#what's wrong with shows that only have like 3 series

[ladykailitha]

Heartbreak in Overdrive Part 12

Hey guys!! Guess what? For this month you are getting this fic every Thursday because it has a backlog of 6 chapters you haven't seen.

So in this one, we have Eddie getting silly with Luis de la Vega and having a serious conversation, and a wild Mike Wheeler appears.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

~

Eddie practically skipped as he got ready for his interview and photo shoot with Luis de la Vega. Even though he was going to be sent to wardrobe and hair and makeup, he still wanted to dress professionally for when he arrived.

This was a dream come true and more than made up for the fact that Eddie had lost the DuPont job to Creel.

He wore a crisp black suit with a coral colored shirt, collar unbuttoned. His hair was neatly pulled back in a bun, leaving his ear piercings and neck tattoo on display.

When the car arrived to take him to the location, his nerves had reached a fever pitch.

Eddie walked out to the waiting car and sighed with relief when he saw Chrissy in the car.

“Hey, babe,” she greeted giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “There is no need to be nervous, Luis is a sweetheart and he is going to be on your side for all of this.”

He let out shuddering breath and then another. He just didn’t want to put the wrong foot forward on this shoot. He nodded.

She gave his shoulder a squeeze and they drove in silence all the way to the shoot location. Which was a nice hotel in the middle of town. It had an old Hollywood vibe in an art deco feel with gold fittings and black marble.

When they pulled up to the curb in front of the hotel there was an assistant waiting for him. He greeted them warmly and then ushered them into a gorgeous sitting room that was most likely a converted smoke room back in the day.

Luis de la Vega rose to his feet and waved for Eddie to sit, which he did quickly.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Eddie said breathlessly. “I knew there was something up when Kathleen DuPont called me herself to say that they were going a different direction, but I didn’t have proof.”

“I was doing the shoot for the chance to work with you,” Luis said with a light Spanish accent. “And then when I was told that they had found a more talented model than you. I didn’t believe it. Even less so when they said that it was Henry Creel.”

“You wanted to work with me?” Eddie asked putting a hand on his chest in amazement. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to work with you?”

Luis smiled. “For most people it is the Marsha Paul ad.”

The Marsha Paul ad was a perfume ad that he done about ten years ago with the actress Kelsey Monroe. Everyone one had praised that one to the sky and had rightly won several awards. Turned Kelsey from languishing in soap operas and guest appearances on basic cable shows to award winning movies and a contract with a major streaming service to do two movies and a TV series.

Eddie shook his head. “That is a good one, but no. It was the one that made me decide to pick up the phone and try at being a model after failing to go anywhere as a rock star.”

Luis tilted his head to the side and regarded Eddie for a moment. “And which one was that?”

“The fashion spread you did for that television show, ‘Manhunted’,” Eddie replied with a grin. “It wasn’t just about the characters or the actors being dressed up pretty, you managed to show both and I knew that I just had to work the person who could make that happen.”

“I’m flattered you think so,” Luis said with a smile, “I enjoyed doing that one because it was fun. Sometimes I think we in the fashion industry forget about fun.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up and slow dimpled grin spread over his features. “You want to get silly with it?”

Luis smiled and a mischievous gleam sparkled in his eyes. “Yes, I believe I do.”

They dressed Eddie up in clothes that could only be called Elton John rejects. Pinks, sequins, feather boas, and rhinestones everywhere.

Eddie was told to have fun and he did. He jumped around on the sofas, he hung from the chandelier (with permission from the hotel of course), just allowed himself be free. All the while Luis was laughing as he took picture after picture.

Then it was time for the interview part of the shoot.

Luis had stolen one of the feather boas, it was red with silver threads woven into it and he had tossed it around his neck.

Eddie was wearing purple star shaped sunglasses and pink feather boa to go with the outrageous hat he found. It was white with a wide brim and a leopard patterned band and huge ostrich feathers dyed pink.

“So let’s first talk about how you got into modeling and how you got to where you are now,” Luis said with a straight face.

Eddie told him about the failing band, the photo shoot for their album cover and his story about seeing Luis’s spread in People magazine. Then he talked about not being taken seriously in an industry where women dominated.

“One thing that had always fascinated me was that a lot, I do mean a lot, of photographers don’t like you,” Luis said. “Why do you think that is?”

Eddie leaned forward, putting his elbow on his knees. “Because in a lot of cases, I’m better at their jobs then they are. I know where the best light is, the best angle for my face, chest, my legs. I can listen a idea pitch and follow it through to its natural conclusion. So they feel threatened by it.”

“You were an absolute natural today,” Luis agreed. “I had a lot of fun photographing you.”

“I had a lot of fun today too,” Eddie said, straightening up and leaning against the sofa back again. “The last time I had this much fun in a shoot was with Steve Harrington.”

“I have seen his work,” Luis said brightly. “I think in a couple of years, he will be a top fashion photographer.”

“You don’t think he’s got it now?” he asked tilting his head to the side.

“I think he needs the experience to be truly amazing,” Luis said holding up his hands in surrender. “A lot of his technique is based on what he knows as a war correspondent and his years doing that has given him a unique eye for fashion, but to be truly great he must also have experience in fashion as well.”

“I can see that,” Eddie said backing off a bit. “Because if he’s only going to get better, I just hope I’m lucky enough to stick around to see the whole ascension.”

“Agreed.”

They spoke on Eddie’s influences and role models, before Luis brought up the main reason for the interview.

“The Kathleen DuPont shoot was supposed to be your ticket to stardom,” Luis said, “opening the door to better modeling gigs, maybe even acting gigs. But that didn’t happen.”

“No,” Eddie agreed, crossing his legs and draping one arm across the back of the sofa. “I was a little surprised when she called me herself to say that they were moving in a different direction for the ad and that she hoped some day to work with me on another project.”

“Yes,” Luis said, “she called me as well. I told her that if it wasn’t you as the model I was not interested and that she would be breaking not just my contract, but faith with me as well.”

“I was amazed at how fast the DuPont company paid up the fee for breaking contract,” Eddie said dryly. “I barely had time to twiddle my thumbs when it hit my account.”

“I too, got the fee very quickly,” Luis agreed, shifting his chair. “Which further cemented my belief that someone had paid a lot of money to put Henry Creel in that ad.”

Eddie uncrossed his legs and sat up. “I tried looking into his family. But all I could find was that they were moderately wealthy people without the kind of power to throw that kind of money around.”

“Then you didn’t dig deep enough, my friend,” Luis said with a flourish of his hand. “His uncle on his mother’s side owns a couple of vineyards in the south of France and had quietly amassed a large amount of wealth.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Eddie cried. “The vineyard the ad was shot in was in the south of France.”

“That is correct,” Luis, said, resting his head on fist, elbow propped up on the arm of the chair. “They had chosen it before they hired either of us. But as Kathleen spoke more and more to the owner, the more unsure she became from using you as the model. Especially since Henry had never modeled before.”

“I knew that he was inexperienced,” he said, huffing out a noise of disblief. “But for that to be his first?” He shook his head. “I bet more than just you were upset at him being used. Especially after winning model of the year.”

“Yes,” Luis agreed. “There might be some evidence that that was bought with Uncle Timothée’s money as well.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit! That is insane!”

“And if I can prove it,” Luis said, “then it will go into article, if not it’ll be cut. But, yes. It is not good. Because if awards can be bought like that, then what hope is there for us who started at the bottom and work hard to be recognized.”

“I didn’t realize you grew up poor,” Eddie said cocking his head to the side.

“I am not old enough to have live through Franco’s reign,” Luis said gravely, “but I am old enough that Spain was barely a fledgling democracy when I was born. A lot places struggled under the government change and my small village was one of them. But I fought hard to become a photographer especially as a gay man in a country that had only recently decriminalized homosexuality the year I was born.”

“This country isn’t much better,” Eddie said bitterly. “It’s always one step forward three steps back for queers like us.”

“The rise of ultra-conservatism in the world is absolutely frightening,” Luis said with a nod. “Far too few people are still alive that remember what fascism actually looks like.”

They talked for awhile longer and then they said goodbye promising to get lunch the next time Luis was in town.

Eddie changed back into the outfit he wore, feeling immensely proud of that shoot and interview.

He felt lighter than he had in years and that was no small feat.

~

Steve had hired a new assistant to help Dustin out on bigger shoots. Nancy had reached out to him about her brother Mike when Jonathan had turned her down. Jonathan already had a full complement of assistants and really didn’t want to train a new one. So Steve offered to give it a shot as more than one person had told him that having only one assistant on his shoots would burn him out, doing all the work himself.

He had tried telling people that all he knew was how to take shots without assistants, but it often fell on deaf ears. Even Jonathan and Argyle kept insisting he take on more help. As if Max, Ellie, and Robin weren’t enough.

So he figured this could be a win/win for him. Mike would hate being an assistant and quit and Steve could prove he didn’t a second assistant when Dustin inevitably took on Mike’s work when the kid slacked off.

The last time he saw Mike was when he was thirteen and tiny as fuck. The man that stumbled through the crowded airport was not that. He was as tall as Steve was, rail thin, and sharp cheek bones as if he hadn’t eaten in years.

He also blushed the deepest red when Steve waved at him from behind security by the baggage claim.

Well that was certainly new. Last time he’d see the middle Wheeler sibling he was very adamant that he was straighter than an arrow. But it seemed that someone had since launched Mike from a bow as he wobbled into what appeared to be some level same-sex attraction.

Steve wasn’t sure if that meant Mike was bisexual like he was or if he had bent completely the other direction into gay. Not that Steve would have a problem with either. Pretty hypocritical of him considering Robin was gay and he was pretty sure Ellie was on the ace spectrum considering she had never dated... well anyone.

