#they r happy nothing bad ever happened to them

[amelia-yap]

schnug

[lucyandthepen]

sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

read the second part here!

pairing: nerd!barista!mark x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings&tags: unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slightly possessive/jealous dialogue, mark has a thing for tummy bulges because why not, implicitly that also means he has a big dick, a slight???? exhibitionism kink (not actually something that happens, only talked about), johnny exists in this simply to trigger something vaguely feral in mark, reader is a little bit assertive and schemes to get mark's attention, jaehyun is a nosy lil eavesdropper, i think that should be it?? word count: 26.4k

a/n: hello so this was a mess and honestly not a fic i would say showcases my best plot-wise but… what can I say apart from booty wurk mark has me in a chokehold and I needed to release some thoughts and feelings !!! please do not expect too much from the development of the story; i fear it’s quite long and choppy because my ideas were all over the place and i was wringing my hands and brain constantly and i was eager to get to the spicy parts !! this is also not beta’d/proofread, it’s currently almost 1am, and i’ve been writing this on and off for a full week with very few breaks so it honestly felt like a fever dream for me LMAO please forgive any oversights and mistakes; i’ll try to go back on them another day and fix them little by little! finally and …most importantly belated happy birthday, my beloved morkly!

p.s. this will probably be flagged as ‘mature’ by tumblr, which means there’s a high likelihood it won’t appear in tags or searches. please consider reblogging to boost the fic, if you feel so inclined!

You’ve heard tell of how caffeine has inherently addictive properties. 

The more of it you have in your lifetime, the more likely you are to experience symptoms of withdrawal whenever you try to have orange juice for breakfast in its stead. It sounds bad, actually, considering most addictive substances are, but you suppose that its benefits somehow outweigh its milder drawbacks. You’re not much of a coffee connoisseur the way some people — see: your best friends, Yeji and Jisu — are, trying one cafe after the other in pursuit of being able to nominate the winning beans of 2023 (an annual heated debate they participate in for no better reason than their own slow and useless entertainment during their six-hour long breaks), but you do know you’ve only ever experienced good things from having a cup every so often: better energy, a more focused approach to mental activities, and the ability to drive through fifty percent of a road trip without needing pop punk music blasting out of your speakers to keep yourself alert. 

The three of you are generally particular about the coffee you drink, only in different ways. While your friends have a tendency to demand only the best from any establishment — lest the staff hear fiery commentary about the flatness of the brew or the evident coarseness of the grind — you, on the other hand, are a singular individual of rather simple tastes. All you need to survive long days is a glass of vanilla sweet cream cold brew. No modifications to the sugar level or fancy new milk types are necessary; you’ll drink it as it’s served in a grande cup (or a venti, when things prove particularly grueling). 

Of course, you’re strict about other things in the experience of consumption —  like where it’s served and, more importantly, who serves it to you. 

While Yeji and Jisu have rated the Liberal Arts building’s on-campus Starbucks branch as a five with the strict label of POEO — ‘passable on emergencies only’ — branding the menu as “nothing revolutionary” and criticizing most baristas for subpar brewery, you happen to be extremely drawn to the place. Initially, you may have argued that this has to do with the fact that it’s walking distance from most of your classes, confined to the same general compound on campus, so you can always grab a quick recharger whenever needed, no matter how short the timeframe to do so is. Sometime later on, you may have found yourself asserting that the layout of the cafe, albeit small, is very convenient, considering that every table is situated next to an electrical outlet, so you’re never out of battery (important to other students for their laptops and powerpoint presentations, important to you because you have an unhealthy obsession with passing time on TikTok, scrolling past video after video of ASMR girls clicking their twenty-inch long acrylics with their crazy candyland designs), and this makes you feel at ease. 

A month ago, you finally came clean to yourself and, soon after, to your friends, and they came to understand, albeit begrudgingly and with no small amount of amusement, what made this Starbucks unbeatable in your eyes; it had one thing no other coffee shop could lay claim to.

What you know of Mark Lee is accrued from two major sources: long, surreptitious glances in the Modern World History class you share, and irritatingly brief interactions when you place your order from the other side of the counter behind which he stands, long fingers always poised to punch in your order at the speed of light. Sometimes, those encounters get cut even shorter when irate upperclassmen start prattling their orders out before you can even say anything past your own, except even this has its own consolation prize — an apologetic smile at you that seems only for you, although you’re not sure how much of this assumption is true. You’ll just believe it as you feel it. 

And what you’ve learned about Mark Lee has funneled down into two key points for you: first, he is single, a fact you were clued into when a group of his friends came to the coffee shop and sat around the table next to you. You hadn’t been eavesdropping; they’d just been pretty loud, but you’d also perked your ears the moment the one everyone seemed to call “Hyuck” — you aren’t sure if it’s his full name or a nickname, and you don’t particularly care — had leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper about having a vague master plan to set Mark up with an old high school friend’s younger sister that he was just waiting to spring on said Mark, busy slaving away on their six impossible orders near the espresso machine. 

You don’t really know what became of that plan, nor if anyone had telepathically been on your side to outright call it crazy (someone should have had a better reason than you, anyway) since the next moment, Hyuck’s voice becomes significantly louder when it orders the one named Jisung to collect the completed coffee and snacks waiting for them on the counter. However, you feel safe in the assumption that even if it had happened, no repercussions had followed, seeing as Mark still presently comes and goes from his shifts alone and in no clear hurry to meet any cute girls that are sisters of high school friends of his friends. Or, maybe you’re just ignoring what could be truth, but that’s whatever. 

Second, you’ve learned that Mark Lee should not actually be your type — at least, in theory. 

Saying you’re out of his league would be a bit juvenile, but if you had only so many words to describe the situation, you’d say so under duress. It isn’t so much that he’s beneath you in any way, but your interests and general social circles run different routes. Yours tend to be more classically patterned after constantly changing trends, and the people you interact with all seem to have similar goals; you like to call it ‘vibe networking,’ which, from experience, involves connecting with both groups and individuals that are equally aware that they will benefit in some way from any resulting acquaintanceship — whether it be by climbing the social ladder a couple of rungs or being able to call in a quick, off-the-charts favor for something very important and/or very exclusive down the road. You and your friends spend a significant amount of time in a year watching your style and image, something quite a lot of kids in the first couple of years of college tend to do, which means that while you don’t particularly like to spend your time following your grade trajectory, you do have quite a lot of pseudo-friends that all seem to offer something entertaining or helpful to you. 

Mark, on the contrast, prefers to keep his circle very close to his heart, it seems — that which acts as a receptacle for all his interests. You can tell that he likes to be up to date less with trending movies and more with comic books, a separate beast of a world that’s rather unknown to you. More than once, you’ve overheard him chat with his friends about Spider-man Issue Number Whatever-It-Is or engage in somewhat lively (sometimes rowdy, thanks to the Hyuck fellow) discussions about some webtoon you’ve come to understand is called Solo Leveling, which seems to have to do with monsters and hunters — two things you know next to nothing about. You’ve also never seen Mark holding anything remotely close to a magazine; his hands are always filled with either a freshly opened comic or a beat-up textbook. Maybe once or twice, you’ve seen him on his phone, but when you peeked over (surreptitiously, of course) on those occasions, you were met only with brightly colored panels and a singular word: BAM. 

In conclusion — you and Mark Lee live very different lives, likely never truly meant to intersect. 

And yet, you want him — not even in a way that speaks only to your curiosity, but in a manner that feels slightly delusional. More than once, you’ve found yourself having to shut your jaw close after realizing you’ve been watching him steam milk with your mouth slightly agape. Maybe it’s his side profile, which gives you a great view of the way his jaw tenses every time he puts whipped cream on someone’s frappuccino. Maybe it’s his eyes, which always seem to twinkle like he’s harboring some special secret every time someone in line asks for his recommendation on how to spice their order up. Maybe it’s his hands, steady and agile, with just the right showing of veins through the skin to tell you they’ve probably got significant strength to them too. Or maybe it’s just his mind — that thing he always manages to show off in class, working faster than lightning even when the rest of you are in your natural eight-in-the-morning stupor.

Whatever the reason for your interest, Mark Lee makes sure the Liberal Arts building’s Starbucks has you as a regular customer. 

You’re fully aware that this is the twenty-first century, which is why you could, as Yeji and Jisu have so kindly made known, simply ask him out. Under normal circumstances, you would have.

Unfortunately, in this particular area of your life, separate from all others, you’re something of a traditionalist. 

Actually, you just want to know what Mark asking you out would look like. Curiosity has fully gotten the better of you — how can it not, with how he breaks eye contact with you the moment it happens by accident in class, or with how pleasantly and shyly he smiles when you say ‘hey’ to him once you’re about to order? You’d like to see, first-hand, as a recipient of the experience itself, what he would look like taking control of a particular situation like that — something someone like him, so mild-mannered and laid-back, never really seemed to do upfront. 

You’d like to think you’ve given him clear signs. There’s a reason you always come in during his shift times, and it’s the same reason for why you have the same damn drink from the menu over and over again despite not even caring too much about coffee in the first place (something he admittedly doesn’t know and probably wouldn’t puzzle out, given how often you’re in that Starbucks, anyway). It’s that you want him to remember you.

Selfishly, it’s that you want him to think just a little bit more about you every single day. 

But if he does, Mark has never made it very clearly known; apart from taking your order in his genial customer service demeanor or letting a look of brief recognition pass his face over when you cross paths in the hallways, he’s never really shown heightened inquisitiveness about you. For all your differences, only you seem to actually care.

Frankly, that frustrates you, because if you have to think about him unhealthily, it would only be right for him to do that for your sake too. Still, you’ll shrug that hit on your pride off for as long as you can get his attention one way or another.

All you really need is for your plan to pan out as well as you think — and hope — it will. 

The thing is, you’re not even that bad at math. You’ve never really excelled at it, of course, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in dire need of help from anyone — the kind of help that feels like babysitting, at least.

However, Mark Lee doesn’t know that, and you’re not compelled to make that fact known to him when you notice that he’s leaning on the counter with his elbows, shoulders rolled forward and head bent down. He’s twirling his ballpoint in hand, wrist hovering over a worksheet, and you’re briefly distracted by the rapidly moving shadow underneath it.

His head snaps up when you gently knock on the counter, and the rest of his body follows suit, straightening as he shoves the paper away, one edge crumpling in on itself as it meets resistance in the form of the pastry display glass.

“Hey — hi, _________.” He knows your name, says it easily, and while you’d like to believe it’s because of his unprecedented interest in you, you know that it’s just because you’re always here and always having him write your name on the side of your cup. “Can I get you the usual?”

There’s no particular reason you order what you do; maybe it’s just rooted in the fact that when you first asked Mark for a recommendation, he said that the Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew was pretty good, and you were inclined to believe him (while pointedly ignoring the fact that it was, at the time, a new item all of the baristas were required to push to indecisive, slightly moony-eyed customers such as yourself). Whatever the case, you found the drink generally palatable, and you were also able to score the first of many smiles that fed into your two-semester-long infatuation with him, so it was basically a win-win scenario for all. He even got to do his job by getting some rube (see: you) into trying a new product.

“Hey, Mark.” You’ve long since given up pretending that you don’t know his name and have to check the tag on his cute green apron (why is it cute? You don’t know. It’s the same, standard, Starbucks green, but Mark makes it look homely and natural, somehow). You’ve been here way too many times over the last academic year for a nonchalant, were you talking to me? approach to work, anyway. “That, plus a lemon loaf, if you don’t mind. What’ve you got there?”

His eyes follow the trail of yours over to his wrinkled worksheet. “Oh — no, sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Is it secret?” Your bottom lip juts out, and you see his Adam’s apple bob dangerously, a small telltale sign of minute nervousness before he lets out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we kept stuff from each other.”

You don’t know what makes you say that so naturally. The both of you don’t do much beyond exchanging pleasantries.

“We — uh, well, it’s just a worksheet. For Park Hyosung’s class. College algebra?”

“I’m in Kim Junghwa’s. Can I have a look? I want to know if you’re suffering just as much as I am.”

He pauses, considering your request for a moment, likely wondering if there’s any harm in it before he smooths the paper out and turns it towards you. His handwriting’s a little messy, but his solutions are extremely neat. You see, like, one erasure, max. You also don’t see anything that interests you — except the name written at the top. Still, you can see at a general glance that more than half of his answers are correct; the logic of his organization is way too elegant and his writing’s too sure to be anything else. You whistle low, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Something wrong?”

“Pretty much the opposite. How is it that you’re doing this without breaking a sweat?”

“Oh, well — it’s not…” He doesn’t even know how to brag. Yet another item in the perpetually growing list of things you find cute about Mark Lee. “I mean, anyone… can?”

“I must not be anyone then.” You meet his quizzical look with a wry smile. “Either you guys are leaps and bounds ahead, or I’m really not going to make it through this semester.”

Another silence passes, just for a fraction of a second — short enough to be passable to others, but long enough for you to wonder if your humor code isn’t up to par with the rest of the world’s — before Mark’s chuckling lowly. His large palm comes down, covering a majority of his answers in the process.

“You’re kidding. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

“Mark, look at this face.” You gesture to your evidently dumbfounded, blank expression. “Does this look like the face of someone that’s doing just fine?”

You’re pleased to hear another laugh from him; you don’t know if he really finds you funny or if he’s just the type to be easily amused. You don’t want to know, anyway; assuming is better than actually finding out.

“That bad, huh?” He slides the worksheet away again, like he’s afraid his correct answers are going to offend you into leaving the cafe. Instead, his hands start working on your order, grabbing a cup and scrawling the shorthand of the drink on one of the little boxes. “Ever think about getting a tutor, maybe? If you really feel like you’re drowning, that is.”

“A tutor? I guess that depends. Are you free on weeknights?”

The marker makes a soft screeching sound as he drags it down with too much force, ruining the penmanship of your name. Mark takes a moment to stare at the mistake on the plastic before he looks at you, pointing the rim of the cup towards himself. “Sorry — am I free—?”

“You said I should get a tutor, right?”

“I thought — no, sorry, I was thinking more like one of those department-assigned tutors you can ask the faculty for, or something.”

“Oh. Are you not one of them?” You sigh, albeit a little over dramatically. Thankfully, he doesn’t really cotton onto your acting, too caught up in befuddlement at the turn of the conversation. “That’s a bummer. I was kinda hoping that if I was going to ask for help, I’d get an actual genius. You know — someone like you?”

You can tell by Mark’s expression that he’s torn between denying your compliment again and responding to your actual question; he looks both relieved and miffed when the student behind you clears her throat.

“Sorry, but— you know that there’s a line, right?”

You both apologize, Mark’s much more sincere than your own, and you step aside. His gaze follows you for a moment before it snaps back to the next customer, his voice abandoning that bemused uncertainty it had taken up with you. You don’t really mind; as far as you’re concerned, any dent in his barista persona when he talks to you is a step in the right direction.

You hang around the pick-up area, receipt in hand, watching Mark clear the line before moving to the actual stations near the kitchen area. There’s a concentration on his face that you find all the more attractive; he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he’s trying to focus on getting the drizzle just right inside the cup’s cylinder.

He tends to try his best at everything, you figure. Not an unattractive quality — not by a long shot.

Mark finishes your drink first; the milk’s still only seeping, cloudy, into the coffee when he brings it over. He doesn’t even have to call your queue number, opting to meet your eye — albeit slightly nervously — instead. You reach out to hold the cup, a calculated move that allows you to brush hands against his without him being able to pull back on instinct. He doesn’t, nor does he really seem to want to, but his jaw tightens as a flush creeps along the curve of his ears.

“You really won’t help me?”

Your question’s abrupt, almost a little demanding, even if your voice is sweet. You’re not above asking this much, anyway, even if you technically want him to make the first move. The redness sinks down to his earlobes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t really say anything,” you tease. The cup’s on the counter now, so he can easily relinquish it to you at this point, but he still hesitates, only one hand slipping out from under the heat of your palm. He uses it to rub the back of his neck, chuckling softly, and you take this as a green light. “What time does your shift end?”

“Five-thirty. You sure you wouldn’t want someone better?”

You pull your cup slowly to yourself, and his hand, still lightly trapped by your own, follows for a few inches before he’s withdrawing, the counter between the two of you forcing the distance. A smile follows the shaking of your head, and you take a small sip of the drink before you respond simply.

“There’s no one better than you.”

Mark is a prompt kind of person; you learn this when, at five-thirty, he comes over to your table, tugging his apron off over his head. Of course, you might attribute that to his overall personality, but the fact that you spend the remaining two hours of his shift casting him glances from the left side of the coffee shop might have also been a contributing factor. The looks you give him aren’t even furtive; they’re deliberately long, so you never miss whenever he looks over to you from time to time.

He doesn’t hold eye contact for very long (he does it well enough when he’s talking to customers, but it’s not like you’re ordering another cold brew from across the room at that point), but you can read snippets of his thoughts through the fleeting gaze exchanges. He’s curious as to why you’re asking for help, now, of all times, when the semester’s more than halfway over. He’s surprised that you asked him, of all people, because he just can’t conceive of a world that isn’t within a television show where this kind of abrupt, overt request makes sense. He’s flattered that you even asked him out of the blue. He’s equal parts anxious and eager to know what’s meant to happen after his shift, once he starts fulfilling your request.

Most of all, he’s unsure if he’s reading you right — if what it feels like you’re doing is something he’s attaching too deep a meaning to. If he’s right in reading your signs.

You don’t really mind it; you like knowing that Mark somehow wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he tries to remain neutral for the sake of appearances. You also bask quietly in the fact that he’s looking at you twice as much as he ever has in the time you’ve loosely known each other. Still, his bubbling confusion and inquisitiveness seem to be interfering with the rest of his work, especially when you notice that he’s been wiping down the surface of a table two down from where you are for more than seven minutes.

In the hopes of easing whatever tension might be in his heart, you offer him a small smile, but that’s only met with his eyes immediately glazing over and inching a couple of centimeters above your forehead, where the story of Starbucks’ origins is drawn out in a faux-manga style. He pretends to find it interesting, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times from coming into this establishment day after day — you know it well enough, and you don’t even have to, considering you don’t work here — and you can’t do anything but hold back your laughter.

A small part of you says you should just give him the affirmative answer to his biggest question, but every other cell in your body says that it’s no fun if he doesn’t ascertain it for himself.

He has his school bag and textbook in tow when he approaches, taking the seat across from you. There’s a steely resolution on his face, like he’s been emotionally preparing himself for such a daunting task, but it eases up the moment you laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to act like I’m going to eat you.”

“I’m still not sure why you’re suddenly asking me to help you,” he admits. He’s also very honest, you note. Again, not an unattractive trait. “I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think you even had an opinion of me.”

“Why’s that?” You’re genuinely surprised. Mark drums his fingers on the front of his textbook, thoughtful — less for the sake of thinking what to say and more for the sake of considering how to say it. It’s clear he wants to avoid calling attention to the fact that before now, you two have had no reason to run the same track, let alone sit together and talk at a coffee shop, as if you’ve always been the best of friends.

“Genuinely just thought I was the guy who gave you your afternoon coffee every day,” he finally settles. Your eyes widen, and another laugh escapes you — a little louder this time, enough to call the attention of a couple of jumpy freshmen nearby.

“Well — let me put it this way.” You lean over slightly, cupping your chin in your palm. “Was I just the girl you made coffee for every day until now?”

There are clear cogs turning in his head; his eyes unfocus slightly as he thinks of the possibilities. His silence suddenly makes you somewhat nervous; your tone had been confident, and you’d only said that to prove a point, to push him in the right direction, but you realize that you hadn’t previously factored in the possibility that he might simply say yes — or, worse, say no just to avoid hurting your feelings.

You watch his lower lip curl in; he uses his tongue to smooth out the skin that’s slightly dried from work fatigue. You would much rather it peeked out, so you could imagine it against your own. His response is mumbled in a lower register, but you catch some key syllables — didn’t… not … stranger — pretty … you?

“Sorry?” You ask patiently, but the fact that he turns red and laughs again — something you realize is not only a trademark of his personality but also downright delicious of him to be doing — is all the answer you need to let the apprehension seep from your shoulders. “I didn’t catch that.”

Mark clears his throat. “No, I… didn’t think of you that way. I mean… you’re my classmate.”

“Sure,” your tone’s breezy, but the somewhat sloppy confirmation of interest in you makes your heart soar. He just needs more of a push. “And we’re basically friends, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is unsure at first, like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept. You can tell that Mark’s notion of friendship is likely based on shared interests, of which you admittedly have none. Technically, if you were his friend, you’d spend less time just telling him the exact same order every single day and more time sitting around a table trying to learn how to play Magic: The Gathering with him. Still, he takes one long look at your grin and suddenly gains confidence in his next words, as if it somehow convinces him that the briefness of your old conversations had been a mutually agreed-upon thing and not the product of social distance between the two of you. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends help friends, don’t they? I’d definitely feel more comfortable having a friend teach me than some stuffy upperclassman I don’t know.”

You see Mark’s lips move slightly, in such small movements you could have imagined it as breathing if you didn’t care too much (which you do). He mouths, to himself — friends help friends. For some reason, that boosts his conviction even further, and he nods.

“Makes sense. Well — for as long as you don’t mind me, then.”

“Mind? I asked you, so I should be saying that.”

“I’d never mind — I mean, of course I don’t mind.” He’s quick to correct himself, and you have to stop your own hand from reaching out to try to satisfy your curiosity, the desire to know just how hot his cheeks get when he blushes. “More than happy to help, actually.”

“And I’m more than happy to be here.” You beam at him, and he mirrors your smile. You don’t know what it is about the look on his face — the brightness in his eyes, or the slight lift of his eyebrows, maybe — but it gives you the impression that he might be feeling at least a fraction of what you are: the feeling of your heart lifting off a few inches from your rib cage. “Since we’re on the same page, I hope — should we get to it?”

From the moment that Mark opens his textbook to a chapter on inverted parabolas, he assumes a personality you feel you haven’t seen from him before. You realize that you really do know him in only two limited capacities — his classroom persona that seems to really only view himself and the material, focused on the board and the professor’s words (even up until the useless anecdotes) to absorb as much information as possible, and his more genial customer service form, always happy to assist in the trained, easygoing way you’ve come to meet so often.

Right now, he’s a blend of both, yet somehow neither all at once. He’s quick to catch the parabolas you draw, either wrongly or downright poorly. Despite initial hesitation, he always manages to say something; there’s already a pattern to how he does it, from his slightly awkward, “Ah, sorry, actually —” to the way his finger traces over what you’ve written, outlining the right curve. You find his interruptions so endearing that you start drawing them wrong purposefully — not enough for him to realize your schemes in their entirety, but enough to cast you a few amused glances, like he can’t imagine why you’d map out such an absurd graph. You get the feeling he wants to actually laugh at how ridiculous you’re acting, but he can’t tell if you’re seriously struggling or not, so he settles for a smile he thinks he does well in keeping to himself, but that you catch anyway. He’s patient, even when you have to rip out pages from the back of his notebook because of your ‘mistakes,’ like he’s still catering to your request for an extra pump of syrup for your coffee on sleepy days.

But there’s also that side to him that comes out when he suddenly remembers the distance between you that, before today, had felt unlikely to be closed. It peaks at odd moments, like when you’re borrowing his pen because yours is currently holding your slowly unraveling bun up, and your fingers brush against his. It surfaces abruptly when you lean in to watch what he’s drawing until he realizes how close you are, arm lightly grazing his, and his pen freezes, ink blotting on the paper for a second. It’s in those times that you can almost hear his brain churning out questions — like he’s wondering if you’re just oblivious or if you’re doing something on purpose that he can’t quite believe. Like he wants to ask you what’s on your mind, but he just doesn’t know how.

If he asked, you would reply without missing a beat. The answer, after all, is simple (him). But Mark never raises the question, only does something without fully acknowledging what he’s doing — the adjustment of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the ruffling of his hair as though to shake off his thoughts, the clearing of his throat to normalize his tone before he explains something you’ve just asked about. There’s always that light tinge of pink to his face that makes him look even more endearing, and it fades and returns every so often for the better part of two hours.

By the time he rubs oncoming fatigue out of his eyes, the sun has already set; there are far fewer people around you at this time, and for as much as you like spending time with him and breathing in the scent of his shirt — always a tinge of Downy, barely cutting through the much more overpowering scent of espresso and sugar — your back has begun hurting from your front-heavy posture and determination to have your face as close as rationally possible to Mark’s. Still, you don’t miss out on the fact that the act of him cracking his neck to relieve tension makes your lips curl inward, trying to stifle an inappropriate noise in reaction to the view.

“I feel like I talked your ear off,” he pipes up, sounding a bit sheepish. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when to stop once you’ve gotten started. I’m just hoping I didn’t bore you to death.”

“Meanwhile, I’m here hoping you aren’t sick of my questions already.” You smile, closing your notebook and hanging the clip of your pen on the spiral. Your arms stretch up first, followed by your back, a light twist to relax your posture into normalcy again. Mark’s breathing falls quiet, like he’d been preparing to say something in response but had let it die in the back of his throat instead. You let your eyes drop, expecting to see him looking at you, as he mostly has been — on and off — since his shift ended, but his eyes are far lower than yours, the telltale redness now growing in evident splotches across his cheeks.

The hem of your shirt has ridden up; while there’s nothing outrageous about it, there’s a short expanse of skin that it reveals, for a brief moment. His eyes are slightly glossy, brow furrowed like he’s trying to find a solution to something he can’t fully understand. You’re not even sure about what he could really be looking at, or if there’s something he’s just thinking of that caught his attention while his eyes focused on a rather unfortunate spot. To test your theory, you suck in your stomach slightly alongside an inhale.

It should be objectively funny to watch Mark blink unevenly, left eye going first before his right tries to catch up, but you manage to stifle your laughter — poorly, though, because you end up coughing a little and breaking him out of his strange trance. You avert your eyes quickly enough for him to look vaguely relieved that you hadn’t caught him looking. So he thinks, at least.

“Anyway.” You feel bad that you have to tear his mind away from whatever faraway land it must be trying to burrow a hole in; the dazed expression on his face dims into hastily hidden embarrassment. You don’t want him to feel awkward, so you just busy yourself with packing up, making an unnecessary show of stuffing your notebook back into your bag as if it isn’t half-empty at this point. “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“Any time.” His first attempt is a little raspy, maybe from overuse of his voice today, so he clears his throat and tries again. A slow smile builds on your lips. “Any time, really. I’m glad that this is actually helping you; you pick things up surprisingly fast.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll probably be ready to tackle it on your own again, I’m sure.”

He smiles reassuringly, but all you can think about is how that’s not good. You should pretend to be a little dumber next time, or this will end much too prematurely.

The next five minutes pass in silence; you don’t expect to be knee-deep in conversation anyway since, as much as you try to convince him, you aren’t actually anywhere close to being those kinds of friends yet. There’s an unspoken rule to the give and take of things, where he pauses for you to get an item off the table and push it into your bag before he does the same with his own belongings. Neither of you really intersect paths, save for the moment you both grab your phones and stand at the same time.

His jaw falls open like he’s preparing to say something, then shuts as if he’s better decided against it. You decide to take the initiative to say what you’re assuming he wants to. “Same time, same table?”

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

You want to ask him to walk out with you. You want to lace your fingers with his, tug him out, and kiss him under the green and white glow of the sign outside. You want to know if kissing his collarbone means you’ll taste a hint of coffee. You think about doing it all somehow, especially since he’s fighting back a slight smile at the promise of tomorrow.

But it just isn’t the right time.

Instead, you place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The slow movement of his throat — yet another hard swallow — isn’t lost on you, and his eyes land on where the two of you connect. With a grateful smile, you bid him a soft goodbye, taking your leave first.

You don’t look back — at least, not until you’re fully in the cover of the darkness outside. On the gravel path, just out of reach of the lamplight, you chance one last glance back into the store. Mark is still rooted to the same spot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at the table like he’s dissociating from what just happened — like he can’t believe the last couple of hours.

Your smile grows when you see his own, and his hand comes around to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly like it gives him small comfort to let him know that it was real.

Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’ve already got one foot in the door, after all.

As the days trickle by, you fall into a more comfortable standing with Mark; there’s a routine to your meetings that seems to eliminate the initial and abrupt awkwardness of that first day. You come into that Starbucks at four, greet Mark, who doesn’t ever have to ask for your order, and spend the next hour and a half slowly sipping on it until the ice has thinned and watered down your drink substantially. In that time, you allow yourself to do whatever you want (as if you’ve ever done otherwise anyway), and what you usually want the most is a good view of him. You therefore use most of the minutes you have on hand to regard him from different angles — from the side when he’s frothing milk, upfront when he turns to leave cups on the pick-up counter, from the back when he’s clearing tables — interspersed with moments of checking your TikTok feed, clearing group chat messages, and sometimes re-curling your bangs with a portable iron from the school’s co-op center, a relatively new purchase you tote around these days. You do essentially anything in between to avoid acting too suspicious while he works.

Sometimes, you catch Mark’s eye too; the more your meetings increase in number over the course of a few weeks, the more deliberately he looks over at you, and the longer it lasts. You feel like you’ve made significant progress when your gazes lock and he smiles slightly, albeit a bit unsurely, instead of turning away like he used to. The other day, he’d even passed by while apologizing for how long you always waited for him — not that you ever minded, something you made a point to clarify with him before he walked away, carrying a couple of chairs from the back room with him to replace rickety ones.

That he’s able to transport them easily, as if he’s lugging a bag of apples from the grocery, does not escape your watchful eye.

