of me?”

“Why should I be? Your ears and tail look so cute, I love cats. I wish I could have one but my parents said no. Why don't you be my friend? You could be my cat in secret!!”

The little you thought it was the best idea ever, as you gently pet his head to calm him down. Satoru snuggle close to you, feeling your warmth and happy that he found someone who sees him as him.

The 2 of you had a secret hideout, away from the other kids. You would ask him to show you his ears and tail, and he learned to control the transmogrification just to make you happy. Sometimes he would transform himself into a cat and let you pet him to your heart's content. Sometimes he would stay in his human form and just hold hands with you as you look at clouds in the sky. 

Satoru thought the days would be like this for the rest of his life, but one day you showed up with tears in your eyes. 

“Mama said we have to move, she said papa doesn't want us anymore.”

“Where are you going to move? When??” 

Satoru doesn't want you to leave. He wants to be with you.

“I don't know where we are going, Toko? I'm not sure, but we are leaving by train tonight. I'm here to say goodbye.”

“No!! Please don't leave!! You're my only friend!! I'll be your cat! Stay!!”

It wasn't something he could decide, you gave him one final hug before leaving. Satoru was feeling down for the longest time, his parents did everything they could to try and cheer him up but nothing would work. He asked his parents where Toko was, and they were just confused. 

Growing up, he made one other friend, Suguru Geto. He told Suguru about his secret but he would never show anyone his cat form, he promised himself that form is only for you. He swore he would find you and become your cat. When he turned 20, he moved to Tokyo with Suguru, still keeping you in mind. 

Suguru worked at an animal shelter and Satoru would go and visit him whenever he got bored. He never would have thought he would run into you again. 

You were rushing into the animal shelter with a kitten in your arms, you found it shivering under a tree and decided to bring it to the shelter. 

Satoru was so happy to see you that he went straight to you and started talking, but for some reason you didn't acknowledge him, almost as if you didn't remember who he was, your attention was focused on the kitten you brought with you. He thought he had the wrong person for a second because of how cold you were towards him. But he quickly realized it was really you just by how you treated the kitten. 

He found your workplace, where you lived. Finding out that you moved out from your mom's place when she got into a new relationship, wanting to give them personal space. The only thing he couldn't figure out was what happened to you, how you've changed from the cheerful and friendly self to someone who didn't like human interactions. 

Suguru wanted to open a pet store and Satoru supported him financially. Picking the location to be between your workplace and your home, hoping one day you would notice him. 

His wish came true when he saw you, on the other side of the display window, playing with the kittens from the other side of the glass. You looked so happy and was your old self again. 

He would just hide in the back and watch you, it took months before he worked up the courage to go to your work. He was too shy to have you serve him, always just peeking at you while you worked as your coworkers prepared his order. 

It took him a long time to convince Suguru to let him pretend to be a cat waiting for adoption, Suguru had a bet with him, thinking it would never work, only for you to come in the store the very same day to take Satoru home. He fell harder for you when you put him first, wrapping your scarf around him to keep him warm, making him meals for him and always petting him.

Now laying in his own bed, he hates himself for messing everything up. He was happy with just being your cat, his greediness has cost him to lose you. His large bed feels cold and empty, already missing your warmth and your gentle pats.

You woke up in your bed, the headache knocked you out for a while. It was already around dinner time. You got out to the kitchen and started preparing your dinner. “What would you like to eat Sa-” suddenly remembers that you've kicked him out already. “Argh.” You grunted to yourself as you prepared dinner for yourself. You missed the company, it's only been a few weeks but you got used to having him around and now the house feels a little too empty and quiet. 

You went to bed and your twin size bed feels so empty, Satoru didn't take up much space but it just feels different. You've gotten used to Satoru snuggling against you as you sleep, it took a while before you were able to finally sleep. 

You felt extra tired at work the next day due to lack of sleep, you were focusing on work when you saw the white haired man enter the shop. The audacity of this guy, you thought. He got in line, he ended up at your register, you kept a smile on your face but he could feel the daggers from your eyes piercing him. He didn't try anything, just placing his regular order. You decide to change his order, putting less sugar and more coffee. When you slid him the drink and watched him take the first sip, watching his face scrunch up put a genuine smile on your face. 

He saw your smile, even if it was just for a split second, he thought that bitter coffee became sweet just because of you. He sat in the corner of the store, still watching you work as you tried your best to avoid eye contact with him. 

The next couple of days rolled by with him showing up at the shop, you intentionally messed up his drink, making it more bitter every time. He would never complain about it, always finishing every last drop even if it felt like he was dying inside. He thought he deserves at least that, with you not kicking him out and all.

You feel like you should stay angry at him, for everything that he's done. But for some reason you couldn't actually stay mad at him, you missed his constant annoying remarks, you especially missed your cat, your home just feels empty these days.

He hasn't shown up today yet and you decided to go take your lunch break. One of your coworkers came running into the break room, “Hey Y/N!!! Your hot boyfriend is looking for you!” 

‘Oh no he didn’t’ you got up ready to give him shit, only to be met with someone who you never expected. You stumbled back and the colors were drained from your face. 

“Hey babe, took me a while to find you. Did you miss me?”

part 3

@moonchhu @non-artistic-license @entr4p3 @prtty-pink-angel @nonamevenus @victoria1676 @haithamsbb @jotarohat @birdwithhat @hel1nn @undercooked-chaos-noodle @akiraneedstobefixed

story i left it with another cliffhanger >_< i didnt wanna make it too long so now u all have to suffer... i tagged smut but realized there wasnt much from this chp.. i promise next one will make it up :D