Mike came over to him, dragging his suitcase behind him. “Hey, Steve!”

“Mike!” Steve greeted with a smile and hugged him. “It’s good to see you again!”

Mike’s blush darkened and he ducked his head. “Yeah, thanks for agreeing to mentor me. I’ve been kind of floating since I graduated Yale and just needed something to do before Mom tore all her hair out.”

“Well, I’m happy to help,” Steve said taking his luggage, “I’m no Jonathan Byers, but I do okay.”

“Are you kidding?” Mike said wide-eyed. “Dude, Jonathan was telling me about you working with some pretty amazing people already I’m so excited to be one of them, Steve!”

Guilt turned in Steve’s stomach. He was planning on driving Mike toward some other profession just so he could be left in peace about his team, but looking at that eager and open face, he felt like a tool.

He gulped past the burning bile in his throat. “That’s kind of him to say, but I’m still fairly new to this as well. So I guess we’ll learn together.”

Mike just beamed at him.

As they walked along to Steve’s car they fell into a uncomfortable silence, then Mike cleared his throat. “Nancy says I should probably apologize for being a shit to you when you and her dated.”

Steve snorted. “Briefly. We dated so briefly that it barely counted as a relationship, dude. You’re fine. But since we’re doing apologies, I want to make my own. I thought you wanting to work with me because Jonathan said no, I was a little bitter about being the ‘second choice’ as it were.”

Mike’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit! Yeah, I could see how you might think that. But I didn’t even know she had talked Jonathan until after you agreed to take me on!”

Steve stuck out his hand, “Truce?”

Mike grinned. “Truce!”

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @niniel-karenine @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @gloomysoup @cryptid-system @kultiras @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @bookbinderbitch

4- @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006 @yikes-a-bee

5- @awkwardgravity1 @oopsallgender @fearieshadow @stedestielfrattficlover @dragonmama76

6- @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars

7- @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gutterflower77 @wheneverfeasible

8- @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss @chaotic-waffle @steddieislife

9- @oh-no-its-danger-gays @ollieolive @micheledawn1975 @little-birch-boy @alfhitchblonde

10- @tartarusknight @chocolateracconlights @spookycollectorcandies @themoonagainstmers @mags6422

[yuuuraaa]

Don’t you feel it too? -西村 力

↳ ┊: beautiful stranger ~ laufey

[🎤]artist ~ idol!niki x pianist!reader [💿]album type ~ strangers to lovers! [🎧]genre ~ fluff! [▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| |]duration ~ oneshot [warning!] mentions of attempted kidnapping

featured artist!!

@orimuraa @rikimuraaaa @14raeriluv @lonelylandofan @deezbutz28 @monniemons @anormieee @rikihyph @highway-143 @strawberrymura @s1rawb3rry

producer’s note! [- trying to make a part two of my request bc i dont know what to do with my series fic. thanks to @orimuraa for making the idea!! -]

part one!

♪⋆.✮🎧ྀི𝓡𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓼🎧ྀི♪⋆.✮

“your preformance tonight was amazing.” riki says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“thank you. i went to your concert last month actually. you’re a really great dancer!” you reply back, your hands starting to sweat.

“i actually have another concert later. so i’m working on a time crunch…” you say as you slowly back away.

“wait! can i give you something?” riki says as he catches up with you, his breath becoming shaky.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞𝄢₊˚⊹

“you handed her your number?!” jungwon shouts, his hands pressed to his head.

“to be honest, she has quite veiny hands. girls like that are hard to find.” jake interrupts jungwon with a joke.

“that’s not important! what if she leaks his number? what if the company doesn’t approve? that was such an immature move, riki. you didn’t even think about what might happen afterwards!” jungwon continued scolding riki, the others not caring at all.

“that girl is actually good, what if we do a collaboration with her?” heeseung suddenly asked, making everyone turn their heads.

"well, we have to ask our managers first before deciding it ourselves." jay replied calmly, not even looking up from his phone.

"nobody is getting the severity of the situation!" jungwon stressed even more, pacing around the dorm room.

"i searched her name up on instagram, and she has a massive following. around 3 million followers?” sunoo chuckled, not looking up from his phone either.

“well, i got us a free collab… right?” riki said sheepishly, also starting to laugh.

“it’s not— you know what, never mind… let’s go ask our managers…” jungwon said, after being defeated by his members.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞𝄢₊˚⊹

you were supposed to be at another show, but it seems you took a wrong turn. because now you were at a random alleyway, thanks google maps…

“great, a dead end. im late to my concert! and im lost!” you angrily mumble to yourself, until you hear something behind you.

“who’s there?” you turn around, but you couldn’t react fast enough as they cover your face with their hand and drag you away.

your screams couldn’t be heard as heavy rain started to pour.

“pianist?” a voice spoke out, riki?

"security!" he shouted, but it was too late, the kidnapper already escaped.

"are you okay? did they hurt you in anyway?" riki said as he helped you off the ground and into a hug.

"I missed my show and I'm lost somewhere in Korea!" you don't know if it's the rain or your tears, but you knew you needed him there. only for now.

"it's alright, where was your show?" riki asked, patting you back and eventually letting you go.

"I missed it, they canceled it. I should probably tell my manager where I am right now..." you admit, feeling quite sad after riki let you go.

you hear distant shout and riki runs off, leaving you alone in the alleyway again. this time, you followed him, hoping to at least go somewhere. anywhere, as long as you're not alone again.

after a short while of following riki, you bump into his members, standing with umbrellas while you don't have any.

"is that the pianist from earlier? did she follow you?" heeseung asked, looking at you and then riki.

"i-i uhm... I was lost and almost kidnapped but he saved me... I didn't know where to go..." you shyly say, the rain getting heavier and heavier.

"it's starting to rain heavily, do you want an umbrella?" sunoo asks, shooting a smile at you while handing an umbrella.

"o-oh, yeah, sure..." you take the umbrella and start to walk away.

"wait! actually, we wanted to discuss something with you. would you like to do a collab?" jungwon asks, leaving you speechless. your favorite group, asking for a collab?

[thymelessink]

Me: starts watching a tv show with more than one series

My attention span:

[kotori-mochi]

Can't afford art school?

After seeing post like this 👇

And this gem 👇

As well as countless of others from the AI generator community. Just talking about how "inaccessible art" is, I decided why not show how wrong these guys are while also helping anyone who actually wants to learn.

Here is the first one ART TEACHERS! There are plenty online and in places like youtube.

📺Here is my list:

Proko (Free, mostly teaches anatomy and how to draw people. But does have art talks and teaches the basics.)

Marc Brunet (Free but he does have other classes for a cheap price. Use to work for Blizzard and teaches you everything)

Aaron Rutten (free, tips about art, talks about art programs and the best products for digital art)

BoroCG (free, teaches a verity of art mediums from 3D modeling to digital painting. As well as some tips that can be used across styles)

Jesse J. Jones (free, talks about animating)

Jesus Conde (free, teaches digital painting and has classes in Spanish)

Mohammed Agbadi (free, he gives some advice in some videos and talks about art)

Ross Draws (free, he does have other classes for a good price. Mostly teaching character designs and simple backgrounds.)

SamDoesArts (free, gives good advice and critiques)

Drawfee Show (free, they do give some good advice and great inspiration)

The Art of Aaron Blaise ( useful tips for digital art and animation. Was an animator for Disney. Mostly nature art)

Bobby Chiu ( useful tips and interviews with artist who are in the industry or making a living as artist)

Sinix Design (has some tips on drawing people)

Winged canvas (art school for free on a verity of mediums)

Bob Ross (just a good time, learn how to paint, as well as how too relax when doing art. "there are no mistakes only happy accidents", this channel also provides tips from another artist)

Scott Christian Sava (Inspiration and provides tips and advice)

Pikat (art advice and critiques)

Drawbox (a suggested cheap online art school, made of a community of artist)

Skillshare (A cheap learning site that has art classes ranging from traditional to digital. As well as Animation and tutorials on art programs. All under one price, in the USA it's around $34 a month)

Human anatomy for artist (not a video or teacher but the site is full of awesome refs to practice and get better at anatomy)

Second part BOOKS, I have collected some books that have helped me and might help others.

📚Here is my list:

The "how to draw manga" series produced by Graphic-sha. These are for manga artist but they give great advice and information.

"Creating characters with personality" by Tom Bancroft. A great book that can help not just people who draw cartoons but also realistic ones. As it helps you with facial ques and how to make a character interesting.

"Albinus on anatomy" by Robert Beverly Hale and Terence Coyle. Great book to help someone learn basic anatomy.

"Artistic Anatomy" by Dr. Paul Richer and Robert Beverly Hale. A good book if you want to go further in-depth with anatomy.

"Directing the story" by Francis Glebas. A good book if you want to Story board or make comics.

"Animal Anatomy for Artists" by Eliot Goldfinger. A good book for if you want to draw animals or creatures.

"Constructive Anatomy: with almost 500 illustrations" by George B. Bridgman. A great book to help you block out shadows in your figures and see them in a more 3 diamantine way.

"Dynamic Anatomy: Revised and expand" by Burne Hogarth. A book that shows how to block out shapes and easily understand what you are looking out. When it comes to human subjects.

"An Atlas of animal anatomy for artist" by W. Ellenberger and H. Dittrich and H. Baum. This is another good one for people who want to draw animals or creatures.

Etherington Brothers, they make books and have a free blog with art tips.

📝As for Supplies, I recommend starting out cheap, buying Pencils and art paper at dollar tree or 5 below. If you want to go fancy Michaels is always a good place for traditional supplies. They also get in some good sales and discounts. For digital art, I recommend not starting with a screen art drawing tablet as they are usually more expensive.