What you like the most is that you start to learn more about him in a way that isn’t fueled only by your expectations and, therefore, limited by your imagination. You find out that he’s from a close-knit family with a rather cushy background, and this barista job is just for interest funding and experience, in that exact order. Most of his earnings are funneled into the things he collects, which apparently isn’t limited to comic books and special edition blu-rays with director’s cut but also a rather stupendous amount of PopMart blind box figurines. Apparently, he particularly likes the Skullpanda series even if he hasn’t completed it yet; your last session together had adjourned thirty minutes earlier than usual so that he could catch a pre-rush hour inner circle train to Hongdae, where the flagship store was set to open on that day. He’d promised to show you his pulls (as long as they weren’t embarrassing dupes). You learn that he likes to listen to loud music when he studies to stimulate his mind, and he has a playlist that’s just a jumble of songs from Punk Goes Pop volumes that makes him feel empowered for some absurd reason, like he’s going against the grain. You don’t really get it, but you do like that spiced-up rendition of Ariana Grande’s Problem that he let you listen to once.

Of course, there are things that you find out not through conversation but through continued, closer observation. You notice that he likes to put on chapstick even if his lips aren’t particularly dry, but he does worry on them often, most especially when he’s thinking hard about something. He has a habit of saying honestly… at the start of every other sentence, as if he’s concerned you won’t take his word on anything, even though he’s just talking about how unnaturally hot it was at noon despite it still being spring. He has long eyelashes that you’re equal parts attracted to and jealous of, and he bites the inside of his cheek whenever he wants to pep himself up after grueling shifts. He plays beats you’re not even sure he knows he’s creating against his knee with his fingers, so enthusiastic and consistent in this habit that you want to offer your thigh instead. His shoulders always go first before he laughs, and he does this thing where he raises his hand to cover his mouth at the start of it, which is a shame, because you’d do anything to keep seeing him smile like that — or, better yet, to be the reason for it.

Then there are those things you notice he tries to hide. He always turns his face halfway to the side when he blushes, something he seems to do without fail every time you smile at him. He has to temper the intensity of his grin when you take the time to compliment him on how cool his shirt is, or how nice his hair looks today, or how smart he is, like he doesn’t want you to know how good it makes him feel even if you want him to feel good about it, around you, because of you. Sometimes he denies it for the sake of responding, and his voice always lilts on the first syllable in his refusal to accept what you say, even though he knows you won’t take it for an answer.

And after a couple more careful experiments, you notice that Mark, out of the many things he’s interested in, seems to have a particular thing for your stomach.

You don’t know if it has anything to do with him not really seeing much of it in real life in his own time or if he just has his own kind of fixation on it, but you start to cotton on by the fourth time you meet. An hour of being hunched over a table that’s not at the greatest height in relation to your neck and torso has you stiff, and you’d leaned back in your chair, arms pulling to the air, hoping your spine might feel like realigning if you exerted enough tension pressure that way. Your shirt hadn’t ridden up this time, considering it had been tucked into your jeans, and it was because of this that you’d caught a flicker of something new in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

Of course, he hides it quickly, as he does with most of his emotional candor, but it’s enough to make you suspicious — enough to make you wonder if Mark is also just keeping something to himself. Or maybe you’re just projecting your own presently secretive nature onto him. Regardless, you think it’s odd that whenever you stand up or stretch, his eyes almost immediately fall to your midriff, like he wants to challenge your clothing into a staring contest before he thinks better of it.

You don’t mind, anyway. He can look as much as he likes. Maybe when the weather’s warmer, you’ll even cater to that interest and wear a crop top. Hopefully, that’ll be the push he needs to act on human instinct and ask you out or, like… bend you over. Maybe.

You’re often plagued with these kinds of thoughts in between the ones you try to keep as family-friendly as possible — now, more so than ever.

Sometimes, it’s easier, especially when you’re caught up in talks with him; despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist when it comes to generic matters, when either he or you are enthusiastic about a particular topic, he has a tendency to get carried away. There’s nothing impure about how his eyes light up when you remember to ask him about the movie he saw with his friends over the weekend or the way he hums old Nickelodeon cartoon theme songs under his breath whenever he’s looking for a page in the textbook. It’s more of a situation where you’ll observe something and immediately run with it despite it being an objectively normal action.

Like right now, as you’re watching him turn his pen between his fingers. Now, while he’s shaking his knee in mild impatience, as if he’s trying to will the answer to the worksheets you’ve both been trying to get through for the better part of the day faster. You’d made copies of the problems your professors had assigned and exchanged them under the premise of being able to practice more intensely.

However, whereas Mark is actually focused on solving, you’re just watching him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’s ever been told that his fingers are fuck-worthy on a singular, unique level or if it’d feel good for you to ride the thigh he’s currently moving, jeans and all. You consider the feeling of his warm palms on your bare waist as you do it, and you end up wondering if that’s what crosses his mind whenever he sneaks glances at you, too.

You’d know the answer to all those things if he’d fucking ask you out. Maybe you could do it after all. Maybe you should, instead of relying on slowly increasing the probability over such a long period of time. Maybe if you asked nicely, Mark might pull the shades down on the storefront windows and rail you against the glass.

You’re so lost in thought that it genuinely startles you when he plops his textbook over the worksheet, rattling your eraser dangerously close to the edge of the table. You’re still clutching your heart while he rubs his eyes a little too violently.

“Can’t,” he groans, and his neck gives into the weight of his head, allowing it to loll backward. “I feel like the numbers are just melting into each other. I swear, I thought I could read words out of them.”

“Maybe we were a little too ambitious with the double worksheet agenda,” you admit, even though you’ve barely gotten past half of yours and certainly haven’t touched a single item on his. “Should we call it a day for now?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, although he still takes the time to encircle his final answers before clapping his palms to his cheeks (an act that has your mind dangerously close to wandering off inappropriately again) to wake himself up. “Woah. I didn’t even notice how dark it is already. I’d say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’m not too sure about the ‘fun’ part of it…”

You trace his gaze towards the glass; the moon’s already out, surrounded by a smattering of low-light stars. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, probably because your mind had been on R-18 mode for most of the afternoon. Also, the days are getting generally shorter, but that fact doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed, at least.

“You got a ride?”

The question once again shocks you out of your small trance, and you turn back to him with wide eyes. “Well — no. Wait, I didn’t know you had a car. Why’d you take the subway, then?”

“Oh — no, sorry, I… don’t.” He looks suddenly sheepish, eyes dropping to the shiny surface of the table for a moment before they snap back up, as if he’s actually actively reminding himself to look at you. “I was wondering if you wanted me to — actually, more than that, are you going home already? Not that you need to stay; it’s not that important, but…”

You try to gloss over the fact that he had just been about to initiate another huge step in the right direction (i.e. offering to walk you home) by beaming at him, maybe a little too widely, if only to mask your disappointment at the sudden shift in conversation. “I have nothing waiting at home for me but a sandwich dinner and Singles Inferno, so hit me with whatever it is.”

“Oh, cool.” His lips turn up, and the corners shake, this show of happiness once again tamped down by his own inexplicable desire to maintain a safe distance. How are you supposed to tell him you’re desperate to bridge that gap without using those exact words? “I came from the flagship store yesterday — the one in Hongdae that I told you about?” He allows the smile to widen slightly when you nod in genuine understanding. “Got the last six boxes of the collection I’ve been trying to finish.”

You whistle appreciatively. “Can I ask you for a loan on my next phone bill? You know, once I’ve upgraded to something pricier.”

“Nah — just itching to complete the set,” he laughs. You wonder if he’s been doing that more often because he knows its crippling effect on you, though you doubt he’s that sly. Again, maybe you’re just projecting too much of your own motivations onto him. “This was probably about two months of saving up combined.”

“No new Iron Man issues to look out for, then?” Your voice is warm even though it takes on a teasing tone; Mark’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and his expression is a little sheepish, but you’re happy that the times he used to go completely quiet, opting only to blush at your attempts to act more familiar with him are pretty much gone now.

“Maybe next month.” You also like that he doesn’t really treat his hobbies as secrets, neither out of shame nor snobbishness. He explains these things to you the same way he does the topics you study — with an air of contentedness, like he’s happy someone listens to him without interrupting. On your end, you have no qualms with listening to his voice for hours, wondering when he’ll stop using it to greet you when you come through the door and when he’ll start saying your name in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees whenever you’re near. It’s a win-win situation (sort of). “I was actually debating between this collection and a really rare copy of Spi— well, never mind that. I just thought — since you were asking me a bit about blind boxes last time. You know, if you wanted to. With… me.”

As much as he’s become comfortable talking to you about things that don’t involve coffee orders and school, you can’t say that you aren’t doing your fair share of the work in connecting the dots; the demand for your efforts is exponentially higher in moments like this, when you think he’s trying to ask you something but can’t seem to find less-than-eager words to avoid what he thinks might spook you.

Luckily, he augments his fragments with action; reaching into his backpack — which you notice seems to be bulkier than usual — he starts extracting small brown boxes, all with the same design; it seems, for lack of better words, aesthetically gothic, and you reach out to pick one up, turning it over and examining the print on each side with vague interest. Mark starts laying them out on top of each other until there’s a small, somewhat unstable pyramid in front of him, then shifts his attention fully to you, just as you’re putting the box in your hand atop all the rest.

“I’d love to.” You beam as he does, and there’s a wondrous relief in his eyes that tells you he’s glad you manage to catch onto his words — or lack, thereof — surprisingly well. “For as long as you don’t blame me for any bad draws.”

“The contents have already been decided by my own hand — sort of,” he chuckles. “Point is, I would never do that to you. But I won’t lie; I kind of want to rely on your luck a little more.”

“What makes you think I’d have any of that running through my system?”

“Not sure — beginner’s luck, maybe? You just kind of look like one of those kinds of people to me — like… you’re just made of good things.”

You don’t know how to take this compliment; on the one hand, it’s easily one of the sweetest things Mark has ever said to you that doesn’t involve anything with actual sugar content. On the other, you know you’re not as lucky as he makes it sound, considering you’re still striking out on getting past the borderline of friendship with him. All you can do is smile, nodding and making to move closer to him by sliding into the next seat.

It’s hard to ignore the sight of him stiffening; something like surprise mingled with both fear and interest flashes strong across his face, but you don’t do anything to acknowledge the slight change in atmosphere, choosing to settle down comfortably and clap your hands. “So. What are the rules? What can I do, and what can’t I?”

“Uh.” His throat constricts at the right moment, the syllable getting caught and causing him to clear his throat. You know that this is the nearest you’ve ever been to him, the sleeve of your shirt tickling his arm. Upon closer, albeit brief inspection, you note that he’s also rather veiny. That doesn’t do your impurity any favors. “Not… really rules, or anything like that. Just — these are the ones I’ve been looking for. Not that you can really control it, but in case you were curious about that.”

You squint intently at the scaled-down images he points out. There’s one that looks like a penguin caught in an oil spill; another that seems to be in a polar bear costume, dozing; and — “What’s… halo? Halo…bios?”

“It just means marine life,” he answers quickly, like the thought means close to nothing to him to know something that obscure. Whoever said that smart is the new sexy wasn’t joking. “Like… all things that live in the ocean, that kind of thing.”

“And you know this because?”

He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have just learned it when I was curious about what it meant some time ago. Isn’t that how we all learn things?”

You shake your head incredulously, and he smiles a little apologetically. “You never cease to amaze me.” Your nail drums against the silhouette of one with a question mark on it. “What’s this supposed to be? Can you draw your own figurine, or something?”

“No.” He’s clearly amused, but his expression’s still patronizing enough for you to not feel too bad about saying something idiotic. “It’s a secret design — a money drainer, basically. You could buy a full set of this and still not get it. Some people will open hundreds without any luck, so it’s really rare.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I try not to get too caught up in the secret thing,” he admits. “Otherwise…”

“No rare print comic books for the rest of your life, basically?”

He taps his nose, and you both share another laugh. It’s nice, you think, to have come this far — to be someone Mark can share his interests and thoughts with. You may have been stretching the word to its limit when you first punched your way into his social life and called yourself his friend, but it feels more real now, more natural to think about and say. Even if he still sometimes seems to be hyperaware of the gap between the both of you, there’s no denying, at least, that it’s been significantly reduced, and this much is a testament to that.

“Well, leave it up to me. I’ll let all of this beginner’s luck rub off on you,” you announce with overflowing albeit unfounded confidence.

You both decide to open a box each at the same time; Mark suddenly panics and asks you not to unseal the foil bag right away without looking at the card inside first, earning him one slightly alarmed look followed by a burst of laughter at his pained expression when you pretend to rip open the packaging. Comparing pulls, you identify them using the set chart — your luck doesn’t seem to be operating at full capacity yet because you can only offer him the card of one that looks like a floppy pigeon, which he responds to with a slightly apologetic grimace before saying he’s already pulled that thrice in the past. He, on the other hand, is turning the card of the polar bear over in his palm, trying not to make you feel bad for your duplicate pull by slipping it under his textbook when your eyes land on it.

The second round isn’t much better; both of you manage to pull something he’s already added to his collection, and as you’re ripping the seal to your third box, he pauses and watches you. You think it’s because he’s concerned about the obvious shit luck you’ve had thus far and wants to snatch it from you before your negative energy transfigures whatever’s inside into something he doesn’t want, and you’re just about to offer the half-opened package to him before he pushes the one on his end to you.

“No way, Mark.” Your eyes are wide, a palm up to reject it. “If that turns out to be another dupe by my hand, I’m literally going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

He has to control his amusement at your words so that it doesn’t completely shake his voice into incoherence. “I picked all of these while I was there, so if anything, you’re only riding off my bad luck. Besides, this is your first time doing this. I want you to have fun.”

“But,” your voice is pained. “Your money.”

“It’s not a big deal. With how few I need to complete them, I was definitely bound to run into more repeats than new ones.” He taps the front of the textbook — or, at least, the part of it not buried under the figurines and sealing tapes yet. “Probability mathematics.”

“I thought we already ended the study part of the day,” you grumble but concede, putting aside the one you half-opened to tear the top of his. You’re careful when you shake out the foil packaging, making sure to place it upright on the table before extracting the card. Both of your faces fall — yours more than his — when you see it’s a repeat of the polar bear.

“Almost. It would’ve been a pretty lucky pull earlier, so it’s technically not bad,” he tries to reassure you, but you childishly feel like you’ve been the sole source of his disappointment thus far. “Try the last one.”

It’s irrational, but you’re suddenly anxious about it. For some reason, you’re worried that this will topple the carefully constructed ladder you’ve propped up against Mark’s tower of social defense. Even if he’s being genial about your rotten pulls, you don’t know how much of it is just resignation to dismay on his part.

You say a small prayer, then fully rip off the seal; you don’t even take out the packaged figuring anymore. You just shimmy the card out of the box, turning it over when you notice it’s upside down.

For a moment, your shoulders deflate. It’s closest to this pastel purple figurine in the middle of the line-up, its stupid puckered lips almost taunting you. He hadn’t even mentioned it as something he’s looking for, so you almost feel like this has come to a horrible full circle. But then he grabs the box, checks the list, and looks back at your card again. He looks shell-shocked, and you’re not sure if it’s the strong air conditioning directed towards the two of you or if it’s just his hands, but the image he’s holding is shivering slightly.

You look more closely at it, and something just doesn’t feel right. Color palette aside, there are notable differences — different colored lips, a more intricate ear design, and closed eyes. It’s…

“Dream eater,” Mark’s voice is hushed, almost reverent, and very, very close to your ear. “It’s the secret one. You’re… incredible.”

“What are you talking about,” your words are just as raspy; you’re not sure if you’re actually choked up with emotion or something — over a figurine, you have to remind yourself. “You picked all of this. I just ripped open the box.”

The hush that falls over the both of you feels very concrete, weighty on your shoulders. His fingers creep towards the foil packet — the only one he actually opens because there’s no way he’s not keeping it. The shiny purple head gleams under the fluorescent, the glitter around the star and moon designs catching the light as he turns it left to right, like he’s worried it’s a fake. You can tell why people want these things so much; there’s a thrill in you that lingers, makes you feel warm and alert. It’s anticipation, despair, excitement, and triumph all in one sitting.

You’re stroking the smooth curve of the design by the ears lightly when Mark speaks up again and says the most outrageous thing.

“I want you to have it.”

“What?” You actually have to pop your ear canal in front of him with your pinky to make sure he knows how ludicrous he sounds. “This is… you said it was crazy rare.”

“Yeah. And you pulled it, with your magic. That’s like… unimaginable luck. Even more than beginner’s luck.”

“Like I said, I literally just opened the box.”

“No — you have like… the golden touch.”

“Please,” you hiss, a genuine testiness to your voice. “Do not. I was just here for the ride — the experience, and all.”

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

It’s a chaotic moment of him trying to hand you the figurine and you outright rejecting it, with both your palms working hard to push it back to him. Instead of nudging the plastic back, though, you end up placing the full force of your hands against his fingers.

There’s no actual spark when you touch, but your reactions make it feel like there might as well have been; you even lock eyes in startled unison, like you can’t believe that just happened, before you pull away quickly, Mark drawing the figuring back to his torso while looking away towards the counter, where a lowerclassman is wiping down the stains. You want to scream at your warped reflection in the window. You barely initiate contact with him, but you imagine that if you ever did, you would prefer to not be saying something as abjectly negative as absolutely not while doing so.

Your mind flails in an attempt to mitigate the issue and water down the embarrassment, and clearly he’s struggling to figure it out too, because he pipes up before you can piece your thoughts together.

“No, really.” His tone is a lot milder and, consequently, a lot more persuasive this way. “You should take it. I want you to.”

“It’s not mine. This is your thing — your hobby.”

“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I swear — I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

He lapses into silence again, but his face is much redder than earlier. His mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but he just manages to uh his way back into a state of quiet, which gives you a chance to speak instead.

“We can… share it,” you suggest. “Shared custody…. ish.”

His eyebrow cocks involuntarily, and his jaw falls again, but all he does in actual response is nod — slowly at first, then with more sureness to the act.

“Yeah. We can share it. I’d… like that.”

You’re glad that the bulk of the awkwardness has fizzled out fairly easily, and when you think about it, this feels like a pretty good course of action; you like that it’s this little link between the two of you now — something you share that no one else can touch.

Mark, you notice, is smiling as well — more to himself than towards you, it seems. His thumb grazes across the face of the figurine, slow across the lips, and you’re once again falling into a pit of nonsense by wondering when he’d do that to you.

“Thanks for staying with me, _________,” he finally says, and your heart jolts and melts all at once. “And for… doing this. For chatting with me. And giving me your luck, and all that. Great way to end the day… with you.”

You say no problem, but you instantly regret it when you realize you could have just said it didn’t have to end just yet.

“__________? Hello? Come back down to Earth?”

“Shut up,” you sigh at the guy seated across you — Seo Youngho, an upperclassman, your Gender Studies classmate, and current project partner, waves in front of your face. You shoo his hand away, which only joins his other one as he throws them in defeat above his head. “Stop moving. Be quiet. Don’t talk.”

“That’s the same thing as shut up and be quiet. What’s up with you?” He demands. “Fifteen minutes ago, you were full of ideas. Now I feel like I’m talking to a wax figure.”

You’d been engrossed in your report for the last hour and a half, and the subject matter is admittedly something you enjoy — the role of gender in Twenty-First Century Korean marketing and advertisement, a title Youngho had taken more than ten minutes to type into the Google Docs header because he was pissed off at how the numbers looked like in the fonts he chose. He’s an enthusiastic classmate and someone you’ve come to be friendly with, not only because he’s genuinely approachable but also because he has fits of nosiness and talkativeness at the strangest moments, so a chunk of your relationship is mostly based on social terrorism on his part. You like him well enough most of the time — save for the last fifteen minutes of this hour.

Because Mark had just come in for his shift fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly Youngho is much too noisy for your taste, and his head is honestly way too big to the point that it gets in the way of your opportunities to see Mark behind the counter. You even resent him for choosing a booth instead of your usual table all of a sudden, because your view of the central barista’s area is much more limited from this angle, especially since the huge espresso machine is in the of your field of vision.

You’re also (currently and abruptly) mad at Youngho because you remember that he’s the reason you’ve had to skip out on a couple of sessions with Mark. Like, it technically isn’t his fault that you have a lot of research to do for the literature review section of the paper, nor is it his fault that this is your final requirement that comprises a whopping forty percent of your grade, but like… you’ll blame him anyway. So you’re much more irritable, and you’ve definitely been missing Mark’s presence. In fact, you kind of just want to shove Youngho’s balloon head away and call Mark over to sit with you, but you’re not that much of an animal to actually do that.

Probably.

There had been inquisitiveness across Mark’s face when he’d come in; his eyes had trailed to the table at which you usually sat, surprised to find two guys hunched over a single phone there instead of the usual you, waiting for him with your eyes bright and your smile wide. You’d like to think it’s because he’s gotten as used to seeing you as you’re used to waiting to see him — like he just expects you to be there.

You hadn’t really known how to call his attention to where you were, especially since Youngho was prattling very matter-of-factly about the academic journal he’d unearthed yesterday and how he thought it would be useful in reshaping the methodology of your paper (whatever). There was a moment in which you briefly considered ordering another cup of coffee just to get in line to talk to him, but your hands were already shaking from the venti you’d had to keep yourself from passing out in front of your partner.

So you’re more than relieved when, half an hour into his shift, Mark finally steps out from behind the huge machine, a mug of water for himself in hand, and turns away from the front of the store to drink it — only for your eyes to lock as he twists his torso in your general direction.

The mug stops just inches from his lips, but you could swear he smiles at you briefly when he recognizes you, so you return the favor. Youngho’s face contorts into abject befuddlement, turning around to see what you’re grinning at.

“Oh, you poor sap,” he snorts, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“What?” You’re still distracted even if Mark has taken a gulp of water and is now attending to a gaggle of girls still in the throes of discussing what to order.

“What what? You gonna spend the rest of the day eyefucking Mark Lee from over here? At least let me get a different table.”

“Shut up,” you repeat sullenly, coming back down to his level and finally — albeit reluctantly — meeting his eye (just because Mark isn’t looking your way). “What were you saying about the sample size?”

“That it’s much too large to be feasible, a point we closed twenty fucking minutes ago,” he says pointedly. “Is it a thing for baristas or a thing for smart guys?”

“It’s a thing for Mark Lee,” you sigh, following Youngho’s suit and shutting your laptop close. You’re at least glad he’s not annoyed that you’re delaying work for a crush, or maybe he’s also just equally lazy at this point. “You ever look at someone and think you would give it all up for a chance to hit that?”

“No, because this isn’t a porn movie, and I’m clearly not the main character in whatever’s going on in there.” He jabs at your forehead; you swat his hand away again.

“Well, I would.”

He rolls his eyes. “So do it, dumbass.” He says this so simply, like he can’t imagine why you’d be holding yourself back, which is a valid thing to feel, except it’s not really any of his business.

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

“Because it doesn’t fit into my elegant master plan. Also because I want him to ask me out. I just want that victory.”

“Oh yeah, there it is.” Youngho leans over, wiggling his fingers at your ears like he’s greeting a next-door neighbor. “Hey, delusion. Good to see you. Do you even understand how crazy it is that you’re taking a Gender Studies class while waiting for your dick-in-shining-armor like a damsel in distress?”

“Asshole,” you grumble, violently opening your laptop monitor again. “Get back on Google Drive.”

Thankfully, Youngho complies, and the next two hours pass in relative silence and productivity, with you hammering out a vague references list that he promises to format in your stead so you can ‘spend more time dreaming about Mark Lee between your legs.’ You want to strangle him, but there are far too many people in the cafe for you to get away with it. Also, aforementioned Mark Lee would only be a witness to your criminal record, and while you think there’s something romantic in killing for love, or whatever, you’re not sure it’d make the best impression on him.

“Next week’s my birthday,” Youngho announces as he stands to tug on his jacket.

“Congratulations,” you say wryly, peeking over his bulletin board torso to see Mark tugging off his apron and picking up his school bag. Your heart hammers in your chest as he looks over at you briefly, and something like embarrassment passes over his face before he busies himself with neatly folding the fabric. “Go away.”

“Usually people look uncomfortable for not knowing and then start thinking about what gifts to get the celebrant, but I always felt you were kind of a revolutionary.” He snaps his fingers right in front of your eyes, and you look up at him, a little offended. “I’m having a get-together — and by get-together, I mean it’s gonna be a rager. You should come.”

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Can’t,” you chew on your lip, wondering if Mark is leaving. His movements seem particularly slow, but you wonder if he’s just taking his sweet time because he has nothing better to do. Of course, he would have something better to do if Youngho stopped fucking obscuring you from him and vice versa. “Busy. School… whatever.” Not completely untrue. Most of what you do with Mark has to do with school.

“This moony-eyed thing is just not for you, I fear.”

“Are you going to be here all day?”

“Are you? Why don’t you just fucking ask him out, you lunatic?” You can’t imagine why he sounds so exasperated. It’s not like this is his problem — or his business, for that matter. “Maybe if you did, you could fuck him and move on with your life and be an actual contributor to society’s development.”

“Has anyone ever told you how nosy you are?”

“Constantly.” He brings his palms down on the table, the thud shaking you out of another oncoming stupor. “Think about it. Maybe it’ll make you stop making that stupid face.”

“You’ve got a stupid face,” you mumble, sulking as he pinches your cheek as a goodbye before heading out of the shop.

At least you finally get to see Mark in full, glorious view — and you get to watch him come closer, although his stride is somewhat cautious.

“Hey.” Even his voice sounds unsure — almost like the way he used to sound earlier in your friendship. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and… your friend?”

“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you inform him, completely genuine. “He was spouting a lot of nonsense.”

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

“I guess it’s a proximity thing,” you sigh, and Mark raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “We’re partners.”

“Oh.” The way he draws out the syllable is slow. “That definitely makes sense.”

The silence stretches out between the two of you again, with Mark checking his shoelaces. You almost grab your head; it hadn’t occurred to you until now how damaging missing meetings with him would be to your friendship. You feel like you’re slowly being dragged back to square one, and you want to give him an explanation.

“He’s actually… I haven’t been able to see you because I’ve been working on something with him.” you offer, trying to answer a question he didn’t even ask. “Sorry about that. I swear I’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

“No, no — I completely understand.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Thank you… for telling me, though. I— uh, appreciate that.”

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, though.” You try injecting more pep into your voice. “I’ve really been behind on my algebra. I’ve definitely been drowning without you.”

“Oh, yeah.” A small smile graces his lips, but you can’t tell if the reluctance behind it is from fatigue or something that looks oddly like sadness. “I’m down for tomorrow. Same time, same table, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

You watch him turn on his heel, walking to the front door, and something like fear mingled with desperation clutches your heart. Fuck the traditional route, you think. You don’t know what it is about how he’s acting now, but it’s making you feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. All that hard work — there’s no way you’re letting him go.

“Mark, wait.”

You’re at his side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket before you can figure out exactly what you want to say. You feel as surprised as he looks at your sudden liveliness in action, and his gaze trails from your clenched fist to your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize this whole position.

Your exhale’s shaky, but even still, you try not to sound overtly self-conscious when you ask, “Do you like Chinese food?”

Something in the furrowing of his brows tells you he can’t seem to see where this conversation is headed, and that slightly bothers him. “I like it well enough. Why?”

“There’s this really good dim sum buffet near my mom’s office. We tried it before — the Xiaolongbao is awesome.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. I love Xiaolongbao. I’ll definitely have to check it out then.”

You want to tear your hair out. “How about — you know, checking it out with me? Tonight? You know… together. With me.” You already fucking said that.

You’ve never seen Mark blink this rapidly; he looks like he’s trying to crunch large numbers in his head. A small part of you actually worries that he’s malfunctioning, but just when you think he’s going to glitch out completely, he clears his throat. It bothers you how uncomfortable he looks. “Tonight? Oh man… it’s my cousin’s birthday tonight. I can’t… reschedule. Well, obviously. Maybe some other… time?”

Your ‘oh, yeah’ is small, and so is the ghost of Mark’s smile. You can’t help but feel like he’s pitying you a little, although he doesn’t seem like the type, but the thought of it alone makes you want to puke. He makes no motion to move, and you think he’s extending this awkward moment out on purpose until you realize you’re still hanging onto him and he has no way of telling you to let go nicely.

Fingers unfurling from his sleeve, you take a careful step back, but when he walks away, it feels like you’ve gone much, much further away.

The worst part is that you can’t even figure out why.

Luckily, the next few times you see Mark, you manage to rebuild a rather shaky bridge back to where you had been. You even manage to strong-arm him into sharing an apple fritter one afternoon, and you know it’s a bit sad to think about it a particular, untrue way, but you can’t help but pattern what you’re doing into some kind of pseudo-date. Pathetic isn’t a word you normally associate yourself with, but you’ve been borderline desperate for progress where there seems to be none, so you take small victories where you can get them.

Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to revisit your stupid dim sum plan; sometimes, he says he has somewhere important to be, but most of the time, it’s actually your fault. No — it’s Youngho’s fault, because he keeps bothering you to finish the project. You’re aware that he can’t do it himself, but since he’s informed of your current plight, he could at least stand to be more sympathetic.

And you hate the way Mark looks every time you splutter out that you have to take a rain check for that reason; it’s not even disappointment, or something, which would be much more understandable. It’s this mysterious kind of faraway look, where his eyes glaze over a bit and he seems suddenly very lost in thought — or completely dissociated. He never strays away from his normal response of “next time, then,” but that ‘next time’ fades into the weekend and into the start of next week, and you have to spend every other evening with an annoying Seo fucking Youngho on a Google Meets call instead of eating soup dumplings loveshot style with Mark Lee.