For the Best art Tablet I recommend either Xp-pen, Bamboo or Huion. Some can range from about 40$ to the thousands.

💻As for art programs here is a list of Free to pay.

Clip Studio paint ( you can choose to pay once or sub and get updates. Galaxy, Windows, macOS, iPad, iPhone, Android, or Chromebook device. )

Procreate ( pay once for $9.99 usd, IPAD & IPHONE ONLY)

Blender (for 3D modules/sculpting, animation and more. Free)

PaintTool SAI (pay but has a 31 day free trail)

Krita (Free)

mypaint (free)

FireAlpaca (free)

Aseprite ($19.99 usd but has a free trail, for pixel art Windows & macOS)

Drawpile (free and for if you want to draw with others)

IbisPaint (free, phone app ONLY)

Medibang (free, IPAD, Android and PC)

NOTE: Some of these can work on almost any computer like Clip and Sai but others will require a bit stronger computer like Blender. Please check their sites for if your computer is compatible.

So do with this information as you will but as you can tell there are ways to learn how to become an artist, without breaking the bank. The only thing that might be stopping YOU from using any of these things, is YOU.

I have made time to learn to draw and many artist have too. Either in-between working two jobs or taking care of your family and a job or regular school and chores. YOU just have to take the time or use some time management, it really doesn't take long to practice for like an hour or less. YOU also don't have to do it every day, just once or three times a week is fine.

Hope this was helpful and have a great day.

"also apologies for any spelling or grammar errors, I have Dyslexia and it makes my brain go XP when it comes to speech or writing"

[kuiperblog]

Where Star Wars went wrong

Quoting Jason Pargin, who articulates it better than I could:

"In any kind of a sane world, The Mandalorian should have run for 150 episodes at least. They had a formula here that could have worked forever.

"It's a formula that has always worked: a heroic stranger wanders into a strange new land and meets a bunch of colorful characters, usually under the thumb of a powerful threat. The threat is usually in the form of a villain who's played by a famous actor just chewing the scenery. He uses hits wits and his courage to get out of it and then he moves on.

"Have Gun, Will Travel" ran for 225 episodes from 1957-1963. It's where Gene Roddenberry of Star Trek fame got his start.

"The sci-fi space adventures we had years and years ago used to run forever. Star Trek TNG had about 180 episodes, Deep Space 9 had about the same number, even Voyager -- the show that we think of as being a "lesser series" -- had 172 episodes. And here's the thing: most of those episodes were really good!

"But because of the way the business works now, and because of 'corporate synergy,' by season 2 of the Mandalorian, they were brainstorming "how do we get this back to Luke Skywalker and the Death Star?"

"By season 3, fans were lost, because some huge plot events had occurred in a completely different series, because they needed it to connect to their Boba Fett show. And now, the Mandalorian is dead. They're gonna wrap up the story in a movie, and that's it.

And the crazy part is, this was always the perfect format for Star Wars: it always should have been a short form serial! That's what George Lucas was ripping off when he made the film back in 1977: serials like Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon.

These were little 12-minute long episodes that played as one continuing story, but each one was its own little lighthearted adventure that usually ended on some kind of a cliffhanger.

"This is why so many of the most hardcore Star Wars fans who are old like me only like two of the movies, because by the third film they were already just repeating beats: they were attacking yet another Death Star.

They ran out of ideas so fast, because this is not the ideal format for this universe. The Mando and Baby Yoda Show is the ideal format! This should have run for the next 20 years! They even set it up so that the star wouldn't even need to be on set for most of it, because he wears a helmet!

"I think some fans object to this, because they think of it as making Star Wars smaller, that you're reducing it to 'just a TV show.' But it's the exact opposite: it lets you expand the universe, because you're forced to to keep coming up with new places for him to go, and new people for him to meet, new villains for him to face -- you're not forced to just keep coming back to the Death Star again and again, and the Sith, and the Jedi.

In Episode VII: The Force Awakens, the Starkiller Base destroys five planets. That's mathematically five times more tragic than the destruction of Alderaan.

"And if you want evidence, just look at Star Trek! It's the show that expanded the universe. The Star Trek films were just action movies that are very forgettable. But I guess the world has changed, because they don't even do Star Trek that way anymore.

Picard ended its run after 30 episodes. Discovery concluded after 65. Hopefully, Strange New Worlds marks a return to form for the franchise.

"I don't get it, because it seems like a version of this show that runs until the year 2040 would have just printed money. The merchandise sales alone would have covered the production costs. Instead, it's 24 episodes and a movie that I think everyone has already stopped caring about."

[withlovemark]

“SORRY, HEART”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ one month ago. april 2. wednesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this makes him laugh.

“i don’t go exclusive, y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this makes you laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ april 4. friday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“a cat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“kitten?,” you repeat, confused.

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ april 6. sunday.

mark: wyd? come to the dream fraternity party

kitten: can’t. busy.

mark: but i need to relieve stress…

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

mark: yeah two days too long 😩

kitten: we’re literally seeing each other tomorrow

mark: why are you blue balling me? 🤕💔

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

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

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

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

kitten: go ahead 🙂‍↕️

mark: bro, really???

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

mark: nvm 😑

kitten: see you tomorrow 😇

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

ᓚᘏᗢ april 7. monday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he laughs, “please, a G flat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you shrug innocently, “still clothing.”

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

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

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

you grin, tapping your foot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“a phrygian is which degree for the key?”

“uhh fifth?,” he guesses.

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

“a mixolydian is which degree for the key?”

“third!,” he tries this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ april 9. wednesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you’re actually evil, kitten.”

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

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

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

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

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

“scale the degrees in order,” you smirk.

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

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

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

mark looks like he might cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

he can’t take it anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ april 11. friday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

mark blinked, “she’s not my girl.”

jeno gave him a long, skeptical look.

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

⟢

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

mark: hi friend

mark: i’m outside

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“tobey,” mark says with zero hesitation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⟢

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ april 14. monday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ april 16. wednesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“mark,” you grit out, jaw tightening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you whimpered, nodding, desperate, frustrated.

“use your words, kitten,” mark demands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it was torture – delicious, devastasting torture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“there’s only one right answer!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

and mark realizes that he could get used to this.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 18. friday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you just listen to him, letting him unravel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ april 20. sunday.

mark: dude

mark: [1 image]

mark: saw this and thought of you

kitten: ???

kitten: mark. that’s just a cat.

mark: she has your eyes!!

kitten: bro 😭😭

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

mark: exactly

mark: just like you! 😼

kitten: seek help

kitten: and good luck on your finals markkk

kitten: you're gonna kill it

mark: what’s my reward if i pass? 🫣

kitten: freedom from me 🙂‍↕️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he deleted that one too.

mark: haha, nice 👍

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

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

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

you refuse to be too much again. too needy.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 21. monday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“maybe i only want one girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⟢

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

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

the way your heart betrayed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ april 23. wednesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

mark stepped closer until there was barely space between you.

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

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

your fear was louder than your hope.

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

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ april 25. friday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

mark blinked, “i..i did?,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

you leaned in and kissed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your throat tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you both stilled, letting the moment settle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you swallowed hard, “mark-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m sorry.”

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ april 26. saturday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⟢

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

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

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

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

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

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

“call me if you need me.”

just simple words that made your chest ache.

if. not when.

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

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

if you need me.

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

ᓚᘏᗢ one week later. may 3. saturday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she was very much #teammark at the moment.

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

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

you hesitate.

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

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

“i don’t know…,” you say.

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

you exhale slowly, already halfway convinced.

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

⟢

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

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

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

he was laughing, looking relaxed until he saw you.

and everything stops.

almost like you were the only two in the room.

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

you forget how to breathe for a second.

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

“i’m fine.” you’re not.

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

⟢

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

everything else disappears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you shrug, “you started it.”

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

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

⟢

ᓚᘏᗢ now.

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

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

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

“you didn’t call.”

your smile drops, “mark–,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you press your lips together, holding everything in.

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

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

“i fell in love with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i don’t feel it.”

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

“i don’t love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

mark swallowed hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ᓚᘏᗢ the next day.

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

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

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

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

your brows furrow in amusement, “what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you chuckle, some things never change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

then halfway through the meal, mark leans in a little. his elbow resting on the table, chin in hand like he couldn’t help but watch you.

“i don’t know enough about you,” he says suddenly.

you looked up, caught mid-chew and more caught off-guard, “you’ve literally seen me naked, i think you’re doing fine.”

mark laughed — that warm, boyish sound that always cracked you open a little more than you liked to admit. he leaned back slightly, shaking his head, “yeah but i mean know you. like the little things. the stuff people forget to ask but matters more than they think.”

you blinked, slowly setting your fork down, “ok…what do you want to know?”

he lights up like a kid on christmas day, “what’s your favorite color?”

“really, mark?” you laughed, because of all the things he could’ve asked, it was a question as simple as that.

“hey! it’s important especially since i want to buy you gifts,” he shrugs, taking a bite out of his (your) pasta.

you rolled your eyes, smiling anyway “okay. pink.”

mark blinked, surprised. he never would’ve guessed. “pink?”

“mhm,” you said, spearing a bite of the salad in between you, “not like neon pink though but soft pink.”

“didn’t see that coming,” he said grinning. “but it kinda fits…you act all tough but you’re secretly a softie.”

you narrowed your eyes, “careful.”

“just saying,” he chuckled, reaching for his drink.

“alright,” you said, pointing your fork at him, “your turn, favorite color?”

“blue.”

you tilted your head, chewing thoughtfully, a playful grin on your face, “blue because it’s the color of the sky?”

he grinned, “that was the reason…at first,” he said, voice softening, “then you walked up to me, wearing a soft blue sundress during freshman year and the reason changed.”

your fork froze halfway to your mouth. for a second, the air felt heavier, quieter, like the words had rearranged the molecules around you. your eyes widen a little, lips parting as your expression falters between surprise and amusement.

“you remembered what i was wearing?,” you ask in pure disbelief.

“how could i forget?,” he shrugs like he didn’t just confess something that would stay with you for the rest of your life.

“wait…are you saying you’ve had a crush on me since freshman year?,” you asked, your tone teasing.

mark rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning, “i may have had a tiny crush on you back then,” he admits. the smile on your face growing with every second.

the rest of your evening unfolded like a dream you didn’t want to wake from. full of quiet laughter, sharing of favorites and the reason behind them. every answer was like turning a page, revealing another layer neither of you had taken time to read before. between conversation, his hand would find yours, fingers lacing together like they belonged there. he’d brush your knuckles with his thumb, every movement gentle, deliberate. and every now and then, he’d lean over and kiss you. soft, unhurried kisses that made your skin hum and your stomach flip.

by the time you slid back into his car, the air between you was warm and charged, not with tension but with something more open, more vulnerable. he let you have the aux, learning your favorite songs on the ride back. both of you singing along, sometimes out of tune, sometimes laughing too hard. his hand was in yours the whole drive home. you kissed at stop lights. playful pecks that turned into lingering moments. the city moved around you, but you both felt disconnected. stuck in your own world with a population of two.

when he finally pulled up to your place, you were still laughing about something stupid he’d said. and then it got quiet. the kind of the quiet that meant something more. mark walked you to your door, hand still wrapped around yours like he couldn’t let go.

“tonight was really fun,” you said softly , your arm looped around his neck, fingers playing absentmindedly with his hair.

“yeah?,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple, lingering there for a beat, “would you say i’m you know…boyfriend material?,” he teased, smirking against your skin.

you huffed a laugh, playfully nudging him with your shoulder, “that was so bad.”

he tilts his head to look at your properly, the mischief fading into something gentler, more sincere, “i had the best time.”

you met his gaze, leaning up to kiss him – slow and sweet. his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss for a heartbeat before you pulled back, breathless but smiling.

“goodnight, mark,” you whispered, not quite ready for the night to end.

“goodnight kitten,” he said just as softly.

you slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. but your skin still buzzed with his touch, lips still tingling with the memory of his kiss. you leaned against the door, eyes closed, heart racing as the entire night replays in your mind.

outside, mark stares at your door, already missing your presence. he started to bring his fist up for a knock, but then the door opened. again.

he blinked, startled.

you were standing there, eyes already locked on his. you didn’t say a word. neither did he.

because in the next second, he crossed the threshold and kissed you – hard, fast and real. all the restraint of the evening gave way to need. he kicked the door shut behind him, hand blindly finding the lock as his other arm wound around your waist.

you make the familiar steps to your bedroom, lips never leaving his, a quiet gasp escaping you when he lifted you slightly, walking you backward until your knees hit the bed.

and when you made love, it wasn’t rushed or desperate. it was slow, tender. his hands memorized you all over again. his lips marked every inch of your skin. you whispered his name like it meant something new now. he held you like he never wanted to stop.

the morning came and you were still there, wrapped tightly around his arms. body molded perfectly against his like you were always meant to fit there. fingers interlaced like your hands had made a silent promise sometime in the night to never part. mark could see the pink and purple marks blooming where his lips and hands had wandered. he watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest — you looked peaceful, like all the weight you usually carried had melted away in the dark, if only for a little while. and in that quiet moment, with the world still hushed around you, he knows that it’s all worth it.

and if he had to do it all over again – the mistakes, the heartache, the waiting. he would. every single time, without hesitation, if it always leads him back to this. back to you. the only thing he’s ever been sure of.

ᓚᘏᗢ

loving mark made you realize that love didn’t have to be a fantasy. it wasn’t all sunshines and rainbows and happily ever afters. but it also wasn’t terrible, screaming at each other at 3am, being left behind on the kitchen floor, crying your eyes out.

it didn’t happen overnight either. there was still fear lingering in the back of your head. but this time you don’t let it take control. this time you don’t let it overpower.

because love with mark is staying, even when you were scared. especially when you were scared. it was comfort and safety. the kind that wrapped around your heart and told you it was okay to let your guard down. it was peace. the kind that didn’t demand you to be anything other than what you were. it was someone showing up at your apartment with your favorite snacks, settling in beside you on the couch while a romcom played and cramps left you curled under a blanket. no pressure to talk. just presence. it’s laughing at terrible jokes until your stomach hurt. arguing about which spiderman was the best. agreeing to disagree, even if you were clearly right. it was fighting over which greasy takeout to get and pretending to be annoyed when he ordered your favorite anyway. it was celebrating the happy moments, the sad moments and everything in between. it’s sticking around when things got hard. still choosing each other when the weight of the world made everything feel heavy. it was learning each other and unlearning old patterns. being patient. building something new, one honest conversation at a time. it was asking, “do you want advice or do you just want me to listen?” it was hearing the answer and respecting it.

it wasn’t about fixing each other or needing someone to fill a space inside you. it was about wanting to be there. it was about choosing to stay again and again and again.

𓏲 the end.

-

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

bonus: mark x kitten coded -> video one, video two, video three

-

an: and 3/7 is done! i hit the 1000 text block limit thing on here and it was awful. it’s not my fault they’re both yappers and i write way too much when mark is involved! i hope i was still able to convey the tension and longing in those long ass paragraphs >.< …. anyways, this was supposed to end the moment she walked away but i couldn’t do it! i had to give mark a happy ending, he deserves it!. kitten was so hard to write like why am i writing a character with past trauma and real, raw, emotions that are hitting too close to home… this is supposed to be a fun, silly rom-com. but i hope you liked her! i hope you liked them. thank you for reading! <3

VOTE HERE FOR THE NEXT STORY

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎

love tags : @bluedbliss @yesohhsehun @tynlvr @sunghoonsgfreal @2sungie @euphormiia @ptv-hades @imnotrosiee @remgeolli

[rafesangelita]

♡ rafe accidentally puts barry on speaker..

warnings: enemies to ???, bitchy!kook!reader might make some of you frustrated but please just trust the process loll, teasing, flirty banter, majorrrr sexual tension, slight angst, mentions of absent parents/abandonment, arguing

a/n: this is part four of this mini series <3 i cannot believe i’m writing one more part to this before it’s over. thank you to everyone who continue to show their love and support, it truly means so much to me!!

links: previous | next | mini series masterlist

wc: 3.0k

“you’re going over to rafe’s and you didn’t even tell me?!” chanel shot up from her spot on your bed while you ran around your room trying to put an outfit together. “i didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, okay?! all he said was that we got off on the wrong foot and he wants to start over. that’s it.” chanel arched a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “he sooo wants to fuck you, please tell me you’re not playing coy just to give him the benefit of the doubt.” you stayed silent, avoiding her gaze.

“y/n—”

“nothing is gonna happen between us. you and topper are dating now, so it would only be fair if me and rafe could at least try to get along since we’ll be around each other a lot more.” your best friend scoffed, not buying a single word that was coming out of your mouth. “don’t use me and topper as your excuse for giving rafe a chance, just say you’re interested in him! it’s totally fine if you are..” you laughed bitterly, shaking your head as you scanned your closet for a pair of heeled boots. “wow, chanel. i’m honestly offended that you think i’d ever give rafe a real shot.”

slipping on your shoes, you cursed under your breath as chanel watched you struggle with the zipper. “well, excuse me,” she strutted off, plopping down on your bed once again, “i just thought since you were totally eye fucking him out on the golf course the other day that you’d at least have agreed because there was some kind of attraction there.” you huffed. of course she’d bring that up. “i may have called him every single name in the book, but i never said he wasn’t handsome, alright? anyone with eyes would tell you the same thing.” you rolled your eyes once you heard her cackle. “whateverrr!”

one hour and three outfit changes later, and you found yourself posing for chanel’s camera as she snapped pictures of you in your sexy getup. “it should be a crime that you look this hot and you’re just going to rafe’s house. like he seriously needs to take you to the mainland and show you off or something.” you were quick to grab your purse and make your way downstairs once you saw that you were already running thirty minutes late. “will you be here when i get back?” you asked her, spritzing some perfume in the curve of your neck. “uhh, duh! i’m gonna need all the dirty details..”

you took that as your cue to leave. “not happening!” you called out, making your way down to the car out front. chanel waited until you got in before stepping back inside. the drive wasn’t long, considering rafe only lived about eight minutes away from you. it wasn’t until you were standing in front of rafe’s door that you realized you probably should’ve asked for his number back when you two talked at the country club. oh, god. you two haven’t even had any kind of communication since then.

what if he wasn’t home?

..or worse; what if he completely forgot about the whole thing and you were standing out here like a total idiot?

“this is stupid..” you whispered, looking back to see if your car was still there. before you could overthink, you stepped back once you heard the door unlock, the hardwood opening up to reveal rafe in a collared shirt that made his biceps look like they were going to burst through the fabric. “i thought you stood me up there for a minute.” he moved aside, motioning for you to come in before shutting the door behind you. “i almost did..” rafe snorted at your words, shaking his head before taking the view of you in.

“you look— wow..” you watched as his eyes raked down your figure, his jaw ticking once he saw how revealing your dress was. “you like it?” you turned around, looking back at him through your lashes. swallowing thickly, rafe didn’t say a word as he lead you two over to the living room with his hand resting in the small of your back. “for someone who swore they weren’t trying to sleep with me, the candles aren’t really convincing..” you looked around his set up, the living room being illuminated by the soft flickers of candle flames along with a bottle of wine and two glasses that sat in the middle of the coffee table.