Thursday night rolls around, and the former performs the most irritating stunt yet: blowing up your phone with so many KakaoTalk messages that it almost buzzes off the table during your session with Mark. Luckily, he seems to have learned a thing or two from his comic books, catching it before it hits the floor.

“You sure you don’t want to answer it?” He asks, gingerly handing the phone to you like he’s afraid it’s going to explode from all the pinging.

“Without the shadow of a doubt,” you sigh, flipping the screen downwards. Buzz.

“It kind of seems important. Or, like… urgent.”

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

Mark falls silent, fiddling with the page he’s on. He’s neatly highlighted the formulas on the page with blue ink, and his finger keeps scratching at the slightly wet paper. Buzz.

“Didn’t you say you two were partners?”

“Yes. Also unfortunately.” Youngho is actually a great person, but you kind of hate how Mark’s paying more attention to his texts than to you right now. “What did you get for number ten?” Buzz.

“A hundred and twe— are you really just going to let it keep ringing like that? What if he’s… I don’t know. In trouble? Like, he needs you?”

You smack your phone on its back, hoping that the punishment reaches Youngho because he absolutely is in trouble — only with you. “He’s just making a racket because it’s his birthday and he probably wants a bunch of people to trash his parents’ house, or something.”

“Sounds like fun.” The dubious tone in Mark’s voice indicates that his idea of fun definitely isn’t that. Buzz.

“Not really, but I assume he’ll only pipe down if he manages to get his way.”

“He must really want you there.”

There it is again — that weird, distant expression that makes you feel like he’s trying to free himself from the tethers of the earth. You close your textbook in defeat; it wasn’t even like you got the answer to number ten correct anyway. Buzz.

“He just wants everyone there, I bet. But I probably should show up so he shuts up.”

“Oh — yeah, okay. We’ll call it a day, then?” He’s avoiding your eye as he starts packing his things, which is actually impressive because you have practically nothing but your book to keep in comparison to his pencils and protractor, so you just stare, willing him to look at you.

You want to know what’s going on in his head. You want to know what’s going on in his heart — what he thinks of you, why he seems warm one second then almost like a stranger the next. You want to know if he knows you like him and if him not doing anything even if he knows is a sign that he doesn’t like you back. You want to know if he’d let you kiss him, if he’d kiss you first, if you can meet not because of sweet cream cold brews or algebra but because you just want to be together.

You just don’t know how to ask. For as much as you like him, for as much as you want him, you haven’t figured out the most basic part of this — if you mean anything more than a two hour talk to him at all.

“Mark.” This feels awfully like the dim sum conversation, only somehow ten times more disastrous. “Come with me.”

“Sorry?” The appalled look on his face makes you squirm in your seat.

“I don’t really want to go, but maybe if we go together… we can just hang out a bit and leave once it’s boring… I think it’d be fun,” you explain lamely, deciding at the last second to drop the with you that had originally come with your sentiment.

“I don’t think your… partner will like someone uninvited showing up.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“You’d be, like, my saving grace or something — my excuse to scram. We’ll say we came right from a study session; we only popped in halfway through for the sake of greeting him a happy birthday. Then we can just go. We can say — uh, we’ve got more work to do.” You’re practically begging him at this point, and you don’t even get why. You just don’t want him to leave looking the way he does — confused and a little detached. You want the Mark that had smiled at you while giving you your coffee — the one that had kindly pointed out an arithmetic mistake in the most gentle way possible. You want to open blind boxes with him, whine about your rotten luck, and part ways with his warmth still against your coat sleeve.

You don’t know what comes over you then, but you pluck up the courage and initiative to slip your hand in his. He stiffens a little, but you don’t care; your fingers squeeze his in urging.

Something in his expression breaks — cracks first, then falls away, before he’s nodding, still looking vaguely thoughtful.

“If you think it’ll help you, then… okay.”

The bus ride to Youngho’s neighborhood is uneventful because it’s quiet. You stand close to Mark at all times, but you barely touch, save for the times your knuckles accidentally brush his when you lurch forward slightly as the vehicle comes to a dangerously abrupt stop. He doesn’t ask anything about the party or the company that’ll populate it, which is just as well, because you don’t have a clue.

You know it’s the right house because the door’s wide open and there’s music coming from inside; you can’t make out much more than the deep bass pumping through the concrete, but you’re pretty sure it’s making your heart jump in your chest even more than it already is. There are quite a few people you vaguely recognize on the lawn, and even more that you absolutely don’t; a good number of them glance at you and Mark as you step through the threshold then look away, probably deciding you’re of no real consequence or harm to their moods.

Youngho’s easily spottable because of his massive height; he towers over the rest of his guests, and the red plastic cup in his hand calls even more attention because he’s lifted it over everyone else’s heads. You throw Mark an apologetic glance that he responds to with a short nod before you dive into the crowd alone, trying to weave your way to where you’d last seen Youngho.

“Bro, finally!” Youngho greets you, pretty much shouting over the music. “Where’s the gift? Did you leave it on the table?”

“Happy birthday, Youngho. Do you know how close you were to being blocked?”

“I see you brought mister espresso with you,” he ignores your comment completely, nodding to Mark. When you turn back to see him, you notice he’s squishing his arms closer to his sides, trying to minimize the space he takes up. “So what? Y’all get to hook up already?”

“No. I brought him here because we were in the middle of something and someone,” you stop, offering him a pointed look that’s also ignored. “Wouldn’t stop texting.”

“Cockblock,” the guy next to Youngho, who you now realize has been eavesdropping, singsongs. “Oh, sorry. You looked angry when you stomped through the crowd, so I wanted the juicy details. Name’s Jaehyun.”

You take the hand he offers you briefly, introducing yourself. When you say your name, realization dawns on his face, and he jabs his forefinger at you.

“Oh, dude. You’re that girl — the Starbucks Showstopper.”

“The what?”

“That’s what his friends call you.” He scratches his ear, seemingly racking his brain for more information. “I’m with Mark and a couple of his friends — Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin — in College Algebra.”

You completely gloss over the fact that you’ve finally found out the real government identity of the mysterious figure named ‘Hyuck.’ “They… talk about me?”

“From time to time. Not really. Once or twice. Donghyuck only calls you that because Mark apparently keeps blowing them off to hang out with you.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have ears. It’s not hard when they talk like no one’s around.”

You shush Youngho’s exclamation of and you’re saying I’m nosy?, your heart hammering hard in your ears, practically drowning out the music. “What… what else did they talk about?”

“Not sure. Something about not seeing you that often these days. Jaemin teasing Mark about getting dropped now that you don’t need his help anymore. Donghyuck piling on and saying you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Jaehyun still inches away from you when your voice rises in pitch and decibel. Some people around you start, then move away as well, as if scared you’re going to incinerate them. “They were just teasing him that you probably ditched him after you started dating someone. Your partner in some project, or what.”

“Oh gross.” The realization hits you like a speeding truck. Youngho’s expression is affronted.

“First of all, you bitch. Second of all, as if I would date someone who didn’t even buy me a gift. Or want to come. Or yelled at me after coming. Wow — now that I think about it, you’re terrible, _________.”

“Oh, shit; that someone was you?” The only person that isn’t tense in this conversation is Jaehyun, who laughs point blank at Youngho’s sour face. “I think they were offering to put you into one of their Death Note notebooks. Sucks for you, hotshot.”

“What a smudge on my good name,” Youngho sighs mournfully. “On my special day, too.”

“I desperately need you two to be quiet for one second. I have to — where’s Mark?”

Even when you stand on your tiptoes, you’re not nearly as tall as the two of them; it’s Youngho, with his freakish height, who manages to spot Mark by the bowl of nachos, looking as though he’s trying to decide if they’re safe for consumption. You hardly excuse yourself; actually, all you say is a distracted “later” that dismisses Jaehyun’s cooing that something’s going down and you should clue him into all the mess later as a thank you. Your appreciation of his sudden and somewhat short-lived presence in your life is still up in the air.

Mark’s busy making a sour face at the sip of punch he’d just taken; he only straightens up when you’re right in front of him, putting his cup down next to the nachos. “Hey. Did you get to find… um…”

“That’s not important.” Your hand bunches the fabric of his jacket in a death grip, something he barely has time to register, let alone question, before you’re tugging him through the throng of people. You want somewhere quiet, somewhere private, and you initially consider the lawn, except you know it’s strewn with cups and has stragglers debating whether to go home or not. You can’t risk any of them being expert eavesdroppers like Jaehyun, so you make a beeline for the stairs instead.

“We’re not leaving yet?” He has to shout over the music, but there’s no resistance in his stride; he follows you up and waits patiently, although a little perplexed, as you check the doors on the second floor. Two are locked, one is a bathroom, and the other is a messy, musk aftershave-scented place you can only presume is Youngho’s room. Talking in front of a sink and a toilet doesn’t feel like it’ll be very productive, so you just drag Mark into the bedroom, kicking aside the crumpled shirt on the floor — which you could’ve sworn you’d seen Youngho wear for class yesterday. “_________, what’s going on?”

“Mark Lee,” you burst out, ignoring the fact that his eyes widen slightly at your tone. “What’s your fucking deal?”

You don’t think you’ve ever sworn in front of him before; that much is evident when he continues to gawk silently, unable to find words to respond to your question. Or maybe it’s just the volume and force with which you demand an answer. The problem is that you don’t even know what kind of reply you want. A small part of you nags that this is uncalled for, especially at this level, with you practically caging him into an unknown room. In fact, even now, you’re still embarrassed at your behavior, wondering if you’ve gone too far and stepped over a line between you.

But the source of all your frustrations is, in fact, that line — one so strangely drawn, clear at some points and almost invisible at others. Sometimes, he seems simply content with the barest minimum of friendship: talking to you, helping you, politely laughing at your (terrible) jokes. But there are also times he blushes too hard for it to not mean anything, times that he makes you feel like you could mean a little something more to him too.

Yet, from there, he wavers, stepping back so as not to get entangled in something you don’t understand — like when he grows distant every time you mention Youngho to him. You don’t understand why he would unless he echoed, even just a little, the longing in you. But you also don’t get why he stays and builds more walls around himself, like he’s determined to ignore all the other signs — like he doesn’t want to know if it’s really true and will just accept the assumption that it is. You hate not knowing where you stand with him, and while you could easily ask, you know you don’t want to.

And for a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s because you want to see Mark step out of his comfort zone and initiate something, but the ugly truth is staring at you: it’s simply just that you can’t stand the idea of seeing him come to the conclusion that you can’t be anything more to him than someone he makes a sweet cream cold brew for every so often.

There’s a moment of tense silence between you two, where you’re just staring at each other — him, perplexed, and you, agitated — and the only sound that passes is the faint but unmistakable voice of Youngho going who has the cake cutting knife? from somewhere down below. You try not to get caught up in the fact that Mark still looks cute when he’s dumbfounded.

“Sorry?”

“What,” you repeat pointedly. “Is your deal? Why have you been acting so weirdly around me these days? I thought — I thought we were… getting closer. I thought… we…”

You’ve confirmed it now; you’re the epitome of cowardliness. You can’t even say I thought we liked each other — because you know that you do, but you still can’t honestly, assuredly tell if he does. Maybe you just read too deeply into the smallest things — smiles before he asks for your order, glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, sharing the dream eater figurine — to fuel your own emotions without really checking the depth of his.

“I thought we were cool,” you reroute your words, and they come out flat and lame. “But just when I think you’re warming up to me, you suddenly pull away. Like… you’re afraid of me. Or you don’t like me. I don’t know.”

“It’s not — I don’t — I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles over his words, and even in the darkness of this space, you see his face turn bright red, very quickly. His feet shuffle, not because he’s lost his balance but because he seems to want to get rid of a sudden restlessness. “I do like you. We are — we were getting — we’re close. We — we’re friends. You said that, and we are.”

“Is it only because I say we are that you agree?”

“What? No, I—” His hand passes over his face, slowing at the curve of his chin. “I really like being friends with you. I like being around you.”

“Then why do you act so weird these days? Like — you’ll be fine one moment, then you’ll back off, like you suddenly remembered you don’t want to be around me.”

“It’s not like that. I’m — I don’t get…” He takes a deep inhale, recalibrating himself for a moment before his voice comes out again, less strained this time. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“How could I?” There’s something more than confusion coloring your voice; there’s hurt, too, and he looks as surprised as you feel at hearing it. “I wanted to be your friend. I was the one that asked you to hang out. I was the one who wanted you to talk to me, to help me, to go to a goddamn dim sum place with me. Why would I feel uncomfortable? Or are you just using this as some roundabout way to say you feel uncomfortable?”

Mark falls silent, and you don’t know why this speaks volumes all of a sudden. His eyes are trained to the tips of his sneakers, which are rising in soft bumps every few seconds; he’s curling his toes inside them. You feel like you’ve gotten the worst answer possible, and something grows cold in your chest.

“You feel uncomfortable around me.” You rehash, but it’s no longer a question. “You don’t know how to get rid of me.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, no longer out of anger, but a desperate sadness. The moment your eyes feel hot and prickly, you decide you want to end the conversation. It’s embarrassing, you think, for someone like Mark Lee — whom you like, who only ever sees you as a friend — to see you get choked up at a fucking birthday party at someone else’s house.

A beat later, you’re mumbling a half-hearted forget it, and you detest overdramatics, but you hate the idea of being in a room with someone who’ll never return your feelings even more right now; you push past him, already on the thought of calling a cab home instead of taking the bus so that no half-drunk businessmen coming from their company dinners see you crying.

But something warm wraps around your wrist, then closes over your hand, and you’re unable to move, Mark’s palm pressed against the back of yours. When you look back, you notice he’s still not looking at you, but his ears are practically on fire with how red they are, and you feel his fingers tighten slightly, tremble slightly against yours.

“It’s not that. I didn’t ever want you to think — I heard about you two. That you were dating someone. Seo Youngho.”

“What does that matter?” Your words come out a little more bitterly than you expect, and you have to remind yourself to reel it in. “That doesn’t explain your discomfort.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, still evidently careful in choosing his words. “Because you wanted to be friends.”

“I don’t understand,” you state bluntly. In the back of your mind, you note that Mark’s grip keeps tightening and loosening, unsure of whether to keep holding on or let go. But there’s something else, too — the soft graze of skin against yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.

“That was all you said you wanted to be, right?” He waits for a response, but when you don’t give him one, he lets out a shaky breath and continues. “You kept saying — we were friends. You wanted us to be close like that. I just wanted to respect it, even if…”

“Respect what?”

“That you didn’t want… anything else.”

The music downstairs is a bit tamer now; you hear the door opening and closing every so often, signaling guests leaving here and there, but there are still enough footsteps downstairs for you to know that there’s a crowd Youngho hasn’t gotten rid of and therefore has to attend to. That much is good; you’d get slapped with a homicide charge if he came up here all of a sudden.

“You were jealous.”

Mark’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I tried to stop. I don’t have a lot of practice with — well, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. I thought I was still acting normally; I didn’t think… I didn’t want you to feel weird and stop hanging out with me just because… I couldn’t fix it.”

“Your friends are assholes,” you mumble, and he finally meets your eye, equal parts startled and amused. “We aren’t. Weren’t. We never were dating.”

“Even without that, I thought… it was a bit embarrassing. Liking someone like you — someone as pretty as you, as nice as you — I thought it would make you feel weird. Then you’d start avoiding me too. Or, worse, you’d keep doing it just because… you… felt bad for me.”

You don’t know what you find more ridiculous — that you hadn’t seen figured it out or that you could have avoided all of this if you’d just been a little more honest with him too. Mark’s hand starts loosening around yours, a little too much, and you turn your palm and grip his hand before he can escape. He stiffens again, just like earlier, but you now understand better why he does.

“I just wanted to keep hanging out with you as much as I could. I thought… It’d be fine, just spending time with you, and I’d be able to like you for a while, on my own, then…” He looks a little pained. “Then just let you go. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you couldn’t let go?” You sigh softly, your palm guiding his until they connect, face to face, and you can finally lace your fingers into his. There’s no resistance, but his hand trembles slightly in yours still. “If there’s anything you should be apologizing for, it’s that you ever thought of doing it.”

Something clears in the air, lightens in his expression, and he chuckles, albeit a little shyly still. “It’s because I never thought someone like you would like someone like me.”

“I like you.” And it feels right to say it now, not at all out of the blue, never in fear of an answer he’s already given. “I like you when you smile at me every time you ask for my order. I like that you never get impatient when I’m getting my answers wrong. I like seeing you excited when you talk about a new series you’re looking forward to — something new you really want to collect. When you blush, when you laugh loudly, when you spin your pen in your hand — I like you in all those times.”

“Even when I’m jealous?”

“Especially when you are.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, and you’re reminded of the fact that you’ve wanted to feel the strength of the angle under your palm for ages now. It’s not at all a disappointment, and your heart flutters irregularly in knowing you could’ve done this a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it now, and fuck if Mark Lee doesn’t look good this close to you. “So be jealous — because now, you know you can be.”

Kissing him is better than you imagined, and you’ve imagined a little too much to be embarrassed at this point; there’s a heat to his lips that matches the one across his face, an upturn to them that makes you smile too. The setting’s not at all an expected one, but you’ll take it, not because it’s dark or because it’s private but because Mark’s in here with you, and you would have kissed him in a brightly lit football field full of people for as long as he’d let you.

You’d like to think he’s flushed for a reason other than shyness when you pull away, even if his laugh is quiet and breathy. In fact, when you murmur not enough, he’s the one that closes the gap this time, offering freely what you ask for with such little eloquence. The natural trepidation in his mouth relaxes, gives way to a curiosity that keeps you locked for so long that you forget you need to breathe, much more intent on finding out if Mark’s tongue tastes as good as you’ve imagined for so long.

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

It’s still not enough, not by a long shot, but you have to resurface before you pass out like this, and even he looks a little dazed when you pull away — not in a bad way, with a grin on his face that you can only classify as endearingly goofy: slightly lopsided and a little shy, but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“Months,” he mumbles, his lips still dangerously close to yours. Your eyebrows rise in questioning, and he laughs in that infectious way that makes you want to join in without even knowing what the punchline is. “I’ve been thinking of kissing you for months.”

And you do share the laughter this time, not out of amusement but of a happiness that spills without restraint. “But you’re suddenly holding back now?”

“Just letting myself bask in the moment, I guess. Letting it sink in so I remember everything.”

The two of you stand there quietly, still trying to fully parse the progression of events, and a small part of your mind registers that Mark’s thumb is still drawing circles on your skin. It’s also not enough — this touch, this closeness. You know now that he’s been thinking of you for months, and it reminds you that you spent that time dreaming of him too. And you remember you’ve always wanted to be even more familiar with him, and suddenly the desire is overwhelming; he’s right here, and you don’t ever want him out of your grasp again.

“Where are you going?” He’s only curious for the sake of it; there’s no alarm in the question because you keep your fingers tightly woven in his, tugging him along as you walk past him to the door. He’s still staring in wonder after the lock clicks shut. “What’s… happening now?”

“You waited months to kiss me, right?” He nods in response at your question. “I’ve been waiting just as long to have you too.”

His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t manage to say anything; his jaw tightens just as quickly when he feels your free hand trail down his chest, feather-light and asking for a green light. Your index finger stops just above his navel and draws back slowly, but not before you feel the shiver that runs down his torso.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you murmur, giving his hand a little squeeze. “But I just want you to know — I want to. I want you.”

A thoughtfulness settles on his face, and his eyes graze over yours, trying to read your seriousness. You don’t know how honest you look, but your words hold enough truth in them. A silence stretches over the next minute, but to you, it feels like an eternity, and you lose the test of patience somewhat, smiling softly at him.

“You don’t want to?”

“I—” His tongue peeks out, running over his bottom lip. “I do. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

“You seem worried.”

A hesitant nod. “I’ve never — well, no, I have, but not — with someone like you.”

“What’s someone like me?” You laugh airily.

“Someone pretty like you — I don’t know. Someone who seems to know exactly what they want. Someone who seems like… they could do better than me.”

“Mark.” You can’t keep the incredulity out of your voice. “I do know exactly what I want. I want you. The rest — I don’t care about. As long as it’s you, I want it.”

He cracks a smile, half of relief, half of disbelief. You don’t miss his hand coming up to press, warm, against your waist. “For real?”

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt — an anchor to bring you closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing. “For real.”

The third time you kiss is slow, almost careful; there’s lingering worry in the line of his mouth that your lips try to ease until his slightly part under the movements of yours. You feel the tension leave his form in waves — first in his shoulders, then in his arms, until you’re able to press yourself closer and feel the slight give of his frame against your smaller one. He’s radiating an immense amount of body heat that’s pricking your skin and keeping you alert, and you’re hyperaware of the smallest things — the weak tremble in his mouth, the slight roughness of his teeth under your tongue, the ridges of his palate above it.

He tastes nothing like what he smells, you learn. Instead of the air of earthy coffee stuck to clean linen, you inhale a combination of spearmint and mild saltiness that’s made slightly sharper by the lingering splash of alcohol from his accidental sip of punch earlier. You decide then and there that this disparity is important to you; it makes you feel like you’re the only one who can have this experience — that everyone else can know his scent, but now, only you can know what Mark Lee tastes like.

You have to keep your wits about you to avoid this addictive stimulation of your senses; you let go of his hand only to lock your fingers around his neck, and there’s a show of trust in how he lets you lead him backwards, until his knees are hitting the edge of the unmade bed. The kiss breaks as he’s forced to settle on the mattress, and he looks up at you in what can only be described as a quiet kind of awe. He doesn’t complain when you place your hands, heavy, on his shoulders, using his sturdy form to keep you stable as you move to straddle his lap.

“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks up. “We should have picked a different location. Someone… could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” you remind him, a light reassurance in your voice. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but it’s clear there are cogs turning in his head, and you think it’s unfair that he’s thinking way too hard about something else that isn’t you, right now, in this position. In a bid to rectify this, your face presses into the side of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent and leaving a light kiss on his skin right after. Your lips mark the moment he swallows hard at the contact. “Besides, would you really be that unhappy if someone did?”

His hands tighten against your waist, prompting you to leave another kiss against his collarbone. “What — what do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t like it if someone — say, Youngho — walked in to see me on your lap like this?”

The silence that follows your words is tense, and you can tell that Mark’s breathing has become shallower. Again, you can feel his throat constricting slightly, and you can’t help but laugh breathily as you nip at his skin, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s surprisingly easy to tease, you realize — quick to turn speechless and prone to hanging onto your words.

To say that you wouldn’t want to use that to your advantage would be a downright lie.

“Tell me,” you urge, your tone deceptively gentle. “You wouldn’t want him to see you kissing me like this? To see me wrapped around you, begging for more, saying your name over and over? You don’t want him to watch you take me — so he knows you’re the only one that can?”

A strangled groan punctuates your words, but it comes from him; his fingers dig hard into your side with barely constructed restraint. “What do you want from me, _________?”

“I want to know if kissing me was the only thing you wanted for months.”

You pull your head away, nudging his chin with the tip of your nose. Another groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, almost like he’s praying. But when his gaze comes down to meet yours at your level again, you see a firm resolution in his eyes that stirs your heart — which takes off the moment he shakes his head, slowly but surely.

“Then,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t say so much as shows; he takes from you your breath, steals another kiss that’s now firmer and more openly demanding. Suddenly, his mouth can’t seem to stay still, trapping your lower lip in between his, drawing out your taste until it mixes with his against his teeth. You feel your head growing light again, and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s suddenly become difficult to keep up with his lips, asking more from you without restraint. A hum of need sounds in the back of his throat, vaguely dissatisfied, and he’s telling you wordlessly that it isn’t enough right before he attaches his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar. You think he’s just about to return the favor, but a laugh leaves you when you realize he’s taken it a step further, his teeth grazing your skin lightly, soft nips signaling how eager he is to sink his teeth in with only his slowly weakening self-control stopping him from doing it. Mark’s breathing is slightly labored when he pulls his lips away, warm breath fanning over your chest.

“It’s crazy — and stupid,” he croaks out, voice slightly raspy. “But I want it, and I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Your fingers drag into his hair, combing it upward messily from his nape. He leans in for a quick kiss that’s somewhat misplaced, landing on the corner of your mouth instead of squarely atop it.

“I want them — him to see us. To see me with you, kissing you — fucking you, too. I want everyone to know we’re like this.”

You’ve never heard Mark say anything so forwardly before; a sweet, warm flush builds in your face, pleased at how comfortably he manages to say it — pleased that he’s saying it to you. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want him to see you.” There’s a bluntness to his words, but hiding behind them is an undertone of pleading — a serious request. “I don’t want him to see how pretty you look. I don’t want him to see you when you’re bare, or how you look when I’m inside you. I don’t want him to see—”

His voice wavers and dies, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed, but when you read his expression, you see an unyielding longing. A smile tugs at your lips, and your hand comes around to cup his chin, thumb extending upwards to drag his lower lip down.

“You don’t want him to see what’s only yours.”

He swallows hard again, but he doesn’t wait long to nod. Understanding passes between the both of you, silently but completely, and Mark presses his face to your throat, feeling the hum resonate as he places another long, firm kiss there.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, in a way that almost feels like he wants to convince himself of something impossible to believe. He doesn’t even wait for your affirmation, prefers to read it in the way you shiver lightly once his lips travel further down. His kisses trail past the collar of your shirt, and his hands are unabashed in how they seek skin, pushing the fabric upward so he can settle the palms of his hands, warm against your waist. Oddly, they don’t travel upwards; they only brush against the dip, down slightly over the upward rise of your hips, then upwards again, almost soothingly. It’s almost like he wants his mouth to meet them, but he stops halfway, sidetracked by the curve of your breasts.

He barely pulls away, only does for a moment, enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re only mine,” he repeats, his voice softer now. You realize he’s still waiting for some confirmation, and when you do, you’re quick to give it to him — quick to erase any doubt.

“I’m yours,” you affirm in the same tone, in the same careful volume. “Only yours, Mark.”

Whatever else he wanted to ask for, he knows you’ve given assent; that much is clear when he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent. You briefly wonder if he might feel just as intoxicated around you as you do around him, if your pleasant dizziness in being this close to him, in tasting and smelling him is something he experiences too, but you don’t get much time to dwell on it the moment you feel his lips part, a slight wetness seeping through the fabric. He’s kissing your chest, teeth grazing just above the cup of your bra, nipping without any real objective other than to feel the pad’s slight resistance to his mouth.

You almost miss what he says as he shifts his head, lips brushing over the curve of your breast — another breathless ‘mine’ that isn’t ever punctuated; his lips still stay parted, mouthing at the cloth, like he’s desperate to feel what’s underneath through it. There’s pressure where his tongue presses flush against the shape of your tit, tightness whenever he chooses to nip, attempting to take the flesh and all that’s between you and him between his teeth.

Not enough, you think, even when a whimper of need bubbles out of you; you want to be closer, your thighs pressing against the sides of his. You’re close in almost every way, but you still inch yourself further forward, enough to feel the taut hardness in his jeans. Your hips settle right there, letting fabric ride against fabric as you center yourself.

No sooner do you press yourself flush against him do you gasp; the light sting sends a jolt up your spine when his teeth close around your nipple through your bra, and when you look down at him, you see the corners of his mouth pulled up in evident satisfaction. He’s quick to atone, his tongue dragging your shirt slightly upwards in his attempt to soothe, and for some reason, the push of fabric and the barely-there feeling of motion leaves you tingling.

“Mark.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but in the haze you’re in, you don’t really have a clear idea of what you’re asking for. All you know is that you want more of him, and for as much as he’s already given you in kisses and words, you aren’t even halfway down the list of everything else you wish you could demand from him. You say the only thing that comes to mind — the only thing that really encompasses what you feel. “Mark, I want you. I want more of you.”

His hands on your waist are replaced by the significant tightness of his arms, locked around your torso; you don’t even have the time to take in your awe at the fact that he can easily carry you, turn you over until you’re on your back, until he’s already eased one knee between your legs.

The way he looks down at you is a mixture of hesitation and desire, but the former’s erased when you reach out for him, murmuring another ‘more’ so you can pull him in. With one palm pressed against the mattress, he lets his free hand graze against your side again, bolder in its movements, and his fingers trace a path up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh through layers. Your back arches upwards in response, eager for more contact, for touch that’s almost there but not quite, and he smiles when you make a noise of frustration from his fingers tweaking the soft nub of your nipple.

“Mark, please—”

“Would you really let him see you like this?” His thumb’s still idly grazing over your breast, following the rise and fall of its curve. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice level despite the growing want that threatens to break through it. “Would you really let him watch you… get fucked?”

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

“I’d let him watch you fuck me,” you correct him, and the confusion in his face gives way to pure satisfaction the moment you make this nuance clear. “It has to be only you.”

His grip tightens briefly against your breast again, and he leans down, pressing a surprisingly chaste and brief kiss to your lips.

“Then I’ll unlock the door next time and give him a show.”

You don’t know if it’s what he says or what he does after — his hands bunching your shirt upward until the hem’s just below your neckline — that makes your breath hitch, but you decide it doesn’t matter when you realize you’d much rather be focusing on the journey his lips take, slick against your stomach as he presses languid kisses down to your navel. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the weight naturally pulling them down, and you see his muscles tighten for a moment as he stops himself from tugging them off completely.

Mark’s mouth is unparalleled in its attentiveness, seemingly intent on making sure he’s covered every inch of your stomach in warm kisses, but you only realize he’s somehow stalling when he starts the cycle again, his nails digging into the taut elastic of your jeans as though to remind himself to curb his desire.

You take the initiative instead, raising your hips slightly to signal your want, acutely aware of the fact that you brush lightly against his thigh when you do so. His eyes lift first, followed by the rest of his face, and he’s watching you quietly. You might have thought he was unsure of what to do all of a sudden again, but his knee pressing closer, an unmistakable pressure against you, is enough to tell you that he’s only curious to know what else you’ll do.

The second time you grind against his thigh, his hands catch your hips, keeping them aloft just long enough for him to tug the band of your jeans downward; he peels them off you with surprising ease, returning to the same position between your legs, hands still firm on your waist. With that done, he only has the thin garter of your panties left to curl his fingers into, bunching it into his fists when you roll your hips up one more time. You manage a shaky noise when you feel the stark difference — the roughness of the denim against you, the stick and drag of flimsy cloth. Mark lets out a low but unmistakable hiss.

“I can’t believe—” his idea is cut short by the movement of your hips again, and his grip tightens, knuckles pressing into your skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“What am I supposed to do,” you breathe out, the sound momentarily getting stuck in your throat. “So that you know it’s real?”

His fingers relax their hold, palms now pressed against your thighs; they travel between your hips and your knees, a soothing and thoughtful motion. “God — I don’t know. I just want — I just want you so badly. Like… I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have you now.”

You lean up, your weight resting on your elbow, and your other hand reaches out; Mark meets you halfway, bending just a little lower to press his cheek against your palm. There’s something intimate, something so giving about the way he turns his face to your fingers, pressing a fluttering kiss just under your thumb. The tips of your fingers trace the shape of his lips, even when they pucker again under your digits.

“Take me,” you murmur quietly. “Right now — from now on, every part of me is all for you.”

His exhale is shaky, but his fingers have a sureness to them; they slip under your thighs, cradling the backs of your knees, and lifting until they’re folded over your chest. You don’t even have the time to wonder if you should feel exposed all of a sudden; his breath warms the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips there — not a kiss, just a touch as he speaks.

“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, partly distracted with the act of inhaling the mild scent off of your skin. “Every inch of you — I want to know just how sweet you are.”

He lets his hold on your thighs relax, letting them fall apart; he busies his hands with your panties instead, hooking a finger into the strip of cloth just covering you. It’s clear you’re both aware that the fabric sticks light to your skin, poorly masking your wetness, and interest mingled with hunger flashes across his face as he pulls it aside.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, sounding like it’s a comment more for himself than anything else. His gaze flickers to you for a moment before it moves back to your pussy. “The prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

The pressure of his thumb between your folds causes you to forget what you wanted to say, and you know Mark had been nervous, but you realize that it doesn’t mean he’s supremely inexperienced by any means; there’s a quiet, understated confidence in the way he rubs slow, thorough circles, moving upward towards your clit. Your face, your neck, your whole torso feels flushed, but you power through the instinct to tilt your head back so that you can keep watching him — the minute changes in his expression, the slowly building strength in his touch.

“I want to taste you,” he repeats, looking up at you. “I want to know what you taste like when you cum against my mouth.”

You’re not sure if you’re gawking because you can hardly believe Mark Lee — your eternally blushing, mild mannered campus crush — had said all those words strung together into such a lewd sentence, but you’re sure as hell not going to deny him. Your hand travels down your torso, and he watches, curious at first, then awestruck when your index and forefinger settle against either side of your folds, pulling them apart in offering.

His eyes end up transfixed on your pussy again, observing how your fingers ease your folds further apart the more he massages his thumb against your slit. His mouth is slightly agape, intent on drinking in the sight, unaware that you’re trying to memorize this view of him too — Mark Lee, touching you, wanting you, eager to take you fully.

“I’ve always wanted to see what it’d look like with your face between my legs,” you say in a hushed tone, but he catches it anyway, briefly looking up at you again. “I’ve always wanted to know what your tongue would feel like against my pussy.”

Your index finger bumps against the tip of his thumb, and he stops its motions, allowing you to move his digit down until the pad of it hovers just in front of your tiny hole. You can see one cheek tucked between his teeth, bitten to muffle the groan you wish you’d heard louder.

“Won’t you show me?”

You think you hear him rasp out a ‘fuck yes’ before he bends down, pressing his half-open mouth against your pussy. The squeal of delight that leaves you is half-strangled as his thumb curls, hooking into your entrance. It starts a shallow, distracted motion, with his attention funneled much more clearly into keeping his tongue working. Flush against your slit, it drags up, and he releases a guttural noise at your taste, lips pursing slightly on the way back down — like he can’t stand not trapping every drop of wetness with his mouth.

The intensity of his tongue, the idle thrusting of his thumb — you’re not sure what you want to focus on more, and the result is you whimpering incoherently at the starkly contrasting combination of the two. Mark moves his mouth like he’s never tasted anything as good in his life; the sounds between your thighs are wet, sloppy — almost embarrassingly so — but you don’t have the presence of mind to dwell on that because Mark Lee is eating you out and that’s really all that you can think of.

The tip of his tongue suddenly flicks upwards; you keen, long and low, when it starts to circle your clit in that same intense, circular movement his thumb had gotten you used to. Your sensitivity skyrockets, and you’re completely unable to control the upward bucking of your hips, but Mark stays supremely unperturbed, his free arm winding under your thigh to keep the both of you steady. Your noises are growing embarrassingly loud, and you realize just how needy you’ve become when you vaguely notice that there’s a pattern in what you’re saying — his name, over and over again.

“Did you do that too?” He asks softly, his words slightly muffled against you. “Say my name, I mean — when you thought of me.”

“God, yes.” Your voice comes out strained, teetering on the edge of slurring. “So many times — every single fucking time.”

“Promise me something.” He lifts his head, and you see a fieriness in his gaze.

You nod — at this rate, whatever he’d ask you to do, you would without question. “Anything.”

His thumb presses in deeper, up to his knuckle and you reflexively tighten around his digit, but he keeps it anchored there, pushing down against your walls. He drinks in your gasp, the widening of your eyes, the way you chew on your lip with a singular kind of contentment on his face.

“Promise me — from now on, you’ll make sure I’m always there to hear it.”

The only kind of assent you’re able to make is a moan as he dives down again, mouth buried in your warmth, his nose pressed tight against your clit. His tongue moves in strong strokes, broad swipes that push your folds apart further, and his thumb, while not moving, increases in pressure to the point that you feel a heaviness adding to the growing pleasure. Your hands fly down, seeking some kind of sense and reason, and you thread your fingers into his hair, grip tightening as your climax builds in stride.

“Mark, I’m—” close, you want to say, embarrassingly so, but the moment he hears his name, his lips attach to your clit, and there’s suddenly so much more pressure as he sucks, almost like he’s desperate to draw out your orgasm. He chooses this of all time to start moving his thumb again, and this time, his movements are anything but slow and idle; they’re filled with the intent to drive you over the edge. “Fuck me, oh my god—”

“I want to,” he murmurs, pausing for just a moment to drag the tip of his tongue around the nub. “God, I want to. Let me see you cum first; let me taste how sweet you are.”

His thumb stops, buries deep into your pussy, and you’re not sure why this, of all things, is what pushes you beyond control; you’re only half-sure you say his name when your orgasm hits, the rest of your consciousness much too clouded by pleasure. He doesn’t stop, revels in the way you squirm under him as he hums low and keeps his tongue working against your clit. His licks become longer, more thorough as you come down from your high, your cries softening into whimpers as his tongue both attempts to clean you up and makes you messier in the process. His arm is still curled around your thigh, keeping you from inching away from him, even if instinct and stimulation are telling you to.

You’re barely lucid when you sit up, and Mark inches back, somewhat startled; you grab the front of his shirt, and the sight of his mouth, slick and glistening from your wetness, only makes you more curious to know what you taste like on him. You find out how tangy it is, how rich the two of you are together on his lips, and you’re able to fully appreciate the skill of the mouth that kisses you deeply, leaving traces of you against your tongue and teeth.

“Please — fuck me.” It’s the only thing you can say at this rate, only half-coherent and still trembling with desire, but Mark doesn’t seem to care that you’re stuttering over such a simple request. His thumb wipes traces of saliva off the corner of your mouth, kisses it clean for good measure, then straightens up, his hands working at his belt. You almost miss the fact that his hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the buckle and tugs it out from the loops.

You want to help — it’s the least you can do, after all, and your fingers push the button of his jeans out through the hole, his hands working in tandem to tug the zipper down. However, your movements falter when you hear a noise from just outside the room — the sound of the doorknob being jangled, the thud of a body gently hitting the door, as though worried it’s stuck. You glance up at Mark, ready to reassure him, but he either hadn’t heard or doesn’t care because he’s too busy stepping out from the pool of denim at his ankles, and you get completely sidetracked by the bulge straining against his boxers.

You almost ignore Youngho’s voice grumbling ‘Jesus Christ, now of all times? from behind the door, but you leverage it instead.

“Should we let him in?” You ask, tone innocent despite the evident deviousness in your words. It pays off, though; Mark’s cock twitches unmistakably under thin fabric, and he actually looks like he’s considering it. “You’re just about to fuck me, after all. Weren’t we going to — what did you say? Put on a show?”

He worries on his bottom lip, like he’s unsure if you’re serious, but in the end, he shakes his head, reaching out to smooth your hair away from your face and ushering you to lay back down. The lips that meet your forehead are gentle, almost apologetic.

“Not now,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re all mine.”

You laugh lightly, nodding, and he chuckles too, but the sound of it slowly dies down when your finger hooks into the garter of his boxers. You can feel his breathing hitch as you tug it down, the elastic catching when it meets the shape of his cock, but you don’t make any move to free it just yet — for some reason, you want to see him do it.

“Show me.”

He complies without hesitation, one hand dragging the elastic down over his thighs, the other curling around the base of his length, and your face flushes as satisfaction works through your system at the bare sight of him.

Mark Lee is big — not monstrously so, but enough for you to make a pleased noise as your hand joins his, fingers barely wrapping around his girth. You give his shaft a gentle squeeze, and his exhale stutters, watching you stroke him, long and thorough in your movements. Your palm swipes over the tip, leaking precum, allowing it to slick up your hand enough to keep your movements smooth. You’re fixated on the tension in his lips, the throb of his cock against your palm, and the way his gaze never leaves your face, like a small, amazed part of him still can’t believe what you’re doing, even if you’re both half-naked already.

“I want to suck you off,” you plead, grip tightening slightly. He grits his teeth, stifling another groan, but he shakes his head clearly enough for you to slow your movements in mild surprise.

“Can’t — not now. I need to be in you so badly.” His breathing’s sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know — how long I’ve wanted to feel you.”

Your hold relaxes, and you let him maneuver you, his renewed hold on your hips dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. In this position, he can spread your thighs further, and you angle yourself optimally — enough for him to get a full view of your pussy, wet and still aching from your last orgasm.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to know how tight you are,” he continues, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes you think he might be entrenched in fantasy. “How much I would have killed to see you — have you like this. I’m not gonna be able to wait anymore.”

His fingers dig into your sides, thumbs stroking your stomach in a weak pattern. The underside of his shaft presses against your folds, still half obscured by your panties, in a way that’s heavy enough to make you mewl, your hips reacting before your mind can, and he hisses softly as he feels his length glide along your slit before you relax your stance again.

“I can’t wait,” he reiterates, a breaking in his voice that sounds almost tortured. You don’t want him to either, want to see him buried to the hilt inside you, and you raise your hips again in need. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.”

“Then take me.”

And you’re not sure if it’s a demand or a plea, but he no longer stops himself; his hand fists his cock a few times, coating the slick of precum along his length before he lines the tip up with your entrance. His other hand’s flush against the inside of your thigh, a light pressure ensuring he always has enough space to fit himself between your legs — enough space to bottom out completely.

Mark’s considerate in his pace — maybe he knows he’s big, or maybe he’s just naturally careful, but he allows you the time to adjust to the stretch. Your nails almost puncture holes into the sheets, your grip so tight you wonder if it’s just to brace yourself or to hang onto the last threads of your sanity. He’s only halfway in, but you’re pushing fullness already, and he stops when his cock meets slight resistance, looking up at you in concern.

“You’re not—?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassure him softly, and it’s true; the adjustment brings about slight discomfort, but it’s almost nothing to you — not compared to how much more you want. “Give me everything; I want all of you inside me.”

He pauses still, trying to read your expression for any lies, but when he can’t find any, he nods, his jaw tensing as he presses both palms against your thighs, keeping you open as much as possible to accommodate him. He doesn’t even stop when you whimper, feeling a tightening twitch in your pussy that also causes him to groan, until inch by inch, you’ve taken him, his hips flush against yours.

He doesn’t move — not yet, his eyes trained to where you’re connected like he’s once again unable to believe what he’s doing. You hear him mumble something to himself that you want to hear too; you squirm slightly, and he hisses through his teeth, looking up at you and finding the questioning in your face. He offers you a small smile, albeit somewhat strained.

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

“You’re bigger than I thought,” you hum, and neither of you is really to blame; the tight fit, the slight breathlessness it leaves you with, is perfect, you think — just what the both of you need. “Did you often think about fucking me?”

“Probably just as often as you’re making it sound like you thought about having me fuck you, I think.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your voice.

“I won’t. But it makes me feel good — knowing you wanted me just as bad.”

“I still do.” Your gaze is lazy, a little hazy, even if you’re anticipating so much. Even just the feeling of Mark, throbbing inside you, is already slowly building the pleasure in your stomach again; you wonder if you could cum like this, given enough time, given enough patience. “I’m still waiting for you to fuck me. God, Mark— please.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, but even that’s drowned out by the long moan that leaves you once he draws his hips back; your body’s mildly shocked into a new adjustment, feeling a sudden emptiness that’s quickly mitigated by him filling you back up again. The pace is slow, almost torturous, although you know he isn’t doing it to get a rise out of you. He wants to ease you into speed, careful to help you adjust fully; his restraint in his movements is all the more evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the determination in his gaze. Even with that, he can’t help what he says, so intent on controlling everything else he does that he lets his words spill out over your noises.

“Pretty,” he grunts out, and when your walls twitch around him, he accidentally thrusts sharper — just enough for you to whimper a little more loudly, and he has to reel his strength back again. “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve told you sooner how much I wanted you. All those times I had to imagine you wrapped around me like this, wondering how much tighter you’d get once you came on my cock. All those times you drove me crazy while I was alone, when I could have been in you— I could have found out how good you felt. How pretty you’d look under me. And you’re still even prettier, even better than I ever dreamed.”

There’s an erratic melody of moans under his words, spilling from your mouth, and the fact that he riles himself up enough to increase his speed slightly doesn’t escape you. He’s a little less careful now, seemingly entranced by the view he gets, watching his shaft disappear into you only to come out glistening, and a part of you hates the idea of snapping out of his reverie, but the majority of your thoughts now lean towards wondering how much more you can get him to break free of his own self-imposed restrictions.

“I wanted to ask you so many times.” His eyes snap up, coming back into focus as he takes in the sight of you, flushed, hair tousled, gaze darkened. “Almost every day — I sat there, thinking about how all I could do was go home and fuck myself, frustrated you weren’t doing it for me. I should have taken you home with me right then and there — should have let you watch me touch myself thinking of you, should have let you touch me into cumming on your fingers.”

His breathing staggers as he leans in, eager to see you clearer, to hear your words, slowly becoming airier as they come out. For a moment, his gaze falls, torn between watching him move into you and meeting your eyes, but he ultimately chooses the latter once you speak up again, your tone even more hushed than before — like it’s meant to be a secret between just you and him.

“But there were times I wanted you even more than that, to the point that I almost felt like I couldn’t wait.” His eyes widen slightly, a few precious seconds of wondering if he understands what you mean, right before you confirm what he thinks. “I thought about making a move right then — I should have kissed you. I should have asked you.”

“Asked me what?” His voice is gruff with the effort to keep himself in check despite the fact that it’s clear to the both of you that it won’t last.

Your lazy smile’s illusionary; it hides the triumph swelling in your chest at knowing that he asked exactly what you hoped him to.

“I should have asked you to fuck me in front of everyone there.”

“God,” his eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening. “Please. I can’t—”

“I should have bent over for you there, begged you to stretch me out right after our session,” you continue, bordering on merciless. “Mark, you don’t know — how badly I wanted to be on your lap, your cock in me, with everyone watching. How much I wanted you to fold me over that table, have people watch you pound me, have them listen to how good you make me feel. No one would ever even wonder; everyone would know I’m yours.”

You pause, allowing his eyes to fly open once again, and there’s a pleading in them that’s begging for release. Your eyes soften along with your voice, but you’re this far gone; you should at least see it through.

“And everyone would know you’re mine too.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips stutter before new resolve fills him, his hips driving into you with the force of a strength you didn’t even know he had in him; your thighs tremble at the intensity, at the renewed impact, and feeling him drive his cock deeper into you has you crying out somewhere between a moan and a sob. “Fuck, _________. If I had known you’d thought about me like that — God.”

It’s your turn to shut your eyes for a while, allowing yourself to focus on his movements, breaching your tightness even faster now. You feel his hands skim up your sides again, fingers digging into the fabric of your bra and pulling them down until your bare tits are cupped in his hands. You shiver as his thumbs pass over your nipples, toying them into firm nubs.

“One day,” he hums out, his voice giving way to a slight hoarseness again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you in front of him — in front of Youngho, in front of everyone. I’ll let them wonder how tight you are, how fucking warm you are, and I’ll let them leave knowing no one can know but me.”

It’ll never happen, you both know, but something about agreeing to something so absurd is what has your body almost shaking in longing, and it’s what causes him to press in deeper, folding your legs closer to your torso. Your hands do what little they can to help, keeping your thighs apart so as not to obstruct his view. You can tell it’s somehow not enough, not really all of what he wants when his brow furrows, and he shifts his weight, pushing into you at a new angle.

The stark difference has you gasping before you can control it. Immediately, Mark stops, and you’re already shaking your head before you even hear him say anything, presuming he’s paused out of concern. But before you can say you’re fine, his hushed voice cuts through the silence.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

“Do it again,” he mumbles, sounding distant. “Breathe in. Suck in your stomach.”

You’re not one to complain at such a simple request, albeit a little odd, so you comply, inhaling enough to tighten your torso. You’re surprised when you feel his cock twitch inside you, and you blow out the air alongside your question. “Mark, what are you—”

“I can see it,” he says in utter disbelief. “When you’re like this, I can — I can see my cock inside you. Just a bit.”

Your eyes follow his gaze, fixed just below your navel. From this angle, without any movement, you can’t see a thing, but you assume he’s not one to abandon fucking you so intently without good reason, so you press your palm against your stomach, just above your pelvis. Nothing really feels significantly out of place — up until the point when Mark draws his hips back again, and you feel the backward slide of his cock.

Your throat tightens, and you don’t really understand the feeling that spreads in you — a unique kind of arousal, knowing how deep he is inside you and how you’re taking all of him in despite the fit, because of the fit. Your hand falls away, allowing Mark’s to take its place, and he exerts just a little more pressure against your stomach in an attempt to get the most out of the experience when he thrusts back in. He groans, feeling the bulge push back up, and he quickly picks up the same pace, renewed in intensity so he can experience the rapid rise and fall he creates under his palm.

The faster he goes, the harder he presses, and you’re not sure if he knows it, but the onslaught of friction is what’s making you whine and squirm even more; you’re trapped, in the best way possible, in his hold, your hands back to clinging to the backs of your knees like a lifeline. Pressure from the outside builds on the slowly growing pressure inside, a knot in your pelvis that’s coiling so tightly you feel like you can’t breathe. If Mark notices how close you are, he doesn’t make it known; he’s busy feeling the outline of his cock against your stomach, and when he looks up at you again, his eyes are hazy.

“I would fuck you every single day, every single hour if I could feel this every time,” he whispers in a way that’s almost reverent. “Let me — I want to keep seeing you like this. I want to feel how deep I am inside you, too. Let me fuck you all the time.”

You nod, and your first attempt to say something is just another choked sob. When you do manage to get something out, it’s broken in tearful stutters. “M-Mark, I’m s— I’m so close… I’m — fuck—”

“Do it.” It’s not a harsh command but an urging made on short breath; through your misty vision, you see tension in Mark’s face and shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for something too. You barely register the ping in the back of your mind, too focused on the way he’s pressing his palm harder on your stomach, the way his hips quicken their pace — he’s close too. “Let me feel you — want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You inhale, not to speak but to let out a loud whimper; your teeth dig into your lower lip as you try to stifle the moans that threaten to follow, but in the end, you whine out his name. Your thighs threaten to close, trembling as you finally reach your climax, an impossible explosion of pleasure, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t get dizzy from the stars that burst around your vision.

“Fuck.” Mark’s voice is strained, his one hand still firm against your stomach, the other sliding against the inside of your thigh. “You get even tighter — you feel even better when you cum.”

“Mark,” you hiccup, unable to do anything but flutter around him as he pistons harder into you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say ‘please,’ but he somehow seems to, and you trust that your body’s saying something you can’t fully detect in this state, with your mind floating in the aftermath of ecstasy.

“I know,” his tone is soothing in contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. “I’ve got you. Just a little more — where do you want—?”

You blink slowly, his words sinking in at too leisurely a pace; his hips stutter dangerously before you’re able to respond. You barely even do that, your hand gently brushing over the one against your stomach, but he catches onto the meaning quickly enough.

You’ve never heard your name said in such a beautiful way; hearing him moaning it lowly is enough to make you whine again, and that noise is drawn out when he shifts and slips out of you fully. Your brain’s fuzzy, but your senses are at least sharp enough to drink in the perfect sight of him cumming — the way he leans his head back, jaw taut and eyes shut, as he pumps his cock and the heat of his release against your skin, pooling against your stomach once he finally cums. You see a shiver run through him, and then he’s still for a while in this position, the both of you basking in the afterglow of your highs.

You’re still weak and sensitive when Mark finally comes back down, a lucidity you don’t have right now coming back into his gaze. All you can do is smile when he leans in, catching your lips in another kiss — one that’s surprisingly soft and slow in comparison to everything else, but still leaves you breathless when he pulls away.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs, and you hum in agreement, your body limp as you watch him move off the bed and pull a handful of tissues from a box on the desk on the opposite wall. Even his hands are gentle when he scoops you up, shifting you until your head can lean against the pillows. They carry a scent you’re not used to, and your nose scrunches, rejecting the change, but that’s quickly overpowered by Mark’s familiar coffee-and-linen one when he presses next to you, careful as he wipes his cum off your stomach and thoroughly cleans between your thighs. From somewhere down below, you still hear hushed voices, and the front door slams shut again. People are still in the middle of leaving, but you know Youngho will likely run out of guests soon, and this makes you feel like the timing’s suddenly become urgent.

“I want to date you properly,” you start, slightly slurred but unmistakably blunt. Mark’s gaze snaps to yours, slightly amused, as he balls the tissues up in his fist. “You never asked me, so I’m asking you.”

He looks perplexed. “I just never thought you wanted me to, so I didn’t try.”

You reach up, locking your fingers into his hair and using your grip to pull him down. Your kiss is a little demanding, with a tinge of excess frustration, and he pulls away laughing lightly.

“Do you still think I don’t want you to?”

Mark hums thoughtfully. “I think you made a lot of things clear tonight. On my end, I was happy enough to be near you.” He smiles down at you, and in the faint light, you can see the flush slowly return to his cheeks. “Having you like this — dating you… there’s no way I’d say no.”

Your shoulders relax, satisfied with his answer, and you beam up at him — an act he easily returns, breathtaking and endearing all at once.

Moments later, you feel his arm wind around your waist; he allows you to lean into his side, his other hand crossing over his lap to stroke your thigh. His face turns, pressing a kiss to your hair, and you feel his lips move, hear the quick rush of a whisper. You tilt your head, eyes slightly wide in questioning. “What was that?”

He shakes his head at first, trying to pass it off as nothing. But when it’s clear your curiosity won’t abate, he chuckles softly, his hand gently cupping your chin so that you can only look at him. His thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, as if trying to coax the same words out of your mouth before he murmurs them to you one more time — and this time, he sounds fully convinced of them.

“You’re all mine.”

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⎯ hearts in the sand

content // tooth-rotting marriage fluff. talks of children hinted at. inspired by this TikTok. ((the Olympian who lost his ring in the river in France)) and happy softie sunday! <3

wc // 0.8k

『 k.bakugo masterlist | caramel & champagne series 』

It’s a quiet night at home, a kitten in your lap with a cup of tea and your favorite reality TV show to wind down the evening. Your phone begins buzzing on the couch repeatedly with rapid fire notifications, startling your cat from his slumber and interrupting your show. Annoyed, you finally pick it up to silence the notifications until you see the multiple headlines that catch your attention.

“Dynamight Saves Dozens But Loses Precious Item”

“Dynamight Loses Treasure on the Beach during Villain Fight”

“…the hell?” You mutter aloud as the sound of heavy footsteps approach the front door before it swings open. Bakugo’s got his mask tucked up into his hair, beads of sweat running down his temples and dripping from his jaw. He’s still fully dressed in his hero attire, huffing frantically while accidentally slamming the door behind him.

“Is…everything okay?” You ask, confused and somewhat frightened. Phoenix jumps from your lap and moves to the opposite side of the couch.

“I…I fucked up,” Bakugo pants, hand on the wall to steady himself. “M’sorry, peach. It was an accident.”

“What was?” At this point, you assume he killed someone and is about to ask you to help him bury the body. “Spit it out, Katsuki. You’re scaring me.”

He sighs before wiping away the sweat from his nose, head hung low with a frown on his face. “I lost my wedding ring.”

Oh...That’s it?

“It’s alright, we can get another one.”

Bakugo’s taken aback by your nonchalant answer. He’s not one to lose things, especially extremely important ones that he’d crawl through hell to keep. He gives you the typical ‘hah?’ reaction, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

"Sweets...I don't want another one, I want that one."

You shake your head while tossing your phone back onto the couch. “It’s not like you meant to lose it, you’re a hero. Shit happens, it’s out of your control.”

"I should'a been more careful. Dunno how the chain broke and fell out of my costume."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," you say as you get up from the couch. "It's not like you tossed it in the ocean on purpose."

Bakugo scoffs. "How stupid could I be?! Already can't wear it on duty cause of my quirk, and nothin' will replace your handwriting etched inside it." He starts rambling, getting too worked up to notice you getting closer. "What kind of husband can't even keep track of his wedding ring? A shitty one, that's who. God, if I didn't⎯"

You cut him off with a soft kiss, arms gently wrapped around his waist. He melts into you, hands instinctually settling at the small of your back to keep you close. All the anxiety evaporates at your touch as his shoulders deflate. When you part, he lays his forehead against yours, eyes softening when they meet your own.

"Katsuki, you are the furthest thing from a bad husband," you scold, playfully pinching his side while maintaining eye contact. "Never, ever, say that again. You're the epitome of my perfect husband and that's all that matters."

It never ceases to amaze Bakugo just how quickly you defuse his insecurities and replace them with sweet nothings that make his heart flutter.

"I've got an idea that you might hate," you say, bringing a hand to his cheek. "Why don't I toss mine in with yours? That way they're together. Then, we go ahead and renew our vows like we wanted to and buy new rings together."

Speechless.

Bakugo is actually speechless.

He goes to say something, but each time, comes up short on how to properly express how much it means to him that you'd do something so drastic to make him happy. Instead, he tugs you into a tight embrace, squeezing you tighter than usual.

"Peaches, ya don't have to do that," he whispers over your shoulder, hushed and emotional. "Don't want you to risk losing somethin' so special just cause I did."

"I know it's sentimental, but it's only a material thing. My love isn't tied to one piece of jewelry, Katsuki, it's tied to your heart. You can't replace that, no matter how many rings we rotate through."

How'd he get so lucky? Bakugo truly doesn't know what good karmic deeds he's done to deserve someone as angelic as you, but he never takes it for granted.

"Got another idea," he says, pulling back to look you in the eyes. "Keep that one here, save it for a rainy day for the future. We renew our vows, get new rings together, and I get my ring finger tattooed. Can't lose that."

"Only if I can, too." You laugh, giving him an exaggerated kiss in response. "Save it for the future, huh?"

Bakugo blushes, grunting shyly as he rolls his eyes. "Y-yeah, you know...could give it to our kid or somethin' in the future for themselves or to give away."

"Aww, love when you get all mushy about the future," you tease, pulling his face down to leave a peck to his cheek.

"Just love you, peach. S'all it comes down to."

He's right, that's all it comes down to at the end of the day; love.

((general idea for the ring tattoos <3))

⇢ subscribers; @sunflowers-4 @sweetloveandaffection @sugurei @jenn-majima @bkgpackets @notnightmarefuel

[andvys]

Just grab my hand and don't ever drop it E.M.

A continuation of I know places

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of bullying, Eddie calling reader slut (in a sexy way haha), Eddie eats reader out in public

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!cheerleader!reader

stranger things masterlist

-

The classroom is silent, everyone focused on their assignment, everyone except for Eddie who can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. There you are sitting on the other side of the classroom, playing with the pencil, you place it between your lips, the lips that have been wrapped around his cock just a few days back. 

Fuck. 

Eddie felt like it was nothing but a dream after you had left him standing there with a flushed face and gaping eyes. 

He is still in disbelief, did it really happen? Did you really get on your knees for him? Yes, you did. He stares at you in awe. You turn to look at him, a smirk appearing on your face as your eyes lock with his. 

Eddie smiles shyly. He wants nothing more than to return the favor but he hasn’t been brave enough to make a move on you. He considered starting a fight with Jason again just to get you to cheer him up again but then he decided against it. 

He can’t take his eyes off of you, he never could. He was always a little obsessed with you. You and your little cheer uniform, your glossy lips, the cute hairstyles and those innocent yet mischievous eyes of yours always drove him crazy. 