“oh, so you’re saying i have a chance?” rafe sat you down, wasting no time in pouring you both a drink. crossing one leg over the other, you let your dress ride up your thighs before humming. “mmm, no.” rafe sighed, handing you a glass before settling in next to you. “we’ll see about that.” you ignored the way your stomach flipped once rafe draped an arm across your shoulders, your cheeks heating at how close he was. taking a sip from your glass, you glanced at him briefly before relaxing in his hold.

silence fell over you two and you swore rafe could hear your heart beating out of your chest. “am i tripping, or are you nervous right now?” you laughed, the sound making you inwardly cringe. “you wish, ‘cameron.” rafe smiled at your obvious facade. he could see right through you. “it’s kinda hard to tell,” he lied, “i mean— you show up to my place looking like this, i’d assume the last thing you could feel right now is nervous.” his mouth was right next to your ear, the bass of his voice making you squirm in your seat.

“that’s your problem,” you breathed out shakily, “you’re always just assuming things.” rafe tongued his cheek, his gaze flickering down to your lips. “speaking of that..” he trailed off, “i know i already apologized to you last time we talked, but i want you to know that i truly do regret speaking about you in a negative light.” you knew he was being sincere by the way he was looking at you. “it’s fine,” you waved him off, “it wouldn’t be the first time someone called me a bitch. ‘spoiled little brat’ isn’t a new one either, i just wish people understood that even that title comes with a cost.” rafe’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

“what do you mean by that?” the last time this same exact topic came up, you shut down and put your defenses back up once you realized the conversation was veering towards your relationship, or lack there of, with your parents. you were so tired of being misunderstood, you decided that you’d just let rafe know about the very things you became accustomed to hiding. “i’m still paying for everything that i have and everything that i continue to buy, just not in the way that you might think..”

“how then?” you closed your eyes for a moment. there was no coming back from this. “my parents just give me everything because they feel guilty— guilty for not being there.. like ever.” you laughed incredulously. “not there?” rafe repeated, “your parents have their own column in kildare’s newspaper, they have to be here.” you shook your head, taking another drink from the wine in your glass. “no, they don’t.. i haven’t seen or heard from them in eight months.” rafe’s eyes widened. “what? well where the hell are they?!” he spoke up.

“it’s ironic. they actually bought another house on the mainland and didn’t tell me shit about it. i found out a while back when i opened the congratulatory letter from their realtor. ‘guess they haven’t had a chance to change their postal address yet.” rafe took a minute to put your words together, his arm leaving your shoulders so he could rub his temples. “so let me get this straight,” he started, “you’ve been all by yourself in that empty house of yours for months now, and in order for your parents to ‘make up’ lost time, they just give you money so that they don’t feel bad for essentially abandoning their daughter?” you winced as soon as you heard it.

you hadn’t come to terms with the ‘a’ word just yet, though it’s been lingering in the back of your mind since you were a little girl. “i don’t know about ‘abandoning’ per say, they still support me..” your voice cracked and you hated it. the sound drew rafe’s attention immediately. “uh, yeah— with money. but what else?” he scoffed. “what else could i possibly need? in their minds; i have it all. which i kind of do, but it all means nothing at the end of the day when i have a dining table that can sit twenty people and i’m the only one sitting at it.” your last sentence hit particularly close to home for rafe, especially since he has spent countless evenings eating dinner by himself at his own oversized table.

he could see the hurt written all over your face. you two weren’t so different after all. “i’m sorry.” rafe’s voice barely came out above a whisper, his hand finding your knee as you shook your head. “don’t be. i’ve stopped the pity party a long time ago,” you cleared your throat, “please say something about you now because i don’t think i could handle being the only one in the hot seat.” rafe’s mind started reeling as he was unsure of what to say.

“uhm, well— since we’re on the topic of fucked up parents..”

for the next hour and a half, rafe gave you the full rundown of him and his dad’s relationship, not leaving out a single detail as you listened to him intently. “as much as i wanted to make my dad proud of me, everything i did was never enough for him. i was a fuck up for a long time but i stepped up when he couldn’t and he never recognized that.” you and rafe had long since forgotten about your wine glasses, and were now taking turns drinking from the actual bottle itself. “if he hated me then, he would hate me even more now.” he sighed, leaning all the way back into the cushions of the sofa.

you blinked once you saw him manspread, the alcohol taking its effect as it ran through your system. “why?” your voice came out higher than usual, the sound being a dead giveaway that you were now officially tipsy. “because.. i don’t have my family together the way he would’ve wanted. rose, my dad’s wife, took my little sister to an undisclosed location and deactivated her phone so it’s impossible for me to have direct communication with her, and sarah ran off without telling me any details, so she could be pretty much anywhere, and yeah, that sums everything up.”

you stared at the side of rafe’s face, his features being highlighted by the soft light flickering in the room. in your current position you could feel rafe’s chest rise and fall with each breath, the warmth of his body against your own making you feel fuzzy inside. rafe had his hand resting comfortably on the side of your thigh, your legs draped across his lap as he rubbed soothing circles into your skin. “it sounds like we’re just lonely people.” you whispered, wrapping an arm around his waist. oddly enough, rafe didn’t expect you to make him feel this comfortable so fast.

while he was sure it was the alcohol that made you lighten up and actually cling to him, he realized quickly that he liked feeling you close. “you know.. i could surround myself with all of my friends, go to parties where the living room is filled to the fucking brim, and yet, right now is the first time i can genuinely say that i don’t feel alone with you right here next to me.” your heart fluttered in your chest at his words. you didn’t realize just how bad you needed to be understood by someone until now.

you don’t know when, but you found yourself leaning into him, his hand wrapping around your neck as he pulled you towards his lips. you couldn’t believe this was happening, sober or not, you’ve known all along that the bickering and fighting was building up just for this very moment.

..and then his phone rang.

you were less than an inch away from each other, both of you freezing right before your lips could meet. “fuck.” he pulled away, making you purse your lips together as he took the device out of his pocket. following his line of vision, you looked down at the contact name. barry. your eyebrows knitted in confusion. who the hell could that be, and why did they have to call right this second? “shit, i gotta take this,” he cursed under his breath, “i’ll be right back. promise.” you smiled softly, giving him a small nod.

it’s fine, you needed to reapply your lipgloss anyways.

out of habit, rafe put his old friend on speaker, the volume loud enough for you to hear the unfamiliar voice from the kitchen. “what.” rafe sounded irritated once he spoke into the receiver.

“country club!” you felt your heart drop at the name, “where the fuck have you been? you’re too ‘rich boy’ to swing by and drink a beer on the cut?” your stomach twisted as you felt your blood run cold.

country club. the cut. your past conversations with your so called ‘mystery’ man ran through your head, everything that you once suspected now coming to fruition. oh, god, how could you have missed all of the signs? the night you two both went on a date.. the same date where you sent him nudes in the bathroom of his own boat. his little ‘cute skirt.’ comment after you texted him saying that you were wearing one in hopes for him to find you somewhere. suddenly you felt like the room was getting smaller, your sanity hanging on by a single thread.

no, you had to be overthinking this. surely, rafe couldn’t be your guy. if he was, that means he has known who you are behind the screen for who knows how long? just as you stood up, rafe came back into the living room. “sorry about that, it was nothing—” you cut him off, “country club?” he froze. it wasn’t until he saw the mortified look on your face that he realized he made the grave mistake of putting barry’s call on speaker. eyeing the front door behind him, rafe lunged for you the second you tried to leave the living room.

“y/n—” he grabbed your shoulders, your eyes watering out of embarrassment. “you can’t be him.” you shook your head as he backed you up into the wall. “i am, though,” he took ahold of your wrists so you could stop thrashing against him, “i am him.” you felt a shiver run down your spine at the confirmation. “and you’re you. you’re mine.” you scoffed, turning your head away from his view. “let go of me.” rafe didn’t budge, your frustration only growing.

“i found out you were my girl after our date on the druthers. the same necklace, the nails.. the things you’ve said to me in person being repeated over the phone. i knew it was you.” you whimpered, still trying to get out of his grip. “i’m not your girl, don’t call me that.” rafe smiled, his broad build towering over you with ease. “you don’t have to be embarrassed about anything. in case you forgot, we both did some things.”

“shut the fuck up.” you finally managed to push him away, your hands flying to pull the hem of your dress down. “why would you go on without telling me anything, don’t you realize how fucking stupid i must feel right now?!” you cried out. “i wanted you to find out once you felt ready to, okay?! what happened right now was a mistake on my part, i’m sorry!”

“there’s no ‘me and you’, i’m not yours, and you aren’t mine. this should’ve never happened.” rafe hated how those words sounded coming out of your mouth. “the switch up is crazy.” he laughed, shaking his head. “just five minutes ago you were ready to kiss me, and right before that we spent nearly two hours discussing our differences and being vulnerable with each other. now what?” you let out a breath. “we would never work. let’s just leave it at that—” rafe was already disagreeing with you before you could finish your sentence.

“i won’t just ‘leave’ it. i can’t.” he stepped closer. “you’re saying we’ll never work, but you won’t even try.” rafe scoffed, “who’s stopping us? is this like an ego thing? say the word and i’ll set you straight right now.” you rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your body reacted to his words. “you really sat there in my face and acted clueless..” you glared at him, “you know things about me that no one else— not even my best friend, knows about,” you whispered, “this is too much for me right now.”

sniffling, you felt relief wash over you once you heard a honk outside. “don’t leave,” rafe pulled you from walking to the front door, “please, we could figure something out.” without another word, you left, rafe’s voice calling out to you with each step you got closer to the car. you were able to compose yourself before you got home, thankful that chanel was knocked out cold so you wouldn’t have to recap the shitty night you just had.

taking your phone out of your purse, you were met with multiple messages from rafe himself.