You were always a little intimidating to him and others. You were no bully but you were never afraid to speak your mind and fight back against bullies, he wouldn’t be surprised if those assholes made you a target as well but surprisingly they never did. 

The first time you had ever smiled at him, he felt like his heart was about to explode and the first time you spoke to him, he felt it flutter like crazy. Once he realized that you weren’t as intimidating as he thought, he began to make conversations with you, holding doors open for you, offering to carry your books to your next classes. He was happy to see your smile that was only directed at him, the cute little giggles that he got to hear whenever he told you one of his bad jokes. 

You were nice to him, not as nice as you were to others though. Maybe you had a soft spot for him, that made him feel special. 

Especially after what happened at the restroom. 

He can’t keep his eyes off of you, not during class, not during lunch at the cafeteria. He is crazy about you. 

You’re sitting with Nancy and Barb, giggling about something one of the girls had whispered to you. He licks his lips as he watches your skirt ride up, exposing more of your skin, leaning closer to your friends to tell them something before you get up. He straightens up, eyes following you as he watches you leaving the cafeteria. 

He almost jumps up instantly, discarding his lunch and ignoring his friends and their confused faces, he follows you out, rushing after you. The hallways are empty, he figures that you went into the restroom so he decides to wait for you but the moment he leans against the wall, he feels a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he finds you standing here with a smirk on your pretty face.

“Who are you waiting for, pretty boy?” 

The teasing look in your eyes tells him that you already know that he was waiting for you. You felt his eyes on you the whole time, you might not always turn to look at him but he knows that you know he is watching you, that’s why you teased him relentlessly the past few days. Bending down in front of him, giving him the perfect view of your ass, licking your lips whenever you would look at him, swirling your tongue around that stupid vanilla ice cream as you held the cone in your hand when he ran into you after leaving the record store at Starcourt mall. 

You are driving him crazy. 

Eddie is still shy around you but fuck, the urge to grab you and slam you against the wall and fuck you with his tongue is almost unbearable. 

He grabs your hand and pulls you into the girls restroom, if he can’t get you out of his mind, then you won’t get him out of yours either. 

He does what you did to him. He grabs your waist and slams you against the wall, pressing your body against the cold tiles. 

You gasp, eyes flashing with surprise. He places his hands against the wall behind you, caging you against it. His eyes are dark but his cheeks are flushed red. As much as he wants to appear all tough and scary, he is still sweet Eddie to you. 

“I can’t get you out of my fucking mind, sweetheart,” he whispers as his eyes flicker down to your lips, he wants to kiss you, he wants it so bad but you didn’t kiss him the last time, clearly not wanting it… yet. 

You smirk at his words, the smell of his cologne, aftershave and a hint of smoke makes your skin tingle. You bring your hands up, placing them on his arms, the leather of his jacket smooth against your skin. 

“Do you want me to suck your cock again, Eddie?” You smirk. 

His eyes flash with hunger. 

“Or do you want something else?” You ask as you bat your eyelashes at him. You reach for his hands, your fingertips brush against his cold rings, for just a moment, you intertwine your fingers with his, causing both yours and his heart to flutter. 

His hands are rough, calloused, big. 

Yours are soft and small, fitting perfectly into his. 

You look into each other’s eyes, he blinks and so do you, surprised at the nice feelings in your chests from such an innocent touch. 

There’s something in the air, the energy surrounding you both is filled with tension, a nice one. It pulls you into each other. You break eye contact, looking down for a second before you look up at him again, pulling his hands towards you, you place them on your chest. 

His eyes widen, almost bulging out of his skull as he looks down. 

“What do you want, Eddie?” You smirk, “do you want to fuck my face? Or do you want my pussy this time?” 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers, his blood rushes down to his dick, this is not what he wanted. He wanted to get back at you, leave you speechless the way you left him. 

You place your palm on his chest and slide it down his body, your eyes are filled with longing, just like his. Before you can even come close to his belt, he grabs your hand and slams it against the wall behind you.

“What’s wrong?” You giggle as you eye the frustrated look on his face, ignoring the way his action made you feel. 

He licks his lips and leans closer, tilting your chin up, he keeps eye contact with you as he comes closer and closer, pressing his body against yours, “you’re a bad girl, you know that right?” 

Your lips curl into a smile, raising your brows at him, “no, I’m a good girl.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head at you, “no, you’re not.” 

He latches his lips onto your neck and for the first time, you feel what it’s like to be kissed by Eddie Munson. His plump lips are soft against your skin, kissing you so perfectly. What starts off with soft kisses quickly turns into messy ones as he starts sucking and biting your skin. 

“E-Eddie,” you whimper. You can feel him smirking against your skin. Letting go of your hand, he grabs your waist instead, he grabs you tightly, squeezing your hip as he slides it down to your ass, grabbing it with his large hand. 

You place your hand on his shoulder, eyes fluttering close as a moan falls from your lips. 

“You smell so good,” he whispers against your neck as he continues to kiss you, “and you sound so fucking pretty.” 

He slides his hand under your skirt, touching your bare skin, a groan leaves his lips when he feels the soft lace against his hand, “where are those tight shorts you usually wear?” 

“Left them at home,” you grin as your eyes lock with his again when he moves back to look at you, “I knew you’d do this at some point.” 

He raises his brows, smirking, “oh, so you planned this all along, huh?” 

You bite your lip, nodding at his words, you reach for the necklace around his pale neck, using it to pull him closer, “been waiting for you to make a move,” you whisper, eyes falling on his plump lips, “but you’re such a shy and innocent boy, Eddie.” 

His eyes darken and his brows draw together, “innocent?” He scoffs. 

“Mhmm, you’re a good boy, aren’t you? That was your first blow job wasn’t it?” 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

Jealousy flashes in your eyes, it’s hard to miss, Eddie knows what it’s like to feel jealous. He has felt that way, too many times. Watching you run around with those cute little skirts and your cheer uniform, getting attention from all the guys here. He can see the way they look at you, he can see the way they try to charm you, trying to flex with their daddy’s money but you aren’t interested, you never are. You don’t even give them the time of the day, walking past them without sparing a glance, the only one that seems to get your attention is Steve Harrington but you don’t seem to like him very much, all you ever do is bicker around with the King. 

Still, it makes him jealous that he is getting any attention in the first place, even if it’s the bad kind. 

“But it was the best one,” Eddie smirks, trying to make you feel better, “no one’s ever made me feel so good, sweetheart.” He says as he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, “I wanna make you feel good too.” 

Your stomach flutters and you feel yourself getting wet at his words. He can see the desire in your eyes, he can feel the way you press yourself harder against him, a whine leaving your lips when he presses his fingers against your soaked panties. 

“Show me what you got then, Munson.” 

It’s cute how you try to appear tough and arrogant when you are literally about to start grinding yourself against his hand, desperately. 

The door opens and your eyes widen, before anyone can see you, Eddie grabs your hand and pushes you into the last stall, shutting and locking the door before he presses you against the wall. It’s a deja vu moment, really. Just a few days back you did that to him, now he has you caged against the wall, putting his hand over your mouth and giving you a sly smirk. 

Your eyes widen even further when you hear your friends' voices. 

“Can you be quiet for me?” Eddie whispers as he looks into your big eyes. 

You nod your head. 

“Good girl.” 

You suppress the whimper that almost sounded through the restroom. 

Eddie pushes your soaked panties to the side, slipping his fingers through your wet folds, he almost lets out a moan himself. He brings his soaked digits to your clit, rubbing circles on it. 

You furrow your brows and bite your bottom lip beneath his hand. His fingers feel so good. 

You swallow harshly, you look into his dark eyes, admiring the way he looks at you, the way he is so much taller than you, the way he stares at you in awe as he slips his fingers into your wet pussy. He kept his rings on. 

You can both hear Nancy and Barb talking but neither of you care, not even when they mention your name as they wonder where you had run off to. You can hear the water running, Nancy rummaging through her small makeup bag, probably to freshen up the light pink lipstick she always wears. 

“You’re so tight for me, baby,” he whispers into your ear as he presses a sloppy kiss to your neck, “you’re fucking squeezing my fingers.” 

The softest and smallest whimper escapes your mouth, just in time after your friends have finally left. 

“E-Eddie,” you whimper when he finally pulls his hand away from your mouth. 

He pulls his fingers out and slams them back into you, stretching you open as he fucks you with his rings clad fingers. 

“Yes baby?” 

“F-Feels so good, please don’t stop.” 

God, the things he would do to get you like this forever. Your moans drive him crazy, making his dick hard in his pants. 

“What would your friends think, hmm?” He whispers as he brushes your hair back with his free hand, caressing your cheek and putting his thumb on your bottom lip, freeing it from your teeth. 

“What would the cheer squad think or all the boys that want you? What would they say if they saw you getting fingered by the town freak?” 

Your eyes flash with anger but you can’t stop the moans from falling. 

“Y-You’re not a freak. You’re just Eddie.” 

He would be lying if he said that your words don’t warm his heart but his expression doesn’t falter. Do you really think so? 

“You’re my Eddie.” 

Well, fuck. You are making it so easy for him to fall to his knees for you, quite literally. 

Your eyes widen when you look down at him, his big brown eyes look up at you with both mischief and adoration. He slips your panties down your legs and you shudder, swallowing nervously. 

You step out of them, Eddie reaches for the pink lace, grinning at you, “I’m keeping these,” he says before he stuffs them into his back pocket. 

You can’t even help but giggle, a sound that is enough to give him heart palpitations. 

He kisses your knees and your thighs, sweetly. You bite your bottom lip again, staring down at him with lust in your eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful, fuck,” he murmurs. Pushing your skirt up, he groans as he begins to rub your clit again, “so fucking wet.” 

“All for you.” 

“All for me?” He grins as he presses a kiss to your clit, causing you to gasp in surprise. 

You nod your head quickly, desperately. 

 He grabs your ass, squeezing it tightly as his licks a strip up your pussy. 

“Oh my god…” 

“Not god, just Eddie.”

“Same thing,” you say, giggling at the surprised expression on his face. 

“Fuck, you have no idea what you’re doing to me, sweetheart,” he says before he finally buries his face in your cunt. You instantly push your hand into his hair and pull at it, making him moan against you. 

“Eddie… Eddie…” 

He smirks, you can feel it. 

He fucks you on his tongue, his hand hold you tightly, gripping your ass cheeks in a way that you know will leave marks. 

“I knew you would taste fucking sweet,” he moans.

He thought about this? He thought about doing this to you?

You never felt anything like this, his tongue feels just as perfect as his fingers, you wonder what it would feel like to feel his cock inside of you. 

He looks up at you as he eats you out, he moans and groans so perfectly, it just makes you want him more and more. He grabs your leg and puts it over his shoulder as he dives his tongue in deeper. 

“Y-You’re so good, fuck,” you moan as you shut your eyes for a moment. 

Your face grows hot, your skin feels like it’s on fire, your knees grow weak and your body begs for relief. 

He eats you out so messily and desperately, switching between fingering your cunt and eating you out as his thumb rubs circles on your sensitive clit. He moans against you, loving your taste. 

“Say you’re mine,” he demands as he pulls away from you for a moment. His chin glistens, all the warm brown color in his eyes is gone, replaced by pure darkness. 

“I’m yours, Eddie please don’t stop,” you whine as you try to push his head against you again. It only makes him chuckle darkly. 

“You’re such a whiny little slut,” he says, “are you like that for others?” 

You shake your head wildly, tears well up in your eyes, you were so close before he pulled away. 

“Are you like that for Harrington? You hate that guy, don’t you? Bet you fuck him too, huh?” 

“No!” You say angrily, you would never. 

He chuckles, “no?” 

“No, I only want you,” you whine, “please.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, he goes back to it, eating you out with just as much intensity as before. 

Your back arches in pleasure as he flicks his tongue inside of you. 

His name falls from your lips so effortlessly. It makes his heart race. 

It doesn’t take long for him to make you come undone. You grip his hair tighter and screw your eyes shut as you cum on his tongue. You feel your tears running down your face, your legs are shaking, knees almost buckling. 

Eddie kisses your thighs before he puts your skirt back in place, getting up, he places his hands on your waist, smirking as he watches you trying to catch your breath. For a moment, he allows himself to admire you. 

He loves to see you like this. 

He leans in, raising his hand up to your face, he grabs your chin as his wipes your tears away. 

You open your eyes to look at him. His lips are puffy, so kissable. 

“You good, princess?” He chuckles as he leans in to kiss your cheek. 

“Mhmmm.” 

You stare at each other, the urge to kiss each other growing stronger and stronger. He is so pretty. 

“Can I have my panties back?” 

He laughs, shaking his head, “nah, they’re mine now.” 

“You want me to walk around without panties on?” 

“You’re supposed to wear shorts under that skirt, y/n,” he grins, eyes flashing with amusement. 

“Spanks,” you frown. 

You gasp when he spanks your ass, eyes widening, “Eddie!” You slap his chest. 

He laughs again, grabbing your hand and holding it against his chest, “what? You said spanks, I thought you wanted them.” 

“The shorts, they’re called spanks, dumbass.” 

He snorts, “oh… don’t act like you didn’t like it,” he whispers as he places another kiss to your cheek, “maybe I should take you back to my van, spank you some more while I make you ride my dick.” 

You gasp again, eyes flashing with lust. 

“Do it.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, excitedly. 

You nod, “take me to your van, Eddie.” 

His smile grows bigger, “fuck yeah,” he says as though he has been waiting for this all his life, “I’m gonna rock your world, princess.” 

“You’re such a dork.” 

As you feel him intertwining his fingers with yours, you can't help but hope for him to never let it go, not knowing that he is hoping the same thing, hoping that you will never drop his hand.

-

tagging friends <3 @littledemondani @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedcorpses @bimbobaggins69

[trulyy-yourzz]

heyyyy!!! How are you?😊

me again

so I was wondering if you could do one where Billie is dating jesse(she doesn’t really love him) and r is Jesse’s younger sister and r has a secret relationship with Billie ( just some smut and fluff at the same time)

I’m so down bad for this woman 😩

Answer when you can ❤️❤️

Ily 🤭

I am SO sorry for how long this took! I've been exhausted. But here you go, babe 💝 ily!!!

✿Fluff. – ♡Smut.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You loved her. So much that it drove you crazy. You'd always day dream about what could you couldn't be. But considering your brother, Jesse, had managed to get to her first, you decided to attempt to let those feelings go. You felt there was no point in pursuing a one-sided relationship that would never happen... or so you thought.

Billie was always a huge flirt. That's just how she was. From time to time, you'd catch her hands on your waist, hugging you from behind, her hands ever so soft and warm on your skin. Whenever you felt significantly close to her, it was like you were on cloud nine... only you and her mattered, nothing else.

Your family decided to host a small get-together and insisted on Billie coming since she was 'part of the family' now. You were happy for them... really. But having to see her all the time wasn't particularly helping how you felt about her. She was all you thought about. Ever since she first told you her name, thats all that crowded your thoughts. You'd wonder when and where you would see her next, what kind of face she'd make once she saw you, and so on.

You got a call from your brother saying he couldn't make it to come pick you up from your university because he was being forced by your parents to help prepare dinner. So he suggested Billie come pick you up, but in an instant, you began to protest against the idea. Alone. With Billie. In her car. You wouldn't survive a single second.

But after many arguments and speaking over one another, you gave in. Immediately after hanging up, he called Billie, and she was more than happy to go and pick you up. She'd always wanted some time alone with you... to talk, of course. You'd always been acting strange around her but she wasn't dumb. She knew exactly what was bothering you. And she was gonna make that known.

Almost half an hour later, she arrived at the gates of your dorms, rolling down the window and greeting you with that bright smile you loved so much, gesturing for you to get in. You hesitated for a second, contemplating on whether or not you go. You made up all types of excuses in your head on why you wouldn't be able to attend. But by the time you were in the passenger seat of her car. Your seat belt on. It was too late.

"Hi angel" angel. You felt your insides warm up, her voice so soothing it sent you straight into bliss.

"Hi," was all you could mutter out between those pretty lips of yours. Those same pretty lips Billie looked over and began to stare at once she stopped at a red light.

You felt your heart race pick up. You were nervous. And she could tell from just the smallest change in your demeanor. You were biting your lip and fiddling with the leather seat belts of her dodge challenger.

The red stop light luminated over her soft flush skin, her bright blue eyes, and her plump lips that were the prettiest shade of pink.

She rested her hand on your thigh, and you had to physically restrain a moan from slipping through your lips. "You okay, angel?" You nodded your head, and the light turned green. She moved back to her original position, focusing on the road, but her hand still lingered on your thigh, dangerously close to the growing heat between your legs.

You couldn't help but stare and admire the way her hand gripped the wheel, steering it with one hand. Her other rested on your thigh as her eyebrows furrowed, focusing on the road.

Billie's phone rang, the words 'my love' popping up on the screen, making your heart drop and fill up with guilt. You felt like you were deceiving your own brother. You'd never do anything to harm their relationship purposely.

Billie's hand left the placement on your thigh to grab her phone, the warmth slowly dissipating from your skin as you took a breath, trying to gather yourself and your thoughts.

Apparently, from what you overheard, Jesse had called just to check on us, 'make sure we were safe'. She turned to you smiling, and you felt like your heart was gonna burst at any moment. She was perfect.

"We're fine. Almost there." And soon after, she hung up. Unfortunately, her hand didn't go back to your thigh. But you weren't allowed to be disappointed. You weren't her lover, and she wasn't yours.

After a long drive, you and Billie finally made it to the house. She pulled into the driveway, putting the car in park as she looked over at you, but this was different. She looked at you like she wanted to enrapture you and keep you for herself.

You swallowed hard. And that didn't go unnoticed by her as she licked her lips, looking at yours in the process. "Billie?"

"Thats my name. Dont wear it out sweetheart." She leaned in closer, and without even noticing, you did the same. Your lips were so close you could feel her every single breath. You wanted to kiss her so bad. To tangle your fingers in her hair as she swallowed your last bit of oxygen.

"Please." You said breathly, almost pleading.

She just smirked and ran her thumb across your bottom lip. She could tell you were desperate. You always were. Every since she laid eyes on you and you laid eyes on her. There'd always been a connection, and the more either of you tried to ignore it, the more it burned.

"We should go in. Yeah?" Your eyes fell down to her lips, watching them move as she spoke to you so softly... so seductively. You didn't want to go inside. You didn't want to watch her act like she was so in love with your brother when she obviously wasn't.

She got out of the car, walking over to the passenger side to open the door for you. You wished she could do this for you all the time.

You smiled nervously and swung your feet out of the vehicle and onto the pavement, grabbing onto the hand that she held out, offering to help you out of her car.

You two walked inside, greeting your parents and your brother. Billie did the same as she kissed Jesse on the cheek with those same lips you wanted on your skin so damn bad.

Once your parents finished chatting up a storm and catching up about random stuff by the door, everyone sat down at the dinner table. Billie sat down next to you and Jesse sat on the opposite side of her.

You were enjoying your food quietly in peace. And everyone else talked about whatever it was they were talking about... honestly, you didn't care very much.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your thigh, and that same warmth from earlier returned. You glanced down at the hand rested on your leg and back up to look at billie, who hadn't been paying attention to you at all, pretending like she wasn't touching you from underneath the table. You cleared your throat and continued eating, brushing it off and ignoring it as much as you could.

Billie noticed and slid her hand up farther, her finger brushing against your clothed heat and attempting to get a reaction out of you. Everyone was too engrossed in their conversation to even notice what was going on.

This was fun to her. Sneaking around and touching you in ways she knew would get you all riled up. She loved it. The face you made whenever she hugged you a certain way, smiled a certain way, or even looked at you and certain way.

Jesse noticed your heavy breathing and strange behavior, looking at you with a concerned expression plastered across his face. "Sis, you okay?" You cleared your throat and looked up at him, nodding your head as you reassured him, letting him know you were just fine.

Except you weren't fine. This whole situation between you and billie was wrong. You grabbed onto billies wrist, preventing her from going any farther than she already was.

You stood up from your chair, holding onto your half empty plate. "I'm really tired... classes today were exhausting, so I think im gonna head to bed first." Jesse and your parents shrugged, wishing you goodnight and sweet dreams. They were a little concerned, but understanding of the long day you had.

You proceeded into the kitchen, setting your plate by the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes before sighing heavily.

Maybe some rest would clear your head. Today did actually end up being exhausting, so you needed it.

You took a long hot shower and changed into your favorite pajamas, climbing into the bed as the ac blew cool air into your room. The same room you grew up in as a child.

You remembered counting all the glow in the dark stars that stuck to your ceiling every night to help you sleep better.

So you turned, facing the ceiling and your face lit up with a smile as you realized they were still there. You counted and counted all the stars that stuck to your ceiling until the next thing you know... you were fast asleep.

A few hours later, you felt the other side of your bed sink, hands latching onto your hips as you were pulled closer to the warmth behind you.

You hummed, but it turned into a gentle moan, feeling pressure onto your now heated cunt. You felt the soft flesh of someone lips run across your neck before a kiss was plastered onto it.

"Try not to be so loud, okay? Your eyes widened, realizing who it was behind you.

You figured it was Billie, but once you were reassured it was, you panicked.

"Wait..." You grabbed onto the hand that rested on your waist, attempting to free yourself from her grasp, but she fought back. Keeping you in her embrace as she shifted her knee in-between your thighs, earning a slutty moan that escaped from your lips.

She chuckled softly, feeling you instinctively move your hips, seeking any kind of pleasure you could get out of this.

"Fuck..." You said shakily, your legs beginning to tremble as the grip on your waist tightened, moving your hips faster.

"Atta girl."

Billie sneaked her hand farther up your shirt and realized you didn't have a bra on, only making it easier for her to get ahold of your breasts. She kissed your neck, groaning as she circled your sensitive perked up nipples.

She was downright obsessed with your breast. The way they sat up perfectly in any low-cut shirt you wore always caught her attention. Plus, they fit in her hands perfectly. It's like you were made for her.

Her other hand kept a stern grip on your hips, making sure your pace never faltered as you chased after your release. You choked on a moan, feeling her twist, pull, and play with your breast like it was her favorite toy.

Your body convulsed, eyes rolling back once you were close. So fucking close and she could feel it. Not only could she feel how close you were, but she could feel how much you loved her. She always could. And now that she had you in your arms, she wasn't letting go.

You gasped for air and gripped onto the sheets beneath you as you came all over her leg, leaving a damp spot on her pajama pants in the process. But she didn't mind it at all.

"So pretty."

Billie traced her fingers over the line of your jaw and pulled you tight to her chest. She'd wanted your mouth on hers for months, and now that it was happening, she wanted to savor the moment.

Your lips parted as her thumb brushed over their petal softness, and you combed your fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. Tingles washed down your back as she closed the gap between your mouths, first with the utmost gentleness, then with the hunger of a starved man. You made a delicious little sound and responded with the same hunger, sparking a fire in her belly. She didn't want it to stop.

"I love you."

°

°

°

Notes: special thanks to @tan1shere for helping me write this!! ILY💝

[catwrites9]

I saw you wanted request. You can choose either Tara or Sam. T or S break up with Reader to protect them during the Ghostface attacks but then they realize it was a mistake and not helping so they try to get R back

It’s A Bad Idea, Right?

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Warning: Violence, cussing, not proof read, change of pov, a bit of angst but a happy ending, idk what else

W/N: IM BACK GUYS, I’m rn just finishing my old asks and then I’m going to work on new things and get back into writing I’m happy to be back.

Masterlist

—————————————————————————

It starts off like any other day, you go to your classes, see your friends but something’s off. Tara’s acting weird the whole time, even when you try to ask her how she is or what’s wrong she just says she’s fine…. It’s now night time in New York and a perfect Thursday night for the weekly horror night. You get dressed and start heading to the apartment. But the whole time you feel like your being watched. The dread fill your stomach like it always use to. Your mom then calls you, this can’t be good.

Tara’s pov

“I just can’t let her be in danger because of me” I said to the group. Ghostface is back and I can’t let just let my girlfriend get hurt because of it.

“Tara this has to be the stupidest idea you’ve ever came up with, she’s been nothing but the best girlfriend to you and I mean she was able to protect herself against the random frat guy I mean come on be a big girl and just tell her what’s happening and give her the choice to leave”Mindy said annoyingly while trying to find a movie

“I just think it’s the best option so that she stays as far away from me” This has to be the best choice right.

“For once I think I’ll have to agree with Mindy even though I was skeptical of your girlfriend at first it’s just going to put her more in risk by leaving her alone” Sam said

“Then what after, after you break her heart you’ll just beat ghost face and go back to her like nothing” I stayed silent at Mindy’s words.

There’s a knock at the door….

Your pov

I knocked and waited for a response as Chad opened it hugging you but as you entered the apartment the air was tense. Something is wrong.

“Hey guys, what movie are we watching?” You said trying to lighten the mood.

“Hey, can I talk to you really quickly?” Tara said, her body language was off.

“Yeah” You walked towards her room with her.

She shut the door”We need to break up”

“What”

“We have to break up, I'm sorry”We both start tearing up.

“What do you mean Tara, why”

“We have to break up it’s for our own good”

“What did I do Tara, what, why why are you doing this”

“IT JUST FOR OUR OWN GOOD”She yelled at you everything getting silent the chatter in the living room stoping.”DAMN IT LISTEN IT'S FOR OUR OWN GOOD”

“why..” I said almost as a whisper, she thought for a moment while crying.

“BECAUSE I DONT LOVE YOU” she yelled. The shock of the moment as even the cars outside went silent. You broke down into tears as you rush out the house everyone having a sympathetic look as Mindy, Sam, and Anika all had the saddest looks and Chad started heading towards Tara’s room.

Tara’s pov

I stayed in my room. why did I say that. I do love her, what’s wrong with me. Chad entered to comfort me but I wasn’t having any of it. I entered the living room just wanting to find my Keyes to leave the house.

“Your not leaving Tara” Sam said while holding up my keys.

“Wtf Tara” Anika said looking back at me from the kitchen table.

“What come on guys I did my plan she’ll be save now and she can’t be hurt by me anymore.”

“Tara that was the stupidest idea even you know you’ll never have her back ever again” Anika yelled getting up from the couch.

“Tara” “Not now Sam” “No you know what I’m done with this gentle parenting thing what the fuck where you thinking I mean she was the best thing for you and even you you break it off now she’s still has a chance of getting chased by ghost face because she was already seen with you Tara”

“No…. She’ll go back home probably to see her mom”

“How do you know that Tara” Sam made the best point how do I know that ghostface will just not follow her.

“It’s a bad idea,right? Right Tara I mean she’s now alone and vonerable to ghost face” I stayed silent as everyone left.

Your pov

You couldn’t understand what you did wrong. She didn’t love me?? You went into your bed and cried. The outfit you wore to her house still on you with the memories with what happend that night forever reambered with what was suppose to be a normal movie night. You cried for what felt like house until your phone rang with a no caller id. fuck… You ansered it know who was going to be on the other line.

“Would you like to play a game it’s called Sam or Tara” The voice you dreaded the most Ghostface. You imideatly got up and ran through your door, knowing you only lived just a block from Tara.

“What do you want from me”

“To Pick Sam or Tara”

“What if I don’t”

“Then they both die, a lose lose. Come on this should be easy for your ex or Sam, such a near and dear friend of yours that knows your secret.” Your heart dropped. How does ghost face know that? You heard cry’s of them both.

“What if I give up Myself”

“It doesn't work like that”

“Think of it you leave Sam and Tara and you get me and that will then lead some people into New York and they’ll fall into your trap”

“Tempting but no” you climbed up the stairs to their house running to their door which is open.

“You have 5 seconds”

5

4

3

2

1

“Times up”

Ghostface stabs Sam, while not realizing you hung up the phone they go for a stab to Tara as you tackled Ghostface. Being able to stun them and you got up and flipped the table on them. You grabbed a pocket knife from Sam and cut her hands and you go for Tara but being tacked back from Ghostface. Sam tries to uncut Tara’s hands and Ghostface punches you multiple times each blow making you more light headed. You grab a book from beside you as you smash it against their head making almost a gunshot like noise. You got up holding your head as your hearing slowly came back. You see the sisters yelling and pointing. At that moment you felt a knife through your shoulder as you looked to your left and saw the ghost face getting up. There’s two of them great.

The second Ghostface digs the knife into you, twisting it. The sharp pain subsides as the adrenaline takes over your body seeing the first ghost face going towards the sisters. You elbow the Ghostface behind you in the ribs as they hunch down in pain as you push all your strength into hitting their head on the wall next to you, knocking them out. You shoulder check the other one over the couch as the sisters help you push it over them. You run out the apartment together as you all run down the stairs into the cops.

Now in the hospital you and Sam are right next to each other, Sam being in worse condition than you, as Tara is sitting on the chair in front of you as the group is outside due to only family being able to come in.

“I’m sorry” it was all Tara said as you looked confused.”I do love you I mean fuck I love you with all my heart I’m so sorry for what I said I was just trying to protect you from this whole situation”

“Tara it’s ok I get it, I’ve done it before, I just wish you told me why so I could have explained everything I already know what was happening.”

“What do you mean” before you could get a word of my mom walks in Sydney Prescott though she isn’t your real mom she stepped in after both your parents were killed from ghost face.

“Mom, you shouldn’t be here Ghostface can get you” You said said while hugging her

“Your moms Sydney Prescott” Tara said while drawing your attention back to her.

“Yes Tara, this is why I wish you would have told me no matter what I would have been included, especially with my mom, and that’s the secret ghost face we were talking about. And yeah Sam already knew because of that whole interrogation she did to me when we first were dating.”

As time passed Sam went in to undergo surgery as it’s only you and Tara left as your mom went to stay with Sam.

“I’m so sorry I should have told you”

“It’s fine Tara really and I mean if your ok with it we can get back together, really I understand what you were thinking I’ve thought the same”

“Really”

“Yes, will you Tara carpenter be my girlfriend”

“Of course” you kissed as if nothing ever happened.

“Does this mean that we have to change our anniversary”

“I don’t know hopefully no I can’t remember dates well”

“Tara, shut up” you said while kissing her again.

—————————————————————————

A/N Hope fully you guys liked this give me any feed back and also I’m open to requests from people from my masterlist.

[eisdendrobium]

𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

pairings : ayato x reader summary : you're in a loveless marriage with ayato, you thought you could make it work at first but it seems impossible, so you left.

note : heavy angst, not proofread, sad ending (sorry y'all), nothing else - enjoy ^^

this is a part 2 of "glimpse of us"

yeah he's gorgeous but that's all he is. all you've ever liked in him. never once did he ever bring you joy

"let's get a divorce ayato." ayato snaps out of his trace and looks up at your eyes. taken aback.

"what makes you get to this point, [name]?" he place his tea cup down and asked you calmly.

you let out a sigh and straighten your posture, "i know you still love her ayato. I know the 'secret' letters you sent her and the letters you received from her. and i know, i know that i came and ruined your relationship with her. So, why stay in this loveless marriage right? torturing ourselves every single day"

a small smile forms on ayato's lips, yet his expression is unreadable.

"... yeah, i'm sorry [name], but,, i'm afraid we can't. what will our family thinks? what will the people say when they see us divorced?"

a hand went up to ruffle your hair. frustrated.

"i know. i know it's for our family, but i'm not going to waste my life just for politics ayato, and so should you.."

"i..."

"i'm tired of this, please understand me. i've tried to make this whole thing works alright? i've tried to make us work so many time yet you never seemed to put any effort in this"

———

finally back to his beloved, ayato felt like he's the happiest man alive. All the catching up, the i love you's, the casual and fancy date ayato does with her to fill up his one year yearning.

"look ayato! i've bought you dango!" she smiles while showing a pack of tricoloured dango

ayato couldn't help but smile, taking the dango and eating one of it.

"ayato? i've made you dango! thought you could use a break,, there's also milk tea! i know how much you like dango milk"

"are you alright love? is it bad?" ayato didn't even realize his smile falter as he looks to the ground. why would he think about you? maybe it was a memory to appreciate you. that's what he say to himself.

but somehow it keeps on happening.

"how's the food love?" "what do you think, ayato?"

"oh how fun! let's go make a sand castle love!" she laughed while dragging ayato by the hand. "woah... the view is breathtaking during sunset, thank you for bringing me here, ayato" you thanked, eyes focused on the orange ball of fire.

"oh love... this is the third milk tea you've had this week, you know it's not good to consume too much.." she said, gently taking the bottle from his grasp "are you drinking milk tea again? you know it's not good to consume too much of it.." you said, concerned.

too much. it's too much for him to handle.

why are you there? why are you haunting him? the thought of you is eating him alive. what is it he asked, guilt? regret? you're happy now. probably with someone new, someone who actually loves you. So should he. right? so why is it so hard to let you go?

his night were constantly filled by your smile, your laugh, you.

"My Lord, there's a package for you" thoma enters the estate one day, carrying a rather small box.

taking it from thoma and giving him a thanks, ayato opens the box and sees the small gifts he once gave you in act of formality towards you and your family.

slowly picking one of them up, he spot a letter under it, opening it he reads what was written:

to Lord Kamisato,

hey... i was sorting things out and find these gifts you gave me, thought i should return it to you.

signed, [name]

closing the letter he scavenge into the box as he recalled the day he gave you each of those trinkets.

"ooh who gave you those gift love?" she asked, entering the room

"uhm.. i'm not sure darling" standing up from the chair he excuse himself out.

ayato needed space, he needs to think - i don't even know what is there to think really, there's only one obvious answer.

he crimple the letter and rush towards your house.

halfway there rain started pouring and thunder starts dancing around the sky, seems like the universe is not letting him meets you yet he push through. he have had enough of this whole thing.

\

a knock was heard through your door, 'who could it be?' you thought. standing up from the sofa you make your way towards the door and opens it only to find someone you've least expected.

ayato, drench in rain, breathing heavily - looking at you intently, his violet eyes dancing with yours.

"ayato? what are you doing here?" and without warning he hugs you.

he hugs you? this is the first.

neither of you break away from the hug for a while, you're too shocked to push him away, and him getting too comfortable embracing you.

"i'm sorry [name], i'm sorry.." he mumbles as he pulls you closer.

finally regaining your composure you pull away from him,

"why don't you come in and change first hm? then we could talk" you move and gesture him to come which he gladly did.

after changing he joins you in the tatami room. it was quiet, yet ayato finds it comforting. the only sound that could be heard was the rain outside and the fireplace, the perfect ambience to live in for ayato.

"...so....wanna explain why you came?" you starts, eyes never leaving the fire.

"yeah, uhm.. [name], you've been on my mind lately.. and i couldn't help but feel these negative emotion around me,,, i just- .. i thought maybe talking about it with you would help" he explains

"was it because of the package i sent you?"

"no- well.. that package was what pushed me to came here... [name] i know i wasn't the husband material then and i know you're happy now, but i can't.. stop thinking about you, about us. and i know it's wrong, i know it's cruel but i just can't help it" he turns his whole body towards you. totally breaking his character.

finally turning your head to look at him you answer, "yeah, it is cruel ayato. i've tried everything to make us work but you threw all of it away without even glancing at it, and now you're asking me to what? take you back? what about your lover? you loves her and so does she"

"i know! i know i messed up badly and truth is i'm still a mess right now [name]" he cover his face with desperation and ruffle his hair.

silent took over the atmosphere as you think about it.

you gave him your everything, your love, time, effort, everything. yet he gave you nothing in return. what's in it for you if you gave him another chance?

"..i'm sorry ayato." ayato looks up towards you and sees that you've already averts your gaze towards the fireplace.

quickly standing up ayato make his way towards you, kneeling in front of you, taking your hands in his "no.. please [name]" he whispers

"i loved you ayato, but now,, i just wish you'd stay in my memories. you're happy with her and that's it. don't make this any harder for me.." you look down towards your interwind hand and slowly pulling them away from his grasp.

"please.." he whispers once more.

shaking your head and raising your head to look at him with a sad smile "i can't" you whispered in return.

ayato let his head fall along with the tears, staining your clothes.

closing your front door you finally cut the relationship between the two of you. slowly you feel your eyes stinging as the tears finally starts flowing.

why did he came? why did he have to ruin all of your effort to move on and let him go?

you're supposed to put him in the past, and you did. So why are you crying now?

"i'm sorry ayato.. but i have to do it for me.." you say quietly towards ayato's retreating figure from the window.

\

a few months after you finally found someone, a person you loved and who loves you just as much.

ayato finds that fact lovely yet crushing at the same time. he said that he’s happy for you yet he knows that he’s lying to himself, missions after missions he did just to forget you. busying himself so he wouldn’t drown over the fact that he’d been replaced.

he saw you once in one of the stores buying sweets with a guy, you looked happy— in love, maybe that’s more accurate. ayato felt like the world stop spinning for a moment as he spied over you and your beloved.

that moment was his before, yet he didn’t cherished it like he should.

you were his but now anymore. that’s the fact that he’s trying to accept.

he’ll be marrying his beloved next month, the kamisato family finally agreed to do it and he’s happy about it. it’s everything he had dreamt of!

so why is there a longing for you? a desire to just leave everything behind and take you with him, away from everybody else?

oh how history is repeating itself. what a cruel thing.

a/n : reblogs are greatly appreciated! and please feel free to comment what you think about this fic ^^

taglist : @ayatoslovelywife @kawaiiskeletoneggsnerd @alexiris @yummyberry @starlightaura @tiredasiandaughter @almond-t0fu @clevercatprotector14 @ilovemilfs1111 @rose-ly @genshinloversposts

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // twenty-one

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 4.2k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: oh- you guys wanted them to be happy and in love in peace?? my bad. anyway, good a time as any to wish you guys a happy valentines day! lol

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

"Where are ya takin' those?" Lennox asks you as you're quickly scanning through your piles of books, pulling out one or two at a time and holding onto them.

"I will bring them to Coryo and Sejanus." You smile to yourself, standing up straight as you finish picking out most of your favourites.

"Coryo." Lennox scrunches his nose up. "Why bother? They can't read that many books in a week. Especially when he'll hardly get his hands off you long enough to do literally anything else."

"Oh, Lennox hush. That is not true." You shake your head pointedly, cheeks burning red.

"It is true."

You had kind of explained to Lennox what happened, that Coryo explained, apologized, and that you were wrong about him. Your mother was right, of course, but Lennox still wasn't buying any of it. Although, he wouldn't deny that you seemed happier.

"Ma!" You call out, coming out of your bedroom with the stack of books in your arms. Trying to talk to Lennox about this would never end in him actually listening to you.

"Just out back, honey!"

You follow her voice out onto the back porch. "Ma, do you know if there's a limit of things you can take on the train?"

She looks up at the question, laughing at the stack of books you have steadied under your chin.

"It's not a passenger train, honey. I don't know." She chuckles. "You want to give him all of those? Won't you miss them?"

"Well..." You think about it, placing them down on the ground to rest your arms for a moment. "I don't know when I'll see him again, and books are expensive to post. Besides, I know they'll be in safe hands, and if I want to read them again I can take them from the library."

Your mom smiles sadly at you. "I suppose that's true."

"Yes." You grin, crouching down to pick the books up again carefully. "I shall go drop these off."

"When will you be back?" She asks, just as you're about to walk back inside.

"Uh, I'm uncertain, but I shouldn't be long! We don't have any plans."

"Maybe you should take your brother with you, he can carry those." She suggests and you sigh.

"No, Ma. He's mean." You pout.

"He only wants to keep you safe. Take him with you, please. He'll be driven mad here waiting for you to get back." She insists and you groan, dropping your head back. "I won't ask again, I promise."

"Okay, Ma." You relent, stepping back into the house and letting the door swing shut behind you. "Len! Ma says you're coming with me!"

"So... how do you know where they are staying?" Lennox asks you, half the books in his arms as you practically skip ahead of him.

"Coryo showed me the other day."

"Oh, he did. Of course he did." You can practically see him rolling his eyes behind your back. "Have you ever considered that he could just be using you? I mean-"

"Lennox, that's not a rational thought process. I have nothing that he would want, he already won his prize." You interrupt. "He just came here to spend time with me, we talked about that when I was in the Capitol."

"I can think of something he wants..."

"Lennox!" You turn on your heel, pointing a finger in his face so fast he almost stumbles as he stops. "That is enough. You have so little trust in me!"

"It's not like we haven't been down this road before!" He argues, and you quickly look around as he raises his voice. The path is deserted this time of day.

"And you don't think me capable of learning?"

"Clearly not! Him and Cole are practically the same person!"

"Don't you say that- I didn't like Cole and you know it." You narrow your eyes at him. "Coryo is different. He wouldn't hurt me."

"You do realize that those are like, the famous last words that every teenage girl ever has said and regretted it, right?"

"Do you just not want me to be happy?" You ask bitterly. That wasn't true and you knew it, but you were upset and you knew it would get your point across. He was being cruel.

"The opposite, actually! I just want you to think realistically about fallin' into the open arms of your 'knight in shining armour' who you've literally had nightmares about for weeks on end."

"I am not a child! I am an adult, and I am capable of making my own decisions." You spit. "He's not using me. He loves me, and I love him."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll say that until-"

"Lennox you are such a.. boy!" You groan. "If you must know, if you must insist that I am so stupid, no, I have not slept with him. Is that what you needed so desperately to hear?"

"Gross." He mumbles, shaking his head with disgust. "I don't care what you do with your alone time, actually I'd really rather not know! All I'm saying is you need to be more careful."

"I'm not going to fight with you. You can trust my decisions or not." You grumble, turning back around to keep walking. He follows behind you silently, neither of you saying another word the whole walk there.

You knock on the door, taking a step back while you wait for it to open. You can hear your brother breathing behind you and it's driving you up the wall. You would drop off the books and send him home- maybe you would stay for a while, go for a walk, something.

The door creaks open and you smile when you see Sejanus. "Y/N!" He grins, opening the door wider for you to come in. "Coryo! Your girlfriend is here!" You blush at the term as you walk in past him.

You hadn't discussed any kind of title to what you had, the looming ache of him leaving again so soon holding you back from wanting to mention it. You assumed he didn't want to discuss it either, both of you silently agreeing just to enjoy the time you still had together.

"Y/N/N." Coryo grins, eyes lighting up as he enters the room.

"Hi." You smile, ignoring your brother pretending to gag behind you.

"What brings you?" Coryo asks. "I didn't expect to see you today, I was thinking of coming to see you myself."

"Yes, well, I went through my books and brought some over that I would like you to take." You look back over your shoulder as Lennox is placing the large pile of books on the dining table.

Coryo hums as he wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your head. "That's a lot of books." He chuckles.

"You don't have to rush through them, keep them as long as you'd like." You assure him. "I just thought they were some you may enjoy."

"I'm sure I'll love them." He kisses the top of your head. "Thank you."

You turn in his arms to look up at him, ticking your head slightly when you hear Sejanus speak quietly. Clearly, not to either of you. "Hey, I just want to show you something. Come outside with me?" And then the door is shut, and you and Coryo are left alone.

"What's he showing him?" You ask, and Coryo watches through the window as his friend and your brother circle around to the side of the house.

"I am not sure." He answers. Immediately, he's thinking of the note Sejanus had scribbled out for himself. It included your brother's name alongside the dates and times, and those dates were creeping up quickly, the seventeenth being in three days- if he had today's date correct.

"Coryo?"

"Hm?" He looks down at you again. "You were thinkin' for a minute there. What's wrong?"

You were always so concerned. All he had done was take a moment to think, and you seemed genuinely worried. Maybe there was something in his face that showcased his confusion. "Nothing, love." He assures you, but you don't seem inclined to believe it. "Okay, uh, just... Come with me." He grabs your hand, watching out the window to make sure they aren't coming back yet as he leads you to his room.

You step into the small space and smile. He wasn't here for long, but the room already had little touches of him. The bed was made, and there was nothing on the walls but the bedside table had the copy of Romeo and Juliet he had got for you, a folded-up note, and a comb for his hair he had yet to put back in his bag despite him not needing it anymore.

You turn to face him after he shuts the door, smiling. He almost looked normal here, now. Like he was getting used to being here with you, living your life. It certainly wasn't like what he left behind in the Capitol, but to you it was special.

"Y/N, I have something to tell you." Coryo says, serious with a lowered voice. He didn't want anyone to hear it, even though you were still likely alone in the home.

"Okay." You reply, feeling your brow crease as you nod at him. His tone makes you nervous- your heart skips a beat in your chest. For a moment, you feel trapped. Tell him what you need. He won't mind.

"Can you... can you move away from the door, please?" You ask quietly before he has the chance to speak again.

He nods, not wasting a second before passing you and you turn with him, now with the door to your own back. "Is that better? You okay?" He asks and you nod.

"Fine just fine." You smile, trying to be reassuring. "What were you going to tell me?"

"Right, so..." You watch as he runs a hand over his head, still in the habit of pushing back his hair. "I was in Sejanus's room the other day, and I found this note. It had two dates and places on it, and then your brother's name and that was it."

"Oh." That's the only thing you can think of to say. "Well... do you remember the places? Maybe he was just trying to remember Len's name?"

"I don't know, I was hoping you'd know more." Coryo sighs, reaching for the bedside drawer. He had written down what he remembered from the dates and times, because he did want to ask you about it. "But he's been leaving and coming back at odd hours, he won't tell me what he's doing. Is he with Lucy Gray?"

"I don't think so." You frown, shaking your head. "But they have been getting close."

"But that doesn't really feel relevant to the note, or your brother."

"No... It certainly doesn't seem that way."

"Here, so... I wrote it down. Uh... The Hob, August seventeenth at ten pm, and broken fence August eighteenth at four am." He reads off what he remembered enough from the note to write down.

You tilt your head.

"Does that mean anything to you?"

"Well, on the seventeenth The Covey is performing at the Hob, so maybe he planned on going to that." You explain. "But broken fence... there's so many of those around here I couldn't tell you. Although, four am is an incredibly odd time to be meeting anyone."

"That's three hours before our train leaves."

"Oh." You shake your head slightly. "That's very weird."

"I know." Coryo sighs. "He won't tell me either, I've asked if he has any plans that night and he said no."

"Well... We should go." You offer. "Tell him that we're going to the meadow that night, and we'll just go after him. See who he's with."

Coryo raises his eyebrows at you. "I didn't take you for the nosy type."

"Well, I'm a big sister at heart and if it possibly involves Lennox I have to know." You argue. "It could be dangerous. He's always had a few friends I didn't love."

"Are you okay to go back there? I can go without you." He offers.

"I'll be fine." You insist. It's more so out of necessity, you have no choice but to be fine. You have to know- you have to make sure your brother and friend are safe.

"Are you sure about this?" Coryo asks, stopping you outside the entrance to the Hob. "If you want to go home I can take you, I just want you to feel safe."

"I know." You give him a small, reassuring smile as you squeeze his hand. "If I need to leave I'll tell you. I promise."

He nods, taking one last look at you to make sure you still seem okay before he pushes the door open and you both head in.

The building is buzzing- as it usually is when The Covey performs. You smile at the music, letting Coryo pull you close to the side wall as he scans the crowded room for his friend.

"Do you see him?" You ask, and he somehow hears you over the music and shakes his head.

You frown, looking around as well. No sign of Sejanus, no sign of Lennox. Lennox isn't even old enough to be here, but he wasn't at home when you left- and it's not exactly hard to sneak in.

"There," Coryo says, nodding in the direction of the opposite side of the room. You follow his eyes, and spot Sejanus talking to someone you recognize. "Who's he with?"

"Spruce." You explain. "His sister is scheduled to be executed tomorrow afternoon." You add, leaning closer so no one else will hear.

You watch as they head toward the back hall, the same one you ran down just a couple of weeks ago. "Should we go after them?" You ask when Coryo doesn't reply and he nods, watching them as he pulls you down the outside wall toward them.

You make it back to the hall without Lucy Gray spotting you, as far as you can tell. Standing outside the door, you hear shouting. You watch Coryo as he clenches his jaw, shaking his head.

"Wait out here." He tells you, dropping your hand.

"No- I, I should come." You shake your head and he grabs your cheeks, lifting your head to look into your eyes.

"I don't know what they're fighting about but it doesn't sound good. Wait out here." He's stern as he gently brushes his thumbs over your cheeks. "Listen to Lucy Gray, just watch the door. Okay, love?"

"Okay." You agree quietly, slightly nodding.

He kisses your forehead before letting you go, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open and disappearing behind it.

You chew your nails as you wait with your ear to the door, trying to decipher who is inside with them. It's hard to tell with all the shouting going on, but you hadn't heard Lennox.

"Y/N." You hear your name, quickly jumping back from the door and turning to face the voice. "What are you doin' here?"

You chew your cheek, trying to avoid Cole's gaze. "Just waitin' for Lucy Gray." You lie, looking down.

"Ah." He hums, nodding slightly as he steps closer to you. "Where's your purebred Capitol attack dog?"

"What are you doing here, Cole?" You ask, ignoring his question.

"We got leave passes for the weekend." He answers. "Hoff said something about 'boosting morale'."

"That's nice." You smile nervously. "Well, I don't want to keep you, so..."

"You aren't." He smirks, tilting his head as he looks down at you. "I'm not gonna hurt ya, you know that, right?"

"I know." You say softly.

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"Cole..." You sigh, looking down again. "We talked about this I just... We're too different. I'm sorry."

"Oh, because you have so much more in common with that prick- right?" He laughs sarcastically. "He's Capitol! He'll never know you like I do. Honestly, I'm offended that you'd choose him over me."

"I'm not choosing him over you." You frown. "I already knew we wouldn't work before I ever met him. This is very, very different. I'm sorry."

"You are? Oh, I'm glad to hear that." He nods and you eye him suspiciously. "Maybe then after he leaves, you'll give me another chance. He's taking the next train, tomorrow morning, right?"

"I can't do that, Cole." You shake your head.

"That's an awful shame." The evil smile on his face doesn't fade. "I'll have no choice but to report your father."

Your heart drops. "My Pa hasn't done anything."

He sucks in through his teeth. "Well, suspicion is enough to charge, and I don't know... I get a bit of an off feeling from him. It's actually my duty to report any suspicions we have, so honestly I've been protecting you, and I'd like to keep doing that, you know?"

You finally picked up on what he was saying, and immediately could taste the bitterness of fear on your tongue, a metallic tang that seemed to linger in the air.

"So? Do we have a date?"

"Sure." You mutter through gritted teeth.

"Sweet, thanks for finally coming to your senses, bug." Cole smiles, patting your shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon!" He calls back as he walks away.

You don't even care what's going on inside, you can't be alone in this dark hallway anymore.

You pull the door open and rush in, but you're quickly stopped by Coryo's arm as he takes a few steps back, pushing you behind him. "What- what's-"

"She can't be in here!" Spruce spits at Coryo as you look past him, gasping at the sight of several guns on the table and the one in his arms.

"Listen, she's not involved." Sejanus promises.

"Her brother is gonna help us, it's cool. She won't tell." You look at Billy Taupe when he speaks, eyes wide.

"No- this is crazy." Mayfair shakes her head. "She's not coming with us. We're not bringing her or Lucy Gray. I'm leaving."

"No, they aren't coming. I just said I'd ask. Now she knows, so she probably should." Billy Taupe replies and your eyes flick between the couple. You had no idea what was going on, where he wanted you to go, and what this had to do with Sejanus or your brother.

"No! My daddy will have you all strung up for this." She throws her hands up and starts to walk toward the back door. Your heart is pounding in your chest as Coryo reaches for one of the guns.

"Don't!" You cry out, forcing yourself in front of him just as he aims the gun at her. At you.

"Y/N, you gotta move right now." He says quickly, and you hear her footsteps stop behind you.

You can only look at his eyes as they flit between anger, instinct, and fear.

"Coryo." You say, voice cracking and it's only then that you feel the tears dampening your cheeks.

The barrel of the gun is under an inch from your chest, and you can see his hands shaking as he holds the heavy weapon in his hands. He won't shoot you- he won't.

The world around you seems to blur as your focus narrows on the overwhelming sense of fear gripping you tightly. Right now, if someone asked where you were, you wouldn't know. You just as easily could have been standing in the arena. 

He doesn't dare move as he stares at you, eyes wide. He doesn't want to hurt you, but that's why he has to do this. He can't let whoever that girl was have you killed. Still, you stand in front of him. Shaking, but not moving. This was the girl he knew from the games who offered a rose to Coral who in the moments before was threatening her. The girl who so thoroughly hated the idea of bringing harm to others that her own mind blocked it out completely and replaced the story with something else. This was the girl who was willing to give up her life just to be able to give the other tributes an honourable burial that she knew they wouldn't otherwise receive. 

The girl who saw him kill another boy and despite all of that, still had it in her heart to forgive him.

You don't even hear Mayfair laugh and begin to walk away again, you only hear the gunshot that follows. You jump, immediately looking down to assess the damage. Coryo wasn't pointing the gun at you anymore, he had dropped his arms in defeat- and you had mistaken the loud noise for an impact you were expecting.

He didn't shoot you.

"What did you do?" You turn as Billy Taupe screams, eyes widening as you see Mayfair bleeding out on the floor.

"Oh god- oh god..." You mumble, stepping back until you bump into Coryo. He drops the gun back onto the table, pulling you into his arms.

"Don't look, don't look..." He tells you, turning you and pressing your head to his chest so you can't see anymore even if you wanted to.

You can't even make out what Spruce and Billy Taupe are yelling at each other over the sound of your blood pumping through your veins. Until the second gunshot.

You must be sobbing now, clinging onto the front of Coryo's shirt so tight your knuckles are burning. "You're okay, it's okay." He tells you. You don't know what's going on- you don't want to.

Coryo stares between Spruce and the body of Billy Taupe now slumped down next to Mayfair. He needs to get you out of here, now, but he doesn't know how. This has to be handled first.

He's letting you go only to grab your cheeks and get you to look at him. "Go back outside, you have to go back outside, I will handle this."

You can't even speak- can't even move. You try and shake your head. You couldn't leave him, not right now. You feel like you'd die the moment he ceased touching you.

The door slides open again, followed by an angry voice you know too well. "What the fuck?" Cole must have been watching you. He must have heard.

"No..." You cry, shaking your head. If Cole saw this you were absolutely all screwed.

"What the fuck did you do?" Cole shouts again. "Nobody fucking move! You're all-"

Another gunshot. Silence.

"Oh no, no, no..." You try and look behind Coryo but he doesn't let you, holding your head firmly into his chest again.

"It's okay. Don't look." He says again, staring at Sejanus who looks like he's panicking just as much as you are now.

"Why'd you tell them where we were? Now you've gone and screwed us all over! I just shot a peacekeeper!"

"He didn't tell anyone." Coryo defends him. "We followed him, Cole followed us."

"Fuck." Spruce sighs, throwing the gun onto the pile of others still laid across the table. "We gotta bump this up. We have to get Lil now, go tell Lennox to get the stuff and hide it for us like we said."

"Get rid of the guns and pretend this never happened."Coryo hisses. "And leave the kid out of this. It's too late for whatever plan you had now- we don't know where he is."

You can't even hear a single thing going on anymore. You're actually sure you might faint.

When you go from shaking to completely still in Coryo's arms, he knows you have. "Shit..." He mumbles, trying to steady you as your knees give out. He quickly readjusts so he can lift you with an arm under your knees and the other under your back.

"I gotta get her out of here and you have to move quick. Get rid of the guns. Now." He instructs, and surprisingly, Spruce listens. He throws the weapons into a bag and steps over the two bodies by the door before leaving.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this." Sejanus cries, gripping onto his hair and breathing heavily. "No one was supposed to get hurt!"

"Sejanus, for once just shut up!" He grabs his attention from where his friend is staring at the dead couple, clearly losing his mind. Coryo doesn't have time for this- an unconscious girl in his arms and his friend looking like he's about to be in the same state in a matter of moments.

"It's all my fault..."

"All of this is your fault!" Coryo agrees, looking around at the mess of the room. "It's only gonna get worse if you don't pull yourself together."

"Oh, god..."

"If you breathe a word now, all three of us are finished. Just like in the arena. We came here to see her. If we go down, she goes with us." He holds you tighter to his chest as your hair falls over the curve of his arm, your head limp against his skin. "So now we have to go back to the house, gather all our shit, and act like nothing is wrong. We have to board the train tomorrow like nothing is wrong. Do you understand?"

"I- I don't know." Sejanus sniffs.

"Hey." Coryo says, taking a few steps closer. "Look at me. You have to pull it together. I know you wanted to go with them but now they aren't going. We've got to stick together. You won't get in trouble. I won't let anything happen to you, but you have to listen to me." It was obvious that it didn't matter that none of you pulled the trigger- being in the room was enough; especially when a peacekeeper had been murdered. If you were caught, you'd all be executed. "We're brothers, yeah? Brothers. Whatever you've done, I swear I will keep you safe."

"Brothers. Yeah." Sejanus mutters, still obviously in shock.

"Those guns were the only loose ends besides the four of us, so we're gonna be okay as long as we leave tomorrow." He breathes. "Okay? Not a word."

"O-Okay." Sejanus nods slightly, trying to keep his focus on the boy in front of him rather than their unconscious friend in his arms.

Coryo tried to give him a reassuring smile, but inside he was panicking too. They could escape it all on the train tomorrow, but now came the problem of what to do with you.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie ,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[green-alm0nd]

Hey hey! Could you do platonic headcanons with TBB where the reader reveals that she’s pregnant and they’ll be “uncles” after the events of the finale? Keep up the great work <3

[The Bad Batch x fem!reader (Headcanons)]: Platonic uncles

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Summary:

After the events of the finale, you find out you're pregnant and you decide to tell your friends that fought hundreds of battles alongside you.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: none really, just fluff and Crosshair being a bit of an idiot.

Enjoy!

I hope you like it Anon :p!

----

HUNTER:

Already knew because of his enhanced senses.

He could probably feel all the changes your body was going through.

He's really happy to see you happy.

Kinda protective over you throughout the entire 9 months.

Like yeah he knows you can protect yourself since you've fought alongside his brothers but he can't help but become just a tad bit protective.

When the kid grows up, he's probably going to teach them how to hear noises by concentrating (even though it's not as good as his enhanced senses).

One time he lost his vibroblade and found your kid with it.

You almost killed Hunter when that happened.

Overall, he's a good uncle and a very nice friend when he's around the kid.

ECHO:

Actually surprised when you told him you were pregnant.

Like Hunter, he became slightly protective of you.

A bit reluctant when you introduced your significant other.

But if you trust them he trusts them too.

Best. Uncle. Ever.

Lets your kid play with his scomp link.

Echo is the type of uncle to tell your kids his story. From the Domino squad to him joining the Bad Batch to him joining the Rebellion.

Probably plays pirates with your kid because they told Echo he looked like a pirate because of his hand.

Overall: a cool uncle, probably a bit grumpy, but still a cool uncle.

WRECKER:

Super excited to have a mini-you running around Pabu.

When you actually told him he did not understand.

However, after a session of Tech's-info-dump, he got the idea.

I have a headcanon that he is a very nice uncle.

He will hide every single object from war so that the baby doesn't accidentally hurt themselves.