[11:44 PM] country club from tumblr <3 : i’m not letting you run away from this.

[11:45 PM] country club from tumblr <3 : we see each other everyday y/n, we’re gonna have to talk this out at some point.

[11:47 PM] country club from tumblr <3 : i’m sorry.

[11:47 PM] country club from tumblr <3 : you have every reason to be mad at me, i could understand that.

[11:48 PM] country club from tumblr <3 : look. i have to go on the mainland for some business stuff but i’ll be staying at the ‘paradise’ hotel for the next week. i’ll be there any time after eight, i’ll text you my room details when i get checked in. please just come see me.

taglist: @meallan01 @sf1738 @emeloyy @hmmshhhh @chelzaa @starkeycore @liyah4evaaaa @hnybitches @urbimom @kittenjujusblog @femaholicc @lil-sparklqueen @yktayy9669 @matthewswifeyy @icaqttt @jjasmiineee @lilithblackkk @rafecameronswhoore @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @ditzyzombiesblog @i-love-gvf @blondrafe @wolf-2005 @brianquinnlvr @lightbluebaby @jkrafe @lovemaybankk @xcinnamonmalfoyx @drewstarkeysbabe @issues4him @dahliaparton @slut-4-gojo @luvagirlsworld @nemesyaaa @jwdiaries @midsoulz @drewstarkeyzwhore @urmotherlvr @chillgal135 @wtfisastiles @dollyfiles @annaconscience @rafesluvr @locallyhateddoll @acidfeens @cherubfille @whathechickenstrip @my-name-is-baby @wtfdudesblog @atjlovverr

[oddlylovingaddiction]

; Coming Full Circle.

CLEARLY you all are desperate for an actual story on this blurb I quickly wrote up ♡

Part 1: (You are here!) , Part 2: Here! , Part 3: Here! , Part 4: Here! , Part 5: Here!

CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don’t have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this potential series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family. reader is somewhat introverted and is describe loosely as attractive. Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest. READER ALSO HAS NO IDEA THAT THE WAYNE FAMILY ARE SUPERHEROS (for now…)

TW: Abuse in the form of emotional neglect, Reader’s mom is dead, Pregnancy and rich people.

You weren’t a kid anymore. Part of you wonders if you ever got the chance to be one. Your mom died when you were pretty young, barely 6 at the time, you don’t remember much about her. She was pretty though, maybe that’s where you got your looks from?

You spent 4 years at an orphanage after her passing, until one day a car came and picked you up and took you to a big manor. Apparently Bruce Wayne was your father, but not just an adoptive one, your biological father. That was definitely shocking, You looked so much like your mother that you really couldn’t see the resemblance, maybe if you really focused you could see some aspects of the new father you suddenly gained.

You only met Bruce a handful of times, the first time was to greet you. He seemed particularly disinterested, you were only just a bit younger than Jason which he was currently focused on at the time. Bruce showed you to your room it was way bigger than your room in the orphanage then promptly disappeared, Alfred (who you came later to learn was the butler and NOT your new grandfather.) showed you around the rest of the Manor, claiming that Bruce had paperwork that needed more attention than his newly gained child, okay, he didn’t put it like that but that’s basically what he ment.

The Manor was big and rather empty, you wonder what the point of all this space was as a child. As you grew older you grew to understand and appreciate its big and emptiness, because then you couldn’t run into any of your other siblings. Whenever you meet them, it’s awkward, like you’re an outsider. Which you suppose you are, but it’s different because you later learn that all of your siblings were adopted, minus Damian but you only gained him as your sibling towards the end of your stay in the Manor. So why did they treat you like you were the odd when out, when they all should know perfectly how that feels since they were also outsiders at one point? To this day you have no clue.

You quickly grew adjusted to not being around your family. The first the phew years was difficult, you craved their attention like any normal child. You remember you used to cry at night as a kid wondering what you did wrong for them to barely even glance your way, to not even love you… but after the third birthday with the exact same gift you got on previous birthdays from Bruce, continually getting rejected by all your siblings on your offers to hang out and occasionally catching wholesome moments between your siblings and Bruce where they were chatting and laughing without you, You naturally gave up on trying.

You instead grew as a person without them, you made friends at school, developed your own personal fashion taste, you discovered your hobbies and your personality. You occasionally heard news about your family from Alfred (You never got used to only hearing news from him), like how Jason died, Tim was brought in, turns out Jason was alive and at some point Damian was also brought in. The timeline was messy. Honestly you didn’t think much about why Bruce adopted so many damn kids nor did you bother to concern yourself with their affairs.

Instead you discovered somethings more important. Number one is your huge allowance, you knew Bruce was a billionaire and filthy, disgustingly rich, but not to the point your allowance was in the MILLIONS. The second thing is nobody cares about you, to the point one time when you were around 17 you stayed at a friend’s house for two days without telling anyone, came back and apparently no one had any idea you even left when you asked Alfred.

Those two things got you to where you were now, a stunning and safe apartment with the most beautiful view in the whole of Gotham, a loving husband who would do practically anything for you, heavily pregnant in your 20s and currently surrounded by your shocked family.

You had a fight with your husband and you were livid at him deciding to spend some time at the Wayne Manor just to cool off (and to somewhat teach him a lesson), You honestly thought that nobody would care when you came waltzing back. Since nobody cared any other time.

However you were sorely mistaken. To the point you regret not just staying at a hotel or something. When you first walked through the door, Alfred greeted you. You were occasionally in contact with him, but you neglected to tell him about the pregnancy, let alone the fact you were married mainly because you knew he’d run and tell the entire family and you’d rather keep your life private from them. Which is probably why he stopped mid greeting to stare at your belly. It looked like he was buffering as he let you in and led you to the kitchen, you texted him on the ride there that you were a bit thirsty, so he prepared you some tea.

“My word, you’re really pregnant?” Alfred finally said once you sat down at one of the counters, which earned a chuckle from you as he slid your tea over to you.

“Last time I checked… which was in a mirror and when I felt the little gremlin kicking around in me on the drive here, I am.” You say with a smile before proceeding to chug your tea. “May I ask-” Alfred starts but before he can finish he’s interrupted by Damian, who entered the kitchen to grab some snacks at some point but instead noticed you.

“What on earth is that.” Damian hissed, he looked disturbed and disgusted as he pointed at your belly, like he just discovered a bug. Which ticked you off.

“An Alien, no use your head what does it look like?” You sarcastically reply. Normally Damian would’ve retorted however you quickly decide that you want to relax in the living room where you could continue your conversation with Alfred. As you and Alfred quickly leave, abandoning your empty tea cup, and finally settling in the living room. However you suddenly hear a STORM of footsteps from inside the house. You turn around and realize Damian followed you to the living room, phone in hand and clearly had texted the entire family about his new discovery.

“Fuck me…” you mutter softly, your peaceful days of being ignored were probably officially over. All thanks to your one dumb decision to come here. While you silently regretted your choices, almost the entire Wayne family had run into the living room, Tim was the first to run in shouting “WHO’S PREGNANT?”

You only really snap out of it when you notice the entire Wayne family staring at you, they got here faster than expected. Not all of them were here but most of them.

‘Maybe I really am carrying an Alien’ You ponder momentarily before you begin to speak, “Listen I’m only here momentarily because I had a small disagreement with my husband—” “HUSBAND?” Dick squeaks out his voice breaking in shock. “Yes— wait why are you all here anyways?” You say as it dawns on you how ridiculous this whole reaction was. Hell even BRUCE WAYNE, the supposed father you were under the care of, that you never saw for the majority of your life was even here.

“Well cause you know Bruce is always bringing home kids it’s the first time someone other than him is bringing home one, let alone an unborn one.” Cassandra pointed out, which you promptly agreed nodding your head. That explains it, to this damn family it must be pretty alien.

“Okay, well I’m pregnant. I get it shocking and stuff but there’s no need to—“ You say trying to calm down the situation when you are interrupted by Damian who’s pointing at your belly where your baby, as if sensing the crowd of spectators, decided to do its own acrobatic routine.

“Ew why is it moving….” Damian said, You’re starting to wonder why you even talk. “Don’t say ew. It’s just kicking, if you want you can touch my belly—” you regret those words instantly as around 20 hands immediately fly to touch your belly where the baby continues to kick. You’d almost find the whole situation adorable if it weren’t for the fact they were your family who previously didn’t give a flying fuck about you.

All of a sudden Bruce, noticing your uncomfort, clears his throat. When he does the 20 hands resend from touching your belly, “How far along are you?” He asks calmly but you can clearly hear his voice shake slightly. “7 months.” You reply calmly to which Damian opens his mouth again.

“Jesus when is it going to come out— wait how does it come out…” He still look horrified to which you suppressed a laugh. “Did no one teach you where babies come from?” You laugh and then pause when the room goes silent.

“Oh my god…” you mutter, no wonder he’s so disturbed. You hear Bruce quickly whisper to Selina “I thought you told him!” To which Selina fires back, “Me?! It’s your job!”

That’s your cue to leave before you have to witness a very uncomfortable conversation. “Okay, I’m going to go to my room, I’m tired.” To which everyone nods giving you space to leave.

Phew hours had gone by and you were relaxing in bed on your phone, when you heard a knock on your door.

“Come in!” You call, assuming it was Alfred but instead the one who came waltzing in was Damian. He looked awkward and you definitely felt that as well.

“Hello.” He said as he walked over to you staring at you where you were lying down.

“Uh… Hi Damian… how can I help you?” You ask praying he just going to briefly insult you and walk away like he did in the past. Instead he looks curious.

“I have been educated on where kids come from. It is very disturbing.” You chuckle at his statement and at his face full of regret while putting your phone away.