Actually tried to learn how to cook to make your kid Mantell mix. Spoiler: it goes wrong.

Will make shenanigans with your kid.

Overall, Wrecker is probably the most chaotic uncle of the entire galaxy.

TECH:

"Oh. Well, congratulations." Were his only words.

He is probably the least surprised out of the entire Batch.

Reminds you to take care of yourself.

Definitely keeps track of EVERYTHING.

He really cares for your safety and the safety of your kid.

Of course, he'd definitely be a good uncle.

I think Tech would be the uncle that-knows-it-all since he really is a walking Wookiepedia man.

Whenever he is alone with the kid, he will RAMBLE. Even though the kid will not understand, he will ramble until he needs to catch some air.

Overall: Human dictionary uncle (I love him for that)

CROSSHAIR:

Will act pissed, but he's actually proud that you made a life for yourself after everything you went through.

Not surprised at all when you told him. He just shrugged.

And then he joked about it saying that 'If he couldn't handle you, he couldn't handle a mini, more hyperactive version of you'.

He learnt how to sew to fix Wrecker's tooka bear and give it to your kid.

You will find it endearing but he will deny it nonetheless because he does not like people seeing his sweet-side.

He's surprisingly good at calming the kid down for some reason you can't really figure out.

Not really protective because he knows you can take care of yourself. But, that doesn't mean he won't keep an eye on you some days.

When the kid grows up, he will NOT show them his rifles because he knows the risks and he knows that you will probably kill him for showing weapons at a six year-old.

Overall: he's the type of uncle that will disappear for ten months and then come back and act like nothing happened. But he's still a nice uncle.

----

Finals start this week :')

I hope you enjoyed your request anon!

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day seven: edging kink

>>> i can just see kento being such a punishing dom like i can't help it?? i really hope you guys r enjoying so far! this marks the first week of kinktober &lt;3

>>> starring: kento nanami x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: uh edging probably, possessive nanami, jealous nanami, he hates gojo lmao, one pussy slap, creampie, punishment. >>> wc: 2.8k >>> event masterlist

the way other sorcerers talked about nanami pissed him off. they always spoke about how boring and strict he was, so plain and simple. sometimes they even went so far as to question how he even managed to score you in the first place, much less keep you satisfied. how much more could you insult a man? sure, he kept to himself. he enjoyed keeping his private life private, and there was no harm in that. he found little reward in wearing his heart on his sleeve or bearing all that was important to him out in the open, considering that you were probably the only thing in that category anyway. his friends from school should find themselves grateful they even know about you, but to criticize the way he loves you? that’s intolerable. 

if his friends or coworkers asked you about your relationship, you would gush for hours about how attentive he is, list all the ways he spoils you rotten, sing that you’re the luckiest girl in the world. not to mention your sex life, goodness—he was by far the best you’ve ever had. that’s the best part about a boring mask, looks can be oh so deceiving. nanami was insatiable, and he had so many different moods. he was skillful, tender, and loving always, but that comes across differently in missionary than it does with you bent over the kitchen counter, doesn’t it? your body just so happens to be the cure for all his ailments, any concerns or worries that plague him are usually abandoned once he crosses the threshold of his home to see your sweet smiling face happy to see him. 

keyword being usually. today was especially bad. gojo’s insufferable as always, but now he even has yuji questioning him about you. all planned by the special grade sorcerer, no doubt, but still grating on his last nerves, nonetheless. 

“i didn’t know you were dating l/n-sensei!” yuji says, walking alongside his favorite mentor. gojo trailed them, trying to contain his giggles as he watches nanami’s back straighten. 

he sighs, adjusting his glasses up his nose a bit. “yes. she is my partner.” he says, letting his eyes slide to the side to examine itadori’s perplexed expression. 

“but she’s so—” 

“youthful, exuberant, charming and fun?” gojo interrupts as yuji struggles to find the words to explain his sensei-induced-confusion. itadori nods vigorously. 

“yeah! and she just seems like the type to be adventurous! you guys make a funny pair i guess! i always thought l/n and gojo sensei would end up together!” yuji explains with his signature innocence, no idea how biting that sentence felt. meanwhile gojo just watched with a fiendishly satisfied smile, able to recognize the clenching of nanami’s jaw for the jealousy that it was. and yuji kept going. “they just seem so close! they always laugh at each other’s jokes and eat lunch together!” 

kento’s brow drew up to his hairline at that, the infamous swells of envy stabbing deep in his chest. “oh? i had no idea they were such good friends. you know they say opposites attract. i suppose my maturity is what attracts her to me.” 

he doesn’t fool anyone, not even himself. all he can think about is itadori’s words and the smug expression on gojo’s face when he looked at him. and as tender and loving as nanami is, nothing can calm the jealousy running through his veins. as soothing as your presence is, nothing can keep the anger off of his face when he enters his home. 

your grin dissipates at the sight of his stoic irritation, and you wonder what could have happened at work today to garner this level of rage. he watches as you rise from the couch, where you already have your favorite show to watch together queued and waiting for him, no understanding of why he watched you like a predator. your smile is hesitant now, because you can read him so well and can tell he’s pissed. you approach anyway, taking his coat off with a peck to his cheek. 

“rough day, my love?” you frown, hanging his coat on the hook. he debates on what to say in response. is he angry? of course. at you? moderately, but he knows it’s unreasonable. he knows you love him more than breathing, and he trusts you more than anyone on the planet. but, you also know better than anyone how much he disdains satoru gojo. he’s been a pain in his side since he can remember, and you have quite literally always known that. even in school, you would tease him over his annoyance over the sorcerer. it got worse whenever you started working at the school with gojo. nanami was sure the white-haired menace would flirt with you if only to get under his skin—not to mention the possibility of him actually wanting you for himself. but it wasn’t your fault. you couldn’t help the fact that you’re gorgeous and bubbly and wonderful and all those things gojo described you as. you also couldn’t help the fact that the special grade sorcerer was the only person around that could stir up nanami’s feelings of high school envy and inadequacy. 

but you can help him get control back. 

“go get in bed for me, darling.” he replies, the muscles in his jaw ticking with every passing second. he’s staring through you, in a mental place far away from here. you know better than to question that tone, and the heavy set of his brow coupled with the intensity swirling in his woodsy brown eyes has you nodding obediently. you walk towards your room, feeling his angry stare against your back the entire way. you wonder if this has something to do with you, given just how irritable your fiancé seems. still, you can’t deny the flicker of excitement shooting down your spine as you peel your clothes off. you can hear the click of his shoes approaching as you crawl rather provocatively onto the bed. 

“itadori tells me you and gojo-san are so very close.” he says as he leans against the door way. he thinks it’s so cute how you wiggle your ass a bit to try and get out of the trouble you know is coming. gojo is a sensitive subject, and though you can’t see his face, you can tell by the tone of his voice that he is indeed sensitive about it. a slight fear creeps through your veins, but it tickles a dark corner in your brain. 

“he’s mistaken.” you purr back easily, laying flat on your back to look at him. he’s absolutely brooding, those deep set brown eyes boring holes into yours. he’s roughly loosening his tie, a mockingly amused smile tugging at his tightly drawn lips. you look good enough to eat, and he certainly plans on it. your body is such a treat, all spread out with that deer in a headlights look on your face. he can’t wait to show you why gojo could never come close. 

his brows inch upwards as he slips his tie off and starts working on the buttons of his shirt. typically, that would be your job, but this all played into nanami’s game. you’re already sucking in a deep breath at the sight of his toned and tanned physique, his dark blue button-up falling in a pile on the floor. 

“is that so? gojo himself seemed amused by the notion.” he drawls, the smoothness of his deep tone so silken and even you almost forget the storm brewing in his gaze. you watch his deft hands move towards his belt, undoing it easily as he waits for your next rebuttal. 

“we’re coworkers.” you enforce, looking at him with such surprise in your eyes. you knew kento had his issues with gojo, but you never thought he would seriously doubt you. “don’t be ridiculous, darling, please. you know how much i love you.” 

“and you know how much i hate him.” he spits out in reply, dark clouds covering the room. you gulp in an effort to escape some of the tension, your mind caught in between genuine worry and the heat you feel licking up your body at his possessiveness. you’re struck silent by the weight in his voice, the near growl that comes out. he slides his pants and boxers down in the same push, his erection almost as angry as he is. your thighs start rubbing together automatically at the sight of him, he’s perfect. he’s  long and curved, his hair perfectly trimmed to accentuate his pretty length. “yet i’m told you eat lunch together every day.”

there’s that tone again, that gruff snarl at you for playing right into the special grade’s hands—he’s warned you about this, about gojo’s manipulation. you shake your head in an effort of apology as at last, he pulls his glasses off and sets them carefully on the desk slowly to torture you with the sight of his god-like body. 

“more like once a week–kento please, it’s not like that at all! we lesson plan! he’s just trying to get to you.” you assure, biting your lip to keep from pleading for his touch. you’ve been laying here neglected for ten minutes now, but begging could possibly only make it worse. 

“it’s working.” he grumbles, his hateful stare making the desire multiply in your gut. he was always so tender and caring, but you had a feeling he would be anything but tonight. he sits at the edge of the bed and you subconsciously spread even wider for him. he rests his hand on your shin, rubbing rough circles on the flesh. nanami had to remind himself that you were his, and clearly you needed the reminder too. he lays flat on his stomach, aggressively keeping your legs parted. “always laughing together, hm? i hope you find this humorous, then, my love.” 

you go to respond, to try and sing your innocence one last time, but your feisty lover’s wet tongue silences any protests as it glides through your folds to bump up against your nerve bundle. your legs jerk up a bit in surprise, but his harsh grip keeps them from reacting too violently. normally, between your legs is kento’s favorite place to be after a long day, the ambrosia taste of you was the cure to any and everything, even now, he moans out in satisfaction. this time though has a frenzy to it, his tongue flicking over your swelling clit as his fingers dig into the plush beneath him. he knows the grip will bruise, but he couldn’t be bothered to care all that much at the moment. 

your hands fly to his honey locks, the feeling of his teeth grazing your need skillfully had the knot in your stomach coming loose with every passing second. he’s making animalistic noises as he devours you, the air quickly filled with the sounds of your meek pants. it’s so cute how you rut your hips into his face, desperately trying to chase your high. you’ve always been this way, so addicted to the feeling of his mouth on your sex that your body can’t help but beg for more. he can tell by the sounds that you’re making that you’re close, and he can’t help but grin to himself. 

you tug on his hair a bit harder, your other hand fondling your chest. he’s hungry and rough as he nibbles and laps, and you know you won’t make it much longer. that is until he pulls away, looking stern when your eyes fly open to meet his. you’re pouting already, tugging his hair again. “baby, don’t be mean.” 

he chuckles darkly at the whining, shaking his head. he likely won’t respond either, all part of the torture. you frown even deeper if possible, so annoyed with gojo right now that you may quit your job altogether. 

“kento–” you chide, wanting to fight for your right to cum, but he interrupts you with a harsh slap to your cunt. it makes your body jolt forward and a little squeal tears out of your throat, the sweet pain making your mind a little dizzy. he sits up, tapping his length against your clit now. it still makes you jump a little every time, the hazy look in your eyes after just one denial was so sweet it almost had him rethinking the punishment altogether. “i’m sorry, he’s just my friend, i won’t even talk to him any—” 

he stuffs his cock into you all at once, the burn and surprise making you gasp instead of finishing your sentence. his jaw is still hard set as he puts your knees over his shoulders, not caring about the vicious angle he makes while lifting your hips off the bed. he doesn’t want to hear any apologies, he doesn’t want you to make any promises, he just wants you to be so marked up and unable to walk when you see gojo tomorrow that no one ever questions him again. he plants his foot on the bed and starts driving into you, brutal and quick. his need to claim is obvious, he can’t stand that smug look on his fucking face ever, but especially not in regards to his woman. 

you don’t even have the opportunity to scream, his pace so punishing you can’t form a thought to speak out anyway. it hurts so good, how heavy he feels inside you, the sting from him colliding with your cervix over and over until your eyes are scrunched closed in pleasure. your core burns again, your hole flutters around him so prettily he knows he’ll only be able to go through with this from sheer determination alone. he can tell you’re about to come undone again, the little pants coming from your lips and the way you claw at his forearms is all the evidence he needs. he draws out to the tip, stilling and watching with slight amusement as you whine and pout again, moving your hips in an effort to keep him going.

“so mean to me, baby..didn’t even do nothing, please!” you huff, frustrated with his relentless denial. he knows exactly how to drive you crazy, sending you spiraling quickly. perhaps this is what he needed, to control you utterly and completely, to make you plead for him. “please ken, just wanna feel good, just want my man to make me feel good, i’ll be so good for you, i promise, won’t even talk to him no more!” 

he chuckles a bit, thrusting back in to stop your stupid babbling, as cute as it was. and yes, the begging was a slight boost to his ego. besides, you’ve almost learned your lesson, and he’ll need to let you cum for it to really sink in. he fucks you like he hates you again, turning you to your side, folding one leg over the other to make you his own personal pretzel. it lets him hit so deep you’re almost scared your organs will take permanent damage. you can’t hold back your wails, colorful orbs dancing across your vision as you mindlessly scratch at the headboard in front of you. 

“if you want to cum at all, do it now.” he commands, the roughness in his voice may have been enough to bring on an orgasm all by itself, but you have no problem following his orders with the way he pounds you. you nod because it’s all you can bring yourself to do, squeezing down on him and coating him in all the pent up release you’ve been denied. he quietly groans, dick jumping until he covers your insides. 

“oh darling, you can talk to him. in fact, i want you to. tomorrow, i want you to waddle into the teacher’s lounge and answer all of his questions.”

[rub1anauruu]

ins-s-securities.

5 — first and last.

“just stay out of my way,” bakugo reminded for the umpteenth time.

“okay…”

you understood his annoyance perfectly. while the rest of his classmates coped with their tasks without any extra weight, bakugo was forced not only to tolerate your awkward steps next to him, but also to protect you if something happened. it was a mistake to think that you weren’t nervous. the phone, ready to be used at any moment, was clutched in your hand; your thumb soothingly stroked the screen of the gadget.

while you genuinely didn't want to be a burden for bakugo, you kept thinking about the possibilities. maybe some villains would show up, maybe someone here would need help. in those scenarios in your head, bakugo would neutralize the bad guys, you would get the right shots from the right angle, and everyone would be happy. including his friends, who had already managed to express their excitement about the future footage before the patrol began. and managed to tease bakugo. he blew their asses. you split up with them. that was it.

looking around, you took in the deplorable state of this part of the city. while it was slowly and surely continuing to be rebuilt by civilians and necessary quirks of heroes, its outskirts in places still remained seemingly abandoned. it was these areas that became the target of the underground world of villains, places where the shadows of the events of two years ago could crawl.

“sooo... U.A. often sends you to areas like this,” you assumed hesitantly, just to start some kind of conversation between the two of you. the silence was weighing on you, and you felt obligated to be proactive. “yeah. sometimes due to emergencies,” bakugo confirmed without further elaboration, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. you returned the gaze.

pause. and somewhere there you are banging your head against the wall.

“oh! those school armored trucks,” you quickly pointed your thumb behind you, “this is my first t-time riding in one of those.”

“well, enjoy your last ride,” katsuki said slightly grumpily and turned away, adjusting the belt on his winter suit. under the dark fabric, you could clearly see the flex of all his muscles, especially his biceps, which begged the question of how the fuck he got into such perfect shape? bakugo was seriously buffed and you couldn't help but stare at his side. there were no boys like him in your class. and god, it was kind of flattering to be paired with him for your project. it was reasonable after all.

bakugo tsked and asked with an emphasized jerk of his chin at your device: “so what? your shitty camera will be able to perfectly capture my explosions?”

“of course! i made sure i had the r-right settings for filming something that p-powerful,” you stuttered, instantly cringing at how jarring it sounded to your ears. you couldn’t even look at bakugo for fear of seeing discomfort on his face, but all you could hear from him was an amused huff. “yeah. you better do your best. you won’t have any more chances to see something so badass.”

just bakugo bragging. somewhere there you are now breathing a sigh of relief.

the two of you walked around the street assigned to katsuki for another ten minutes - no signs of illegal activity. you managed to take a few shots of the surroundings for documentary purposes, a couple more with a reluctant bakugo, which was surprisingly funny to you and contrasted with the sadness that overwhelmed you from the empty streets. kids' laughter no longer rang out here, in the evenings the bright streetlights no longer illuminated the path for families who went out for a walk...

“nothing will ever be the same again, right?” you asked bitterly, the colorful arcade sign to your left reminding you of the simple happiness and carefree times that were lost during that horrible period. bakugo didn’t miss your mood and rolled his eyes. “no, it will be better,” katsuki assured you and you thought ‘yes, everything has to be better. nothing less than better’. your attention was caught by a plush and strangely clean rabbit lying in your path, the size of a palm, blue as the sky and with a bow of the same color around its neck. probably used to exchange tickets from the arcade machines for it. you couldn’t resist and stopped to pick up the toy, pocketing your phone, until bakugo noticed and did the same with confusion a few steps ahead. “what?”

you curiously turned the rabbit over in your hand and felt the pull string on its back with your fingers, without thinking you wound up the toy, and a hissing melody began to play with barely discernible distorted lyrics of a children's song:

“wind me u-up and watch me go,

spreading joy in every row-w-w,”

nothing seemed suspicious to you. as the song continued, the string gradually shortened. just a cute rabbit with a creepy-sounding song.

“hopping here a-and hopping there,

with lo-o-o-love and laughter—“

“holy shit, drop it!” bakugo's suddenly wary voice cut off the end of the line.

“everywhereee…”

!!/notes from me:

i hope you’ll like the text part. i decided to add some interesting twists hehe. thank you for waiting for this update🩷 a little tmi: i watched venom 3 (COOL!) and haikyuu movie (OMG THEY ARE LIKE A NEW BREATH OF AIR I LOVE THEM SM).

au page.

[taglist mhaw open!]: @snoozebun @missmanda511

[agendabymooner]

stop the world i wanna get off with you ! kimi r. x ofc (coppola!ofc)

“with the exception of you, i dislike everyone in the room.”

summary: vera jones ‘coppa’ coppola-raikkonen happens to be one of the three original it girls of formula one. funnily enough, she’s also the one to give birth to the loudest/messiest versions of the iceman as she continues her journey as a mother and a wife (all while she’s a director of the most iconic movies to have existed).

content warning: fictional raikkonen kids, mentions of breakups, mentions of tilly hearth and trish alonso (ofc) use of explicit language, family banters in social media

note: i know i have the most random selection of drivers on my masterlist but i swear i’m just tryna indulge in my lil bubble of happiness.

masterlist

tagged romaraikkonen, kimimatiasraikkonen

liked by arthurleclerc, olliebearman, charles_leclerc

user1 icegirl on fire as always 🧊🔥

user2 real hot girl shit of you roma 😩

arthurleclerc aroma, you’re supporting the wrong leclerc 😀 liked by veracopparaikko

romaraikkonen i can tell you that my shirts are nothing of an inchident. trust. liked by veracopparaikko

charles_leclerc i cannot believe i am being picked on by my favourite icegirl 😠

romaraikkonen hardly picking on you when i got ur name and face on my shirts??? smh i didn’t ask mum to get them for me to get called a h8r

rooraikkonen cool story maniac, can you run over jolauriraikkonen next?

romaraikkonen i’ll start with you first then i go target johann next, yes?

jolauriraikkonen what did i do??? i didn’t leave your pc plugged in, akka rooraikkonen witch

veracopparaikko kimimatiasraikkonen your kids are at it again, kimi.

kimimatiasraikkonen not my problem

veracopparaikko 😠

jolauriraikkonen it’s okie mum i’ll make sure dad sleeps on the couch tonight 😉

jolauriraikkonen dad did say 3 sprint races win = i get to go to the next three races too 😍 thank you for the team effort romaraikkonen liked by veracopparaikko

romaraikkonen omagaaaaa these are officially the worst races ever

ferraridriveracademy how are we going to put you two together in one room then?

romaraikkonen don’t.

jolauriraikkonen i’m gonna sob, this is a w for me

romaraikkonen what are you even doing up??? aren’t u like 14?

veracopparaikko question is: why are you even on your instagram? 🤨

jolauriraikkonen oh so when dad does it, it’s okay? he has to get up early too you know???

kimimatiasraikkonen please don’t involve me in this

user3 we love an unproblematic king 😭😭

user4 why are these kids so funny 🥲

kimimatiasraikkonen so proud of my girl 🧊❤️ liked by veracopparaikko

romaraikkonen like father like daughter 😉❤️🤝

tagged rooraikkonen, kimimatiasraikkonen

liked by landonorris, tillywolff, valterribottas

jolauriraikkonen 1/10. she looked more like the bottom of beetlejuice’s foot than the lady herself.

user1 naw johann-lauri got kimi’s humour for sure

rooraikkonen i’m gonna crash to your kart next time and you’re going to be crying to dad and dad will literally just laugh at you

kimimatiasraikkonen no, i won’t.

user2 LMFAO KIMI PLEASE

jolauriraikkonen hahahahahahaha cry

kimimatiasraikkonen second time this day, johann. next time i’m taking the switch. liked by veracopparaikko

user3 ruh-roh raikkonen is at it

jolauriraikkonen my bad g 🤝

kimimatiasraikkonen all good g 🤝

user4 a proof that johann is kimi-coded ^^

rooraikkonen thank you sooooo much mummy !!! i thought i was going to cry for a minute then i realized how much of a baddie my mummy-producer-writer-director is 😭😩 liked by veracopparaikko

veracopparaikko you fluster me, rooney tunes! ❤️

kimimatiasraikkonen your performance is very good, rooroo! henrik and betty were excited to see you on stage 😍 liked by veracopparaikko

rooraikkonen dad, betty-elina can barely hear from that headphones we got her.

rooraikkonen though i could hear henrik’s screaming during the intermission. 😂

rooraikkonen thank you daddy !! i’m glad i’m making the iceman proud 🧊💕 liked by veracopparaikko

tagged kimimatiasraikkonen, jolaurisraikkonen

liked by arthurleclerc, olliebearman, fernandoalo_oficial

jolauriraikkonen y’all cannot one up my mother because her resume is long as heck. she’s: mother, director, writer, actor, producer, photographer 😎 liked by veracopparaikko

jolauriraikkonen look at me and the boys though 😎

user1 you’re the coolest brother ever

rooraikkonen bc he’s the only brother henrik got 😂😂😂

user2 iceman and his iceboys and his ice cream

user3 too cold in here lads 🥶

romaraikkonen look at my cool lil man and dad 😍 oh and johann liked by veracopparaikko

jolauriraikkonen count ur days bestie

user4 where did the american-italian look go, vera?? 😭

rooraikkonen speaking on behalf of mum. the coppola genes had gone away as soon as romania came out, but uncle nicolas cage definitely did not leave

user4 subtle flex but okay pop off bestie 🔥

kimimatiasraikkonen such handsome boys liked by veracopparaikko

veracopparaikko i agree

romaraikkonen so do i

rooraikkonen me too

jolauriraikkonen i agree too

[giggly-squiggily]

Hiiii! I hope you're doing well. This is my first time requesting so I'm a lil scared. I request Lee Megumi and Ler Itadori. Megumi was looking a little down and our precious pink head wanted to cheer him up.

*dances after reading this prompt cause it's utterly perfect* YES! Good gracious how I love some Lee!Megumi! He's my favorite JJK character! :D I've gotcha covered, anon! Some Ler!Yuji coming your way!

CW: Swearing

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @gladdygirl18 @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @rachi-roo @mystwrites @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart @riisada @sp1racle @happy-trenchcoated-impala @r-ine_lovesu

Yuji walked right past his room, only to stop- backtrack, and stare at him. Eyes wide and brows quirked, he took in the slump in his shoulders, the frown on his lips, the redness lining his wet lashes. “‘Gumi?”

No response. The other boy merely looked at him. It was enough for Yuji to come in fully, shut the door behind him and crawl into bed. “What’s going on, Gumi? Talk to me.”

“...” Megumi looked like he wanted to, but the words weren’t coming. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, averting his gaze before finally settling on: “I’m just not okay right now.”

Yuji’s brow furrowed even more, then he quickly gathered up Megumi in his arms, pressing Megumi’s face into his chest and squeezing him gently. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay now.”

Muffled sounds came, but Yuji just petted his head. “Shhhh. I got you. I got you.”

“Yuji- too tight!” Megumi gasped out. The pink haired boy yelped and released him some, giving him the room to lean back and breath. “Gah! Ugh..I thought I was gonna die!”

“Pfft- like I’d ever let that happen!” Yuji snickered. “At least you’d die smelling something nice, right?”

Megumi stared at him. Yuji blinked, then he reached out and sniffed down his shirt. “Oo! Yeah- no. Definitely need to shower.”

Megumi made a small noise, biting his twitching lips. Yuji saw an opportunity and ran with it.

“Oh, so you agree?” Yuji pretended to grow upset, the hands around Megumi curling into claws. “You think I stink like the bathroom after Tempura Tuesday. You think I smell god awful like that one perfume Nobara bought, don’t ya?”

“Y-Yuji!” Megumi shivered when those claws began to move, twitching along the backs of his ribs as he squirmed. “K-Knock it off! I d-didn’t say an-ny of thahaht!”

“You were thinking about it!” Yuji pointed out, unable to keep his facade as he watched Megumi start to giggle. “I could see it in your eyes! You can’t tell me any lies!”

“Gaha! Geahahhahaha, Yuhuhuhuji! Cohohome on, dohohohon’t!” Megumi reached up to shove him away, but his push had no strength. Whether it was from his earlier misery or Yuji’s otherworldly muscle, he didn’t know. What he did know however was Yuji had him trapped. “Gehehhehet ohohohoff!”

“No way! This is the first time I’ve seen you smile all day!” Yuji rolled them over so he was on top, putting his weight to use as he danced his fingers up and down the brunette’s sides. “I’m not stopping until I’m sure that smile of yours stays on!”

“Ahh! Aheahhahahahhaa shihhihihi-” Megumi thrashed more at the pressure Yuji was putting on him- the fact he was properly stuck worsened the ticklish feeling. He flailed his hands about trying to grab anything on the other boy- his hair, his hoodie- even a tickle spot. Alas, his efforts were for none. “Yuhuhuhuhuji yohohohou soohohohn of a bihihihihihitch!”

“Ooo, Gumi said a bad word! Gumi said a bad word!” The pink haired teen cackled in delight. He dragged his fingers up to Megumi’s armpits, all but squealing in glee when the other boy slammed his arms down with a shout. “Bad spot? I thought mine were terrible! Hehehehe!”

“YUHUHUJI!” Megumi barked out a laugh, grabbing at his shoulders and digging his fingers in. It did nothing to stop him, but Yuji did take the hint with a wince. His hands moved back down to his waist, a bad spot but not nearly as ticklish. “Aheahhahahaha, shihihihihit! Yohoohhoohu gohohohohoohd?”

“Yeah, nothing too bad. Nobara bit me once when I tickled her.” Yuji snickered at the giggly snorts and wheezes Megumi let out. “I think I still have the teeth marks! She’s like a cat when you get her. You however- you’re more like a dog!”

“Oohohohoh woohohohohow! Hohohow orihihihginal-AH FUHUUHUHUHUCK!” Megumi practically shrieked when his hips were squeezed, another spot proven to be rather deadly. Yuji gleamed like the morning sun. “NOHOHOHOO DOHOHOHOOHOHN’T!”

“Awww, does it tickle, Gumi? Huh? Does it?” Yuji cooed at him, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together as he carried on digging his thumbs in. “Is the sad whittle Gum-Gum finally starting to feel better-”

Given past experiences tickling his friends, you’d think Yuji would have learned by now how things usually end.

A press into a particular sensitive bundle of nerves. A lurch. Seconds later- Yuji was seeing stars, Megumi’s face colliding into his own. He flopped over and off the shadow teen with a low groan, rubbing at his face. “Oww..”

“Ugh, damn..” Megumi groaned as he did the same, eyes wet with new tears from the pain. “Sorry. How’s your head?”

“No complaints.” Yuji responded automatically. He froze, as did Megumi.

Then…

“Pfft- gehahahhahahahaha!” Megumi cackled, wincing some with one hand still on his forehead. “Gohoohohd, that was stuhuhuhpid!”

Yuji was laughing just as hard, his headache residing as he watched Megumi choke on his mirth. “It’s your fault for showing me that movie! Seriously though- are you okay? I know I have a thick skull.”

“Heh, yeah- I’ll live.” Megumi adjusted in bed, turning onto his side so he could face him. “Erm…sorry, about your head. And erm…thanks.”

“Oh?” Yuji asked, grinning at Megumi’s blush.

“Shut up. I’m trying to have feelings. Gross.” The brunette scrunched up his nose before looking at him again. “Seriously. Today was…I don’t know. I just woke up depressed and stayed that way. I didn’t know it at the time, but I really needed a friend. So…thanks.”

Yuji’s teasing grin faded into a look of genuine awe. He started to smile too, if not a little wobbly. “Heh…yeah, well that's what friends are for. If you’re sad, I want to fix it.” He reached out, lightly shoving Megumi’s shoulder. “Though I’m still kinda mad you think I smell!”

“You’re the one comparing yourself to a toilet.” Megumi reminded, leaning in and taking a small sniff. “Now that you say it though…I can smell it now.”

“Oh you son of a- Get over here!” Yuji threw himself onto a grinning Megumi, going for his hips once more. Just as he got it going, the door flew open.

“What the hell is going on-” Nobara yelled out, pausing seeing the antics before her. “Oh, it’s tickle Megumi time?”

“No! No, it’s nohohohot! Noba-RAHHH!” Megumi shrieked as she threw herself into the fray, joining in with a sinister giggle. Soon the room was filled with laughter once more- a mix of all three of them.

Just outside the door, Gojo watched on with a soft expression. Nodding, he turned and left, the sound of his students lightening his steps.

Thanks for reading!

[yelenasdiary]

Hello 👋

I saw your requests say open, but I know you're struggling with motivation to get content out so no worries if you cannot or don't want to fulfill this but I'm having a surgery soon so I'm requesting from some of my friends/fav writers hoping it helps me out in recovery.

Anyway sorry for the rambling lol, here's my idea. I was thinking like something with BuckyNat and R where Reader has to undergo surgery for something (maybe an old injury became too bad to deal with or maybe something happened on a mission that needs attention) and they're super nervous about it and hesitant to agree so Nat and Bucky sit down with them and just offer lots or love and support (even though they're both nervous too cuz that's their girl) so when Rs getting the surgery they're a bit of a mess until they know she's alright and then they help her settle into their room and help care for her as she starts to mend.

If you decide to write it I thank you lots in advance ☺️

Drabble || It's All Gonna Be Okay

Pairing: BuckyNat x Reader

Summary: When a mission goes wrong, you're told you need realignment osteotomy surgery, the idea of it makes you worried and full of nerves in which your partners help you overcome.

Tiny Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Medical talk, she/her pronouns used (I hope that's okay!!), This is not corrected or proof read. | 0.6K

Translations: detka (baby),

AC: I hope your op goes well!! I also hope this helps, sorry I made it a Drabble, I wanted to get this posted asap for you x

Bucky smiled softly at you, "what's on your mind doll?" he asked seeing your mind was a million miles away. Natasha sitting on the right side of your hospital bed, she looked up at the two of you.

"The thought of being put to sleep and some stranger playing around inside my body and touching my bones is freaking me out" you replied honestly. Bucky let out a soft chuckle, "doll, they are professionals" he reminded you.

"Yeah, they're not even thinking about how weird it is that they're touching somebodies bones" Nat pitched in. Sure, they had a point the thought of it was still uncomfortable. "Okay but what if something goes wrong?" you questioned. Nat placed her hand on top of yours, "detka, I promise you nothing is going to happen"

"That's right doll, nothing is going happen to my darling. You'll be in and out in no time and Nat and I will be waiting by your side" Bucky added. You looked over to him on your left side, "do you promise?" you asked.

"Have I ever broken a promise to you before?" he questioned with a soft smile. The support from the two of them did help ease some of your nerves and finally you agreed with your surgeon that you'd have the surgery on the condition that both Nat and Bucky were able to watch from the viewing room. At first your surgeon wasn't onboard with the idea but with a little sweet talking from Bucky and the two of them were sat in the view room watching the surgery unfold from above.

"She'll be okay" Natasha places her hand on Bucky's knee when she noticed the worrying look in his eyes. "I know but still, that's our girl down there, I can't help but worry" he replied. Nat rested her head on Bucky's right shoulder, "I know love, I'm worried too" she admitted.

They watched for what felt like forever until the operation was a success and you were returned to your room when both Nat and Bucky waited patiently for you to wake up, both of them holding your hand. When your eyes finally fluttered open, smiles filled the room. Bucky was relieved and Nat was just happy to see your beautiful eyes once more.

"How are you feeling detka?" Natasha asked, placing a kiss on your temple. "Tired" you replied, struggling to keep your eyes open, the last of the anaesthesia winning the battle making your partners lightly chuckle.

"I'll go get us some dinner, what do you want?" Nat asked Bucky knowing full well he wasn't going to leave your side for a second. "Burgers?" he replied, looking up at Nat as she placed a hand on his left shoulder, "you've got it soldier" Nat said, placing a kiss on his cheek.

----

A few weeks after your operation you started PT. Natasha made her it mission to make sure you had the best physiotherapist in the county, although you told Natasha it wasn't necessary but Bucky was on team Nat and you lost that battle.

Bucky basically waited on you hand and foot, he just wanted to make sure you were okay and in no pain. Night was one your favourite time of day because Natasha would somehow have dinner ready, by somehow you mean you were sure that Wanda cooked and Nat took the credit but you thought it was sweet she wanted to do something nice each night and let it slide.

After dinner, the three of you would snuggle up in bed, carefully of your knee of course but with the two people you love the most beside you, the pain from your knee was the least of your worries.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Fever and Fainting

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 1.6K

Summary: being sick sucked a little less with your girlfriends.

TW: vomiting, fainting (i guess?), like one swear word

A/N this is my first fic so it might kinda suck sorry

You had spent the last five days looking after your old neighbours kid who was sick, so it was no surprise to you when you woke up feeling like your head was packed with sand. The headache you could deal with but the pit of nausea that seemed to only get worse had you throwing back the sheets and sprinting to the ensuite in a heartbeat. As your dinner from the night before made a reappearance you thanked whatever gods were out there Nat and Wanda had training early this morning and weren’t there to watch. As much as you loved them you had never once been sick whilst together. Sure Wanda had the flu a couple months back and Nat had been great but this was different. This wasn’t the flu, and frankly you didn’t know what it was yet. You flushed the toilet and wiped your mouth, wanting nothing more than to climb back into bed. Fixing your hair in the mirror you saw how pale you looked. Ghostly. Changing into Nat’s fluffy long pants and Wandas sweatshirt, and throwing on some makeup you walked down to the kitchen. Pulling your hands into the sleeves as a chill ran up your spine. Clint was sat in the kitchen as Wanda made breakfast Nat hovering nearby and stealing bacon.

The sound of your girls laughing made it an easy decision. You weren’t going to tell them. They looked so happy and they had just come back from a week long mission in Moscow and needed some time to relax. You’d taken a swig of anti-nausea meds that had tasted like dirt so you thought everything would be fine. Clearing your throat, the girls looked up. It had been a bad idea. Now along with the headache your throat hurt too. Smiling you gave them a hug dodging their kisses to your cheek, you missed they looks of surprise. You never avoided kisses. Once you sat down at the table your body seemed to suddenly gain mass. Your limbs now felt like dead weights and it was somehow getting colder. Suppressing a shiver, Wanda came over with a plate of bacon and toast, knowing your dislike for eggs. But after only a couple bites you went back into the kitchen to “get more”, but really you simply put back what you didn’t eat and left.

Wanda frowned at the slightly larger pile of food in the kitchen, her and Nat knew you were acting odd, but lying to them and not eating wasn’t something you did.

Your legs screamed at you as you walked back to the lift. When your eyes landed on your bed your legs seemed to not take no for an answer. Eyes rolling back in your head you didn’t hear the door open.

Walking into their shared room to find you halfway to the floor wasn’t something Nat had ever planned on. “Y/N!” She yelled, reaching you a second too late and having to watch you head connect with the floor. Nat rushed over pulling your unconscious body into her arms.

“Friday, alert Wanda that i need her now.”

“Right away Ms. Roman-off”

A second later Wanda appeared in the doorway.

“Nat you needed m- OMG what happened.” Wanda raced to Nat’s side who now had you clutched tightly to her.

“Im not sure she just passed out, I only got here in time to see her hit her head when she fell” Wanda tapped you cheek lightly in an attempt to brig you around.

“Y/n/n. Wake up sweetheart. Come on”

A muffled sound pulled you out of wherever you were. But as it came clearer so did the pain in your head which had increased ten fold. Groaning you made out the voice to be Wandas.

“Baby, are you ok” Wanda laid a hand on your cheek, only to sharply pull it back a moment later.

“Shit Nat she’s burning up.”

A moment later another hand placed on your cheek. Leaning into the cold touch you moaned slightly at the feeling. Too tired and sick to be embarrassed. Suddenly your eye flew open and you frantically tried to extract yourself from the assassins arms. Wandas eye went wide at your loud thoughts, quickly passing you a bin as what little breakfast you had tumbled into it. Nat’s hands drew back your hair as Wanda shushed you and traced patterns on your back. Tears slipped down you cheeks, you hated being sick. When you were done your head lolled, the girls quick to pull you back before you ended up in your own sick.

“Sweetheart can you hear me?” Wanda asked, you groaned in response, both girls too concerned to laugh, they exchanged looks of worry.

“I’ll take that as a yes” Nat smiled softly.

“Can you stand up baby we need to get your fever down.”

“Based off the pink medicine in the bin I’d say you knew you were sick already, didn’t you” Nat poked.

Wanda glared at her for a moment mouthing “not now” to her. You turned your face into Nat’s shoulder as she picked you up. Wanda already in the next room drawing a tepid bath. You were too tired to process what was happening and too sick to care, as they peeled off your clothes. Damp with your sweat. You half stood half leaned on the counter shaking violently as the girls watched the bath water fill up the tub. When Nat lowered you into the water, which felt freezing against you skin, you almost cried. Clinging to her they shushed you. Together they washed your skin free of the sweat, before wrapping you in a soft fluffy towel and dressing you in Nat and Wanda’s spare Pjs.

Nat carried you back to the bed as Wanda went off in search of a bucket.

“M’ s’rry” you mumbled, feeling slightly more lucid after the bath.

“Oh sweetheart” Wanda said walking back in. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“You cant help being sick” Nat agreed. The two girls joining you on the bed. Nat ran her hands through your hair whilst Wanda traced shapes on your leg. Slowly you drifted off to sleep.

Only to be awoken a couple hours later in violent need of the bucket Wanda had set down by the bed. Crawling over the top of your girls legs, you hung off the edge of the bed as you threw up again into the bucket. Waking both girls up in the process. You found your hair being pulled back again. Nothing came up but bile, your stomach having rejected all food earlier. More tears fell as you finished, strong hands pulling you back up onto the bed. You sniffled snuggling into their embrace as they whispered sweet nothings in you ear.

“Oh sweet girl. Do you feel better now?” Wanda asked, sighing in relief at you little nod.

“Not going to go again?” Nat asked, sweeping you hair back from your eyes. You shook you head slightly as more tears fell. With the pad of her thumb Wanda brushed them away, as Nat peppered your cheek with kisses.

As you fell asleep again, the two girls shared a look. Normally you were never so quiet and needy, but then again they had never seen you sick before. Pulling you closer to them they spoke in hushed tones. Agreeing if you didn’t get better soon, especially after giving you meds they would take you to Bruce. It seemed you fever had broke but the vomiting hadn’t stopped. Each time they fed you food, soup or other light things it simply came back up around a half hour later. After almost two days Nat and Wanda carried you to Bruce’s lab. Your half asleep form clutched to Wanda’s chest, as you watched through half lidded eyes.

After running some tests Bruce confirmed a bad case of the stomach flu. Giving the girls some stronger meds and a sick bag for the trip back to your room. He gave you some meds and small nibble of food. As the meds were ones you couldn’t take on an empty stomach. You made it all the way to the lift before your eyes snapped open and you threw up on Wanda and yourself. Bursting into tears, Nat and Wanda shared a surprised look before reassuring you and telling you it was alright.

“Its ok sweet girl i know you didn’t mean to.” Wanda cooed brushed back your hair.

“Come on we’ll go back and you can both shower.” Nat smiled pulling Wanda and you down the hall.

After a shower the three of you were back in bed. The two girls verbally wrestling with you and begging you to have more to eat.

“Come on baby we’ll even let you choose the movie.” Wandas hands held the awful syrup you’d come to despise. Sighing deeply you opened your mouth allowing them to give you the medicine. After twenty minutes, the girls watched you sleep ready to give you a sick bag, not wanting a repeat of the lift situation. Chicago PD playing on the tv in the background. When a half hour passed and so did an hour they relaxed some. Keeping the sick bag by the bed if you needed it later. Snuggling up to you they held you close as you all fell asleep. That night you only woke up twice to be sick, both times your girls held you and comforted you until you were asleep again.

Over the next few days you slowly came good again. Back to your usual self, life in the compound returned to normal. Or as normal as it can be for a witch, an assassin and their girlfriend.

Master list

[melonsodypop]

*the anon who asked about kinks / cries happily in the corner* that was deliciously beautiful, thank you so much! ❤ Actually, if that's okay, maybe... yakuza men and... breeding kink? Tysm <3

EEEEEEEEE ANON YOU'RE WELCOME AND I'M SO HAPPY U ENJOYED IT!! as for ur request ... u r once again speaking my language >:)

yakuza men with breeding kinks !

ꕥ pairing -  kazuma kiryu, goro majima, taiga saejima, shun akiyama, y0!akira nishikiyama, daigo dojima, ryuji goda/afab!reader (all seperate)

ꕥ  tags -  nsfw, minors dni, bullet list headcanons, fem!gendered term used (mother/mama), br33ding/impregnation kink, penetrative s3x, unprotected s3x, multiple rounds/marathon s3x, dirty talk, creampie, mating press, aftercare, petnames (babe, slight angst/vague spoilers (majima), reader wears a skirt (daigo), degradation/rough s3x (ryuji)

ꕥ  a/n - i just realized that its a shame i can't write for ichiban yet (or any other chara from 6 onwards)!! i'm still in the process of playing 5 - i'll try to get to his games soon for all my ichiban likers out there <3 also i probably went a liiitle overboard w some of these,,

ꕥ kazuma kiryu 🐉

honestly, the thought of fathering his own children really never crossed his mind

between haruka, his kids at the orphanage and everything that seems to happen to him all the time, impregnating anybody is just not something he ever pictured himself doing

that is, until he started dating you

seeing how gentle you are with the morning glory kids, how supportive you are of haruka, the way your eyes light up and coo when you guys pass a baby on the streets - it makes kiryu's gut stir in a way that he's totally unfamiliar with

he's able to tamper down the thoughts for a while, but one day after he saw you cradling some random friend's baby in your arms, he just breaks

the second he gets you home he's on you, hardly making it past the entryway before he's needily kissing you up against the wall

usually he's so gentle with you, afraid of hurting you with his immeasurable strength - but right now, he's hungrily grabbing at you, his brow furrowed with the effort of holding back

kiryu can be a little hesitant about asking for what he wants in bed, but when you ask what in the world has gotten into him he looks into your eyes with such an intense fire behind his gaze that it leaves you breathless

"you look so good with a baby in your arms..."

ah, there it is. you've gotten good at picking up what he's feeling without him verbalizing much, so you don't need him to say anything else

he knows that he's absolutely ready to make you the mother of his kids, but he patiently waits until you explicitly tell him that you want him to impregnate you

it's at that moment that he's reaching behind your thighs to lift you up, a low groan leaving him as he rushes you to a bed

kisses and nips at your neck the entire way over, the shape of his arousal already becoming obvious in his grey slacks

his calloused palms knead at your tits, his jaw tightening as he imagines them swollen and dripping with milk - he didn’t even KNOW he could have thoughts like these

folds you in the tightest mating press, your legs slung over his broad shoulders and his forehead pressed into the pillow next to your own head

starts gentle but eventually loses himself at the thought of you round with a kid, his kid, rutting into you like a beast the more you beg and plead for him to fill you up

you swear he's trying to mold your insides to the shape of his cock with how firmly he's pressing down into you, his thick thighs flexing with every thrust he delivers

he thought he was gonna be able to stop after one round, but the way you keened when you felt him shoot ropes of his seed into your womb and the way it started to ooze out of you in globs when he pulls out... yeah, that's not happening

holds you so tightly in his arms once you're both finally satisfied that he's impregnated you, kissing your forehead and whispering sweet nothings to you and feeling a little bad about how rough he was

"you did so good - you're gonna be such a good mother. i promise i'm going to do everything i can to provide for us"

ꕥ goro majima 🐍

pregnancy is... kind of a sensitive topic for him

your entire relationship, he's faithfully used condoms whenever you've had sex - even going so far as sending poor nishida to the convenience store to fetch him more if he runs out mid-lovemaking session

it'll take him a long time to admit it to you, but he's terrified of messing his kid up with his own issues or the commitment of being a present father on top of the things that have happened to him in the past

so it'd take you being his lover for a long time and a lot of serious conversations before he's willing to even breach the mere possibility of getting you pregnant

but when you finally agree to it, the moment he sinks into you raw from behind for the first time, feeling the warmth of your walls hugging his cock and your slick dripping down the length of it and down to his balls without that thin latex barrier... yeah, he's gone

he has to grit his teeth, his good eye screwing shut as he tries not to cum on the spot

which only gets worse when you start moaning and whining for him to start moving

"christ, babe - i'm trying not ta bust immediately, and those pretty noises yer making aren't helpin' a damn bit"

finally calms himself down enough to move, languidly rolling his hips and letting out ragged pants as he savors the feeling of your slick walls wrapped around him trying to milk him dry

with every thrust of his cock deep into you and every pretty whimper you let out, the image of his seed spilling out of you starts to rile him up even worse, his pace becoming hurried and rough

wraps your arms around your waist and leans down so his front is pressed to your back, nuzzling his nose into your neck as he starts to fuck you in earnest

loves the way you twitch and squirm in his grasp, feeling every ridge and vein of his length rubbing against your walls in a way you've never been able to feel before

peppers your neck and cheek with kisses when you plead for him to cum inside - "gonna fill ya up, mama, promise - breed ya 'til ya can't take anymore, gonna fill ya with my kids jus' like ya wanted"

reaches around your bodies to rub at your swollen clit, distantly remembering some dirty magazine that told him that pregnancies are more likely if both parties cum

talks you both through your climaxes until he can't hold on anymore, his entire body shuddering with the hardest orgasm he thinks he's ever experienced, his cock throbbing and pumping a thick load of his cum into your belly

as soon as post-nut clarity sets in, majima has one thought and that it's that he's never fucking you with a condom again if he can help it

in fact, he's just going to have to do it a few more times that night -just to make sure his seed really takes, y'know?

ꕥ taiga saejima 🐅

saejima grew up expecting to be a father, back in the days when he thought he was going to be an elementary school teacher - but after joining the yakuza, he let go of any expectation of being able to have a normal family

he never really breaches the subject of having kids with you, assuming there was an unspoken mutual agreement that you both just had too much going on to think about children

despite this, you can't help but notice how soft the big lug gets around children - his eyes soften at the sight of children walking hand-in-hand with their parents, the way he crouches down to talk softly to crying lost kids on the street, how gently he holds babies when they're handed to him

soon enough, your brain starts to form images of him being the father to your own kids, the thought of him putting a baby in your belly the only thing you can think about

he's laying you down on a bed to fuck you one day, and he feels his gut lurch when you reach down between you to tug the condom on his cock off and press the tip against your entrance

his eyes widen when you shyly ask him if he'd want to have kids with you, the blush on your cheeks and the feeling of his raw tip pressing into your slick folds making his length twitch and his head light

holds your face in his hands as he starts to process what you just said to him, almost wondering if he needs to get his ears checked - "yer serious? ya want my kids? yer not fuckin' with me, are ya?"

you start to backpedal, telling him that you definitely want kids, but you didn't want to pressure him into anything he wasn't ready for

that is, until you feel his large hands grip the back of your thighs and fold you in half, exposing your slick pussy to his eyes

he looks absolutely feral, his breaths shaky, brow furrowed, his pupils blown wide as he tries not to lose it right then and there

"say it again. say you want me to breed this greedy pussy 'til it's pregnant"

as soon as you say yes, he buries himself in your pussy in one thrust, drawing out a pitchy whine from you as you feel his absurdly large dick all the way in your lungs, his tip kissing your cervix

keeps you pinned in a mating press as he brutally fucks you over and over again, his animalistic grunts and groans mixing with the sound of his balls heavy with seed slap against your ass

barely pauses after his first orgasm, his hips stuttering as he shoots rope after rope of his thick cum into your waiting womb with a throaty growl, before he's stirring his hips again

he can't stop himself, his brain muddled with the need to breed and see your tits swell with milk and your stomach grow taut and round

luckily, you're just as willing as he is, prettily pleading for him not to stop and keep feeding your greedy pussy his seed - and he happily obliges, fucking you again and again until you've milked every drop he has to give

you won't be able to walk the next day, or honestly a few days after that - but saejima carries you everywhere around your apartment, taking care of every one of your needs with an affectionate gleam in his eyes and his large hand protectively caressing your belly

mutters "gonna look so beautiful with a kid in ya, sweetheart" as he kisses the top of your head, a stark contrast to how brutally he railed you the night before

ꕥ shun akiyama 💵

yet another dude who never really expected to be a father, nor really thought that he wanted to be

it's not that he doesn't love you, and he's surely financially stable enough to support a kid or two - but man, he can barely take care of himself without being hounded to by somebody else, how could he ever hope to be responsible for raising a whole other human?

between his ex-fiancée dumping him and being homeless for as long as he was, any inkling he ever had of starting a family has just been kinda. erased

he uses protection pretty much any time the two of you have sex, and even when he's run out of condoms and you're both too desperate to pause and run to the nearest convenience store, his pullout game is immaculate, opting to just paint your stomach or ass with his cum

ever perceptive, he can't help but notice the slight disappointment on your face every time he pulls out - and as someone who loves to tease you and find new ways to rile you up, a devious little idea forms in his head for the next time he takes you to bed

he's thrusting up into you while you're in his lap, waiting for the perfect moment between your needy mewls and airy moans to strike

he leans into your ear and whispers lowly, "squeezin' on me so tightly, sweetheart - m'gonna have no choice fill you up if you keep clenching like that"

the rush of satisfaction he gets when he feels your walls tighten around his length and your eyes widen... oh god, he wishes he could do that for the first time over and over again

there's no actual risk of a pregnancy right now, a condom wrapped firmly around his length - but just his words are enough to make your face flush red and whine in embarrassment

he laughs as he cradles the back of your head, his suspicions confirmed - "so you do have a little breeding kink, huh? how cute"

he continues to weaponize it every time he fucks you, taunting you with promises of cumming inside and calling you 'mama' and reveling in the way it makes you whimper and whine

he notices that your whines and pleads for him to fill you up are starting to make him throb too, but he ignores it, the dirty talk only play when he has a condom on

that is, until he runs out of them one day, about to bury himself into you when he hurriedly opens the box and finds it empty, both of you too riled up to stop and go buy more

he thinks he'll be okay fucking you raw, telling himself he'll just pull out like he always does - until he hears your mewls, breathily asking him to fill you up with his seed

between the tears pooling in your eyes, the throb of his cock in response to it, and your pretty begs... ah, fuck it, akiyama thinks as he starts to pump his hips a little faster.

so what if he knocks you up? it's not like he doesn't have the money to give both you and his kid whatever you would want, anyways

plus, it's worth it just to see the blissed-out look on his lover's face after you orgasm together, finally satisfied with the feeling of his warm cum dripping out of your pussy

ꕥ akira nishikiyama 🎏

nishiki's solid in the fact that he's too young to be a dad, wanting to enjoy the freedom of being in his early 20s for a lot longer before he even thinks about fathering any kids

he thinks he much prefers his cum painted somewhere else on your body, marking you as his

but, alas, nishiki is young and dumb and a risktaker, so sometimes he's too worked up to go scramble for a condom before he fucks you and just takes you raw

he's good at pulling out, usually, but god, sometimes your slick pussy just clenches around him so deliciously that the primal part of his brain just wants to spill inside of you

the mere threads of his restraint snap, however, as soon as you respond to his question of where you want his cum with "inside, please"

did he hear you right? inside? god, you had never asked that before, and his hips stutter as his entire body reacts to your mewled plea like your pussy's electrocuting him

"baby, we can't-" he cuts himself off with a gasped moan, the way his cock throbs inside of you and his mind forcing images of your pussy leaking his cum into the edges of his vision testing his shaky resolve

buries his face in your shoulder as his balls draw up, the desire to cum bubbling up in his gut and his abs flexing with the effort of holding himself back

and yet, the images don't stop - your belly growing round, tits swelling with milk, everyone knowing it was him - only him that did that to you

every new thought stokes the possessive fire in him, his bottom lip trembling as he fights himself

what finally does him in is you looking over your shoulder, meeting his wet eyes with your own, pouting so cutely that nishiki thinks he could cry

"nishiki, why'd you stop?" you whimper, your voice so breathy and thick with need that all logic gets thrown out of his head

far be it from nishiki not to give you anything you want - if you want his cum in you, marking your pussy as his and his only, he's more than happy to oblige

you gasp as he starts to thrust into you again, a little faster and harder than he did before, a frustrated growl coming up from his throat as he starts to rub harsh circles onto your clit

"i'll fill you up, babe - gonna mark you as mine, everyone's gonna know that you're mine, yeah?"

his filthy words become nearly incoherent and his hips stutter as he gets closer to cumming, your sopping wet pussy milking him for all he's worth

he'll probably curse himself later if you actually end up knocked up with his baby - but for now, as he takes in the sight of your abused pussy, covered in his cum, he can't bring himself to care, pushing down on your back so it arches and he can enter you from behind again

he'll figure it out later, how to support you and a kid - but for now, he's starting to move inside you again, losing himself in the sounds of his hips slamming against your ass and your incessant moans

ꕥ daigo dojima ⚔️

ever since he was a kid, daigo's been hounded by people telling him that one day, he's going to continue the dojima bloodline, producing an heir with some pretty wife like every dojima before him

for a long time, he honestly resented the responsibility of continuing his father's shitty legacy being thrust onto him

finding somebody to marry and impregnate fell even further down his to-do list when he became chairman - there was just too much to take care of and too many mouths to feed in the tojo clan to even think about adding another in his home

but when you came along, a source of unconditional love and support that saw him as just daigo, not the sixth chairman or even a dojima, well... maybe a kid or two wouldn't be such a bad idea

ever the serious one, daigo's the one to bring up the idea of kids in your relationship first over dinner

he's honestly a little afraid of how you're going to react, but he's determined to accept your answer either way

he's delighted when you tell him that yes, you would want to have kids with him, a soft smile on his lips - he can't help but feel a rush of affection with the affirmation that you wanted to spend the future with him

daigo returns to his meal, satisfied with the progress made - but it's the next thing you say that makes him choke on the steak in his mouth

"so, do you want to get started?"

he sputters and coughs, hastily reaching for a napkin to wipe his lips with

you both were pretty good at communicating directly, it was what made your relationship so strong - but never had you been this blunt

he finally finishes coughing, looking across the table at you. "i beg your pardon?"

"i said, do you want to start trying for a baby," you state, your expression just as determined as before

daigo's not sure if it's how direct you are with your desires or the thought of impregnating you that makes his pants get tight, but either way he abandons his dinner to round the table and crash his lips onto yours

you end up with your front pressed against the nearest wall as daigo slams into you from behind, one hand firmly grasping your hip and the other possessively grasping your breast

both of your half-eaten dinners are forgotten about as the sound of skin smacking against skin fills the dining room

you both were too impatient to even undress properly - his pants are barely unzipped and your skirt is hastily pushed up over your hips, your panties haphazardly moved to the side

he's so worked up, the even-tempered man unable form any coherent thoughts other than making you bear his heirs

"s-shit - gonna cum in this pussy," he pants in your ear, his hand pressing down on your lower stomach and making you feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you. "gonna fill you with my babies, darling-"

after he's made an absolute mess out of both of you, his release stuffed into your pussy and his pants stained with your slick, he snaps your panties back in place so his seed stays inside and guides you back to your seat at the dinner table to finish your meal

"eat up, my dear - you're gonna need the strength," he chuckles, "i'm not done with you yet. not even close"

ꕥ ryuji goda 🐲

ryuji's never really bothered with condoms when it comes to sex with you

sure, he'll pull out if you ask him to, but if he cums inside, he's not even really worried about it

so what if he knocks you up? he has the resources to take care of both you and the little brat, no problem

he plans to be a present dad, too - he may be an asshole, but he knows what it feels like to have a parent abandon you and he'll never be able to call himself a real man if he ever makes his own flesh and blood feel that way

if you ever ask him to cum inside or tell him directly to get you pregnant, his eyes are gonna gleam with a feral hunger and that scar on his lips is gonna twist as he smirks widely

"what a needy ass slut, beggin' for my cum like a bitch in heat," he drawls, palming your tits and pinching your nipples to draw a cry out of you. "ya want my fuckin' kid? i'll give it to ya, doll - i'll give ya as many kids as you fuckin' want"

be prepared for his already rough thrusts to become even more pointed and sharp, the base instinct to breed you making his movements and his noises downright animalistic

his thick arms wrap around your midsection tightly, not letting you move an inch as he fucks you like a fleshlight

ryuji's not shy about letting you know how good fucking you raw feels, either, letting his growls and ragged pants out right next to your ear

one of his large hands grasps your chin and forces you to look at him, his lips hungrily claiming yours as he continues to piston his cock into your wet warmth

he loves the sounds of your pathetic moaning to muffle them for long, parting from you and feeling his balls draw up when he sees just how fucked out you look

"c'mon, doll, d'ya even want my baby?" he sneers, finding your drooling, glassy-eyed expression so hot that you can feel his cock jump inside you. "beg for it, beg for me to knock ya up"

growls out an "that's it, mama" when he's finally satisfied that you really, really do want his seed in your womb, thrusting his cock deeper and harder and surely bruising your cervix

ryuji finally bottoms out in you in a harsh, final thrust that has you squirting all over his length, his sweaty face twisting in a smirk as he pumps rope after rope of his release directly into your womb

when ryuji cums, he cums a lot - you swear that he holds you in place for damn near five minutes as his heavy balls continue to contract and ejaculate their contents into your pussy

"hah - i'll be damned if yer not pregnant after that," ryuji chuckles - he's always been proud of the amount of cum he's able to pump out

an arm wraps around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest as he lays back on the bed. his free hand comes up to rub your belly possessively, his cock still plugged in you so none of his seed escapes

"but if yer not... well, i was plannin' on fuckin' this slutty pussy some more anyways"