“It’s not too bad, at least you learned from your parents and not your friends half way into high school.” You say smiling reaching out and patting his small shoulder at your own memory of your shocked friends as they held your hand in the bathroom and slowly explained it to the poor naive you.

“Yes that sounds way worse.” He admits as you laugh at his sentiment, to which he scowls a bit before snapping out of it. “Anyways, like I said, I have been educated and although it’s very disturbing I commend your bravery for creating life.”

Damn it, he made it awkward again. You resend your hand awkwardly and place it back on your chest, Damian continues speaking though. “I also did some research and apparently the fetus can hear around the 5th month, and since you said it’s in the 7 month stage it can hear. Which means it heard me insulting it.”

You nod at his words, encouraging him to get whatever he’s planning on doing over with already. When he sees your nod, he removes his hands from behind his back, he’s holding a book.

“So to replace my negative words I have brought an educational book, normally I know perhaps the other parent my read so the baby gets used to both your voices, however since your a single parent—“

you give him an incredulous look “no… I have a husband.” To which he stares at you like your pants are on fire, that’s how much of a liar he thinks you are.

“Yes… right.. well since this supposed husband isn’t here to read to your child I shall.” He plops himself beside you, not accepting any protests from you about how you really do have a husband, he begins to read, you give in closing your eyes, clearly you’re going to be here awhile. “Law 1. Always make those above you feel comfortably superior…” you scrunch your face at his words as he reads. Half way into chapter one your eyes fly open and realize that he’s actually reading.

“Are you reading 48 laws of power right now?” You say staring at the book he’s holding as you prop yourself up on your elbows. He gives you a look like you just said the sky was blue.

“Yes of course? It needs to come out smart. Now please lie back down.” He says pushing you to lie back down. You give in once again, you’re too tired to protest against Damian anyways…

At some point both you and Damian passed out, the book could only hold both your interests long enough and the warmth of your room was just perfect for a nap. You stare down at the still sleeping Damian, whose head is currently resting on your belly, contemplatively. In someways you were jealous he fit in perfectly with the Wayne family and was actually treated like their sibling and child. However on the other hand you were honestly glad you were not loved like he was, because if you were you would’ve never met your husband (that you are now starting to miss…) and you also would’ve never been given the opportunity to create your own family, one that will love you truly.

You didn’t like the fact that Damian used to insult you occasionally in the past, but it’s not like you held it against him and you also don’t regret making fun of him back. Although he was a brat at times, he was still a child. A child in a huge messy family that just happened to be your little brother. Perhaps that was the gnawing feeling in your heart. The knowledge such a small kid like him will probably struggle in someways you used to is weighing heavy on you. He was earnest, and clearly tried his best from the fact alone he came to your room to read a book that he knew would help the baby… even if that book was the laws of power and was incredibly boring (in your opinion.)

He was just like you when you were smaller. That thought made you gently reach down and stroke his head. “I hope you’ll only make smart choices, but even if you don’t I’ll still love you, my dear. Just remember, don’t hold onto people who will never hold you gently and lovingly. After all, You are the most precious thing to me and you will be precious to so many others. You are worth your weight in gold.” You whisper to the sleeping boy, the same words your mother said at her passing. You feel yourself getting chocked up, after all this day was full of emotions for you. And you aren’t quite ready to face those emotions so you close your eyes.

After saying all those words and remembering the things you’d almost rather forget you find yourself pulled back into sleep. This time though, Damian had a small smile etched on his face as he slept..

[criminalamnesia]

HIIII!!! I just wanted to say that i really love ur writing! I've read ur traitor series and I can't wait for part 4! I'm a new author, and english isn't my first language, so it's sometimes very hard for me to write bcs i'm stil not that good, but ur fics have helped me improve<3💗!

thank you so much!🫶 im glad you’ve enjoyed the series! and speaking of part four, here it is :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

simon didn’t turn to watch you leave the gym.

he stood there, eyes forward, mask clenched in one fist. he could feel the blood drying on his skin. he made no move to wipe it away.

he didn’t blame you for your anger— he couldn’t. he understood the rage. had felt it himself a time or two.

but he couldn’t take everything lying down.

did he deserve your wrath, your fury? yes— and he knew that. there was no making up for what he did; he realized that, but why couldn’t you understand?

he’d never fully taken his walls down around you, and that was no fault of your own. he was a guarded man, and his past gave him every right to be.

he had been burned and broken too many times. he’d seen the people he loved murdered because of him.

he swore he would never let that happen again. he put those walls up, and you knocked some of them down.

but there were some you’d never gotten through, at least, simon told himself you hadn’t. there was always something he was holding back, a piece of himself he wouldn’t give freely. he told himself it was because he couldn’t stand to love you so deeply and then watch you leave.

but really, it was because he needed an out. he needed a way to justify his leaving if something ever happened— and that’s what got him here.

simon trusted the 141 with his life. he trusted his captain with his life. price had never led him astray; john knew his face well before any of the others. well before you.

and when someone you trust so deeply, someone you’ve followed for years, tells you that the person you love has betrayed your team?

you can’t help but believe them. and that’s what simon did.

the evidence was coincidental at first. wrong place, wrong time. but then, everything started to seem like more than a coincidence. pieces of a complicated puzzle were fitting together. things only you and the rest of the 141 would know were leaked.

and all the signs pointed to you.

and although he didn’t want to, simon couldn’t help it. the second price had confided in him that you may be the rat, simon began to distance himself. you had been confused, but he had offered no explanation.

price was the one to question you first. it was a heated conversation in his office, consisting of him showing you the evidence and you becoming furious at the accusations.

johnny came to you next, buttering you up with his flirtatious and unarming words before asking if you’d leaked information.

then there was kyle, who pleaded for the truth. he told you that a case was being built against you, and that if you came clean now, things wouldn’t be so bad.

simon never tried to talk to you about it. the other men would tell him what you’d said, but he had never gone to talk to you himself.

maybe it was pride. simon wasn’t trusting, not after his past. he had let the 141 in, had let you in. and now you were a suspected traitor, and he was angry at himself. angry he hadn’t seen it sooner; angry he’d let you in at all.

but maybe it was hurt. hurt that you’d done this to him, to the team, after knowing everything they’d been through. after stitching up wounds on the battlefield and taking bullets for one another. after sharing simon’s bed and whispering you loved him.

all he knew was that he trusted price. and as evidence built, so did the distance between the two of you, until you were tied to that chair.

and simon had taken his hurt, his anger, out on you. he wasn’t proud of it, and he knew now that he was wrong. but he was still a little angry. angry because you couldn’t see his side of things— not like he could see yours.

so, he was an ass. he didn’t apologize. he snuck flowers to your bedside but kept his distance. he told you to watch your tone because you were still part of the team, and speaking to price like that was only something an outsider would do.

and he told you that he’d spared your life because he had. anger had consumed him, and truthfully, you were lucky he hadn’t done worse.

even if he’d smothered his feelings for you with rage, he still harbored love for you, and that’s why some part of him held back.

he knew you would probably never forgive him. he had made his peace with that.

but he couldn’t stand the fact that you couldn’t understand why he’d done what he did.

the creak of the gym door opening broke simon from his thoughts. he pulled his mask back on before turning around and making his way to the door.

it took one firm knock on the door for price to answer.

the door clicked open, and price sighed when he saw simon, scrubbing a hand over his unruly beard before letting the taller man in. price turned, walking back to his desk chair, while simon closed the door behind him and locked it.

“this is a bloody mess,” the captain said, falling heavily into the chair. it squeaked at the sudden weight, old leather crinkling and crackling.

“doc came and saw me earlier, ‘fore she left for the night. told me about some new injuries, and yelled at me for letting that happen.”

simon didn’t speak. price’s eyes met his, and he sighed again.

“fuckin’ hell, simon. what the fuck did you say? doc said she had to stitch up both their hands.”

“doesn’t matter what I say,” simon spoke, eyes still on the captain “they won’t fuckin’ listen.”

price shook his head. “that’s not true, ‘nd we both know it,” he sounded tired as he spoke, dark bags under his eyes. he paused for a moment, then spoke again.

“spoke to laswell after you left earlier. she said she’ll try to speed up the transfer process. tryin’ to avoid more fuss, and im not fightin’ it any longer.”

“they’re part of our team,” simon spoke, tone rough.

price shook his head. “they are, but I can’t keep doin’ this. can’t keep pushin’ off transferin’ because of you lot. it may be better for us, but not for them.”

the room fell quiet. simon inhaled, exhaled. his fists clenched at his sides before quickly unfurling once more.

he didn’t have a right to be mad at you for leaving, but he was.

“laswell say anythin’ else about tha’ transfer?” simon asked.

price leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “not much. no word on where or with who, but even if she knew, doubt she’d tell us. for their sake.”

simon gave a small nod and made to turn, but froze as price spoke again.

“she did say she didn’t know if it would go through. they’d have to pass another eval.”

they both knew what that meant. if laswell said that, then she didn’t believe the transfer would happen. kate wouldn’t outwardly say it, but price had known what she’d meant.

pushing the transfer through wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t pass a physical and psychological evaluation— and laswell didn’t think you could.

although he wouldn’t admit it, price was unsure, too. torture was something that took an incredibly devastating toll on the mind and body.

but torture at the hands of your team? there was no telling the damage that that would do to someone. to you.

an honorable discharge was more likely. and, if that was the case, then your rage would likely grow tenfold.

you career, your livelihood, taken from you by the hands of the men you trusted the most. your family, cutting you up and pushing you out.

damned by your team and your country, regardless of everything you’d done for both of them during your service.

you were just another cog in the machine, one that had been damaged and discarded, and a discharge couldn’t make that any clearer.

he thought back to what you had said in the gym earlier, before you’d left.

‘you should have killed me.’

maybe he should have.

thanks to everyone for your patience! also just incase you didn’t see my post about it—

im no longer doing a taglist! my side blog @troiastitans will reblog my works from now on, so if you want to know when I post, follow that account and allow notifications!

as always, thank you for the love! (also I hope you all enjoyed a little peek into simon’s head!)

[kthologue]

indulge me? — gojo satoru

synopsis you and gojo go on an overnight mission and it goes wrong in every way

contents so. much. pining. (2.8k words of it!?), one bed trope, whipped!gojo, ooc gojo, completely self indulgent, a lot of cardiovascular talk, they’re first years in this!

notes first time i’ve written in AGES. sorry :3 ps this is a little snippet from a satosugu x reader series im thinking about starting. thoughts?

(edit: i wrote a part ii)

Gojo Satoru was born blessed. From birth and to death he will always be honored. It wasn't his fault that the Heavens delighted in him. So when Yaga had announced that he and you would be sharing an overnight mission to Kyushu, he nearly leapt in joy (lucky him)!

You, on the other hand, were less than thrilled to find out that you were going to be traveling alone with Gojo Satoru. For two whole days. It was a death sentence.

“Make sure to text me, so I know you're not dead.” Shoko looks between you and Gojo. Either your head will implode as a result of Gojo, or he is gonna be on the receiving end of your wrath. Shoko can’t wait to see which.

“Do take pictures, I heard the onsens there are incredible.” Suguru slyly adds. Satoru perks up at his comment. The two of them share a knowing look before Gojo speaks up.

“Wanna take a dip with me once we get there, [Name]?” He looks into your eyes, his lips are quirked upwards like he’s up to no good (which he is). “I promise I won’t take a peek!” He winks.

“Keep fantasizing, Gojo.”

“Oh I will.” He hums happily. The smile on his lips is kind of cute, you decide. Just a little.

— — — — — — — 

Kurokawa, you come to find out is a very small town in Kyushu. So when people start to go missing, the entire town falls into shambles. Before your trip, Yaga had made it known the enemy you’d be facing. 

“A common denominator of the missing persons is that they were all young women.” He had warned you and Gojo. “It’s an unidentified curse, but I trust that the two of you will be able to handle it.”

Three missing girls. All under the age of 25. Two of which were locals, one being a tourist. 

The moment you arrive on the island of Kyushu, your guard is higher than ever. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of some horny curse,” He looks down at you as the two of you make your way down a small street to your ryokan. Kurokawa was a traditional town, its pride resting on the old culture causing it to be untouched by modern architecture.

Unamused by his nonchalant attitude, you decide to ignore his vulgar comment, “What grade curse do you think we’re up against?”

He makes a noise to show that he’s thinking. “Does it really matter? It’ll be no match for me either way.”

You roll your eyes, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, we still have to figure out what happened to the victims.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary, but okay.” Your snow haired peer dismisses. It makes you a bit envious that he doesn’t have to ever feel fear for his life. Must be nice.

The two of you arrived at your designated ryokan soon enough, it was a small town after all. Gojo leads the way with you following right after. You can’t discern any cursed energy in the building, but you still make a mental note to ask Gojo about it after you both are situated. 

An elderly lady in an orange kimono stood behind the desk, smiling at you and you returned it back happily.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a young couple here.” She says. That’s right, with the recent disappearance of young girls, there would be a sudden decrease of tourism around this part of town. “You certainly are a beautiful match!”

You gratefully accept her compliment, “Thank you, but we’re not–”

“Thanks granny!” Gojo wraps a strong arm around your shoulder. “I don’t know how I even managed to win her over!” There’s a wide grin on his face that makes your eye twitch. Leave it to him to tell people the two of you were together. Not only that but he totally disrespected the old lady with his informal talk!

“Unhand me, you!” You forcefully whisper at him, while trying to unwrap yourself from his hold. His arm does not budge even as you try to push it off. What the hell is this boy eating? Gojo chuckles with the old lady while you struggle.

“My, the two of you remind me so much of my husband and I in the days of our youth,” She sighs dreamily. Her age must be interfering with her memory because there was nothing inherently romantic going on between you and Gojo. “How long will you be staying here?”

“Only one night,” Gojo decides that he has tormented you enough and lets you go. He slides her his card and she pulls out something from the old wooden counter she stands behind. 

A single key.

Your eyes bug out. Gojo’s eyebrows raise. You laugh nervously, face feeling warmer than it was thirty seconds ago.

“There must have been a misunderstanding. We need two rooms, ma’am.” You hold up two fingers to emphasize your point. 

The smile on the old woman’s face falls, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Your jaw drops.

“Huh? Why not?” You press on further. Surely they could not have been booked out of all of their rooms. Tourism is at an all time low after the strange disappearances.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the strange disappearances in the area. It’s a miracle the two of you have even decided to stay here, which I am very grateful for. That is why I must repay you back by ensuring your safety. Otherwise I must ask you to leave and stay in the next town because I will not allow you to endanger yourself so carelessly.” 

You blink. Neighboring town? That was hours away. The curse was here in Kurokawa. You can’t afford to jeopardize a mission just because of your own feelings.

Gojo’s hand is halfway to the key, but he waits for your approval. You sigh.

“It’s fine, we can do one. Thank you.” You bow your head. She smiled apologetically as she handed Gojo the key. Gojo, unbothered by the revelation, whistles happily as the lady leads the way to your suite.

— — — — — — — 

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

Gojosatowu added getosugu, shoko.ieiri

Gojosatowu You wont believe it!!! shoko.ieiri What the hell is this gc And what the hell is Operation satoru x [name]?  getosugu  how come [name] isn’t in this? Gojosatowu Ladies, ladies, one question at a time please getosugu  Expect a forehead flick for that comment shoko.ieiri  Stfu and just answer the questions Gojosatowu alright alright [name] and i are sharing a room in kyushu!! i may come out of this mission a changed man. shoko.ieiri  someone make sure [name] is still alive and well Gojosatowu I dont appreciate your lack of faith in me >:( shoko.ieiri  Keep a six feet distance from her at all times perv Gojosatowu I might have to for my own sanity. What do you think she wears to bed? shoko.ieiri  You disgust me sometimes getosugu  Only sometimes? shoko.ieiri  Let me correct myself. You disgust me. Gojosatowu Im feeling the love :(

“What are you giggling to yourself about?” You place a hand on your hips as you watch Gojo smile at his flip phone.

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” He closes it. Weird. “What’s the living situation?”

You sigh. “Despite its traditional arrangement, there is a bed.”

Gojo perks up. “Yeesh I’m glad! If I had to sleep on the floor my back would be all sore right on a mission. Y'know how annoying that is?”

You suck your teeth. “Allow me to rephrase myself. There is only one bed.” 

There is an awful silence in the room, save for your erratically beating heart. Of course the old woman decided to place you in a couple’s suite.  

“Heh.” Gojo chortles happily. “Wow, this must be a divine sign from God Himself. I mean, who are we to ignore this?”

“Don’t start,” You hold out an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna go request an extra futon.”

He pouts, “Don’t be like that, sharing a bed with me can’t be that bad.”

“I’m willing to bet otherwise.” You walk past him. The white haired boy watches you go like a sad puppy.

— — — — — — — 

You took your time getting an extra futon, using it as an excuse to get all of the nervousness out of your system of sharing the same room as Gojo Satoru. Sharing a room with a boy was already bad enough, but Gojo? Your heart skipped a beat (out of nervousness, you insist!).

By the time you make it back to the room, the lights are out. You assume that Gojo decided to go to sleep early. You don’t blame him. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day of hunting for the curse rampaging Kurokawa. 

The only light source in the room is coming from the bathroom. You sigh. The idiot must’ve forgotten to turn it off. Nonetheless, you were gonna go get unready either way so you make your way to the half open door.

On the sink is a complimentary toothbrush that you help yourself to. You apply some paste and–

There is a sound of something sliding shut from behind you. You look up at the mirror. Standing behind you was Gojo. Wet. And naked. 

“Oh my gosh!” You spit out your toothpaste and ran out of the room. How did you fail to see that Gojo was in the restroom? You blame it on the sliding doors separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Oh my gosh. Your face feels like it’s on fire. He has a six pack. And why does his stupid hair look like that when it's wet? Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate. This is so inappropriate.

Shortly after your freakout, Gojo steps out of the bathroom. There was no way you could face him now.

“Aw, don't be so shy now. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see me like this.” Gojo stands in the doorway. There is a towel wrapped around his waist, still leaving him indecent in your eyes.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating Gojo! And lock the door when you’re in the restroom you creep!” You look anywhere but him.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault, was it? You were taking so long I thought you left me here alone.” You can practically hear him pouting. “Either way, you were the one checking me out.”

Your eyes widen, “I was not checking you out! Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t feel ashamed, this can all be yours,” He gestures down to his body.

“You freak.” you blanch.

He winks at you.

This was going to be a long night.

— — — — — — — 

It takes you about half an hour to calm down from the bathroom catastrophe. By now, you’re situated in your futon while Gojo is tucked on the bed. If you had to guess, it’d be nearing midnight around now. You just need to close your eyes and get some sleep before your mission tomorrow.

Except you can’t sleep.

Every time you close your eyes, your mind betrays you and an image of Gojo post shower illustrates itself in your mind. And it doesn’t help that he sleeps shirtless. You seriously need your mind cleansed.

That wasn’t your only issue. The room was sub zero. Who knew traditional ryokans had such advanced air conditioning systems? All you could hear was the air conditioning machine overworking itself. You could even argue that it was colder than Shoko’s morgue. And your sleep shirt and shorts were doing little to help insulate you. 

“Wanna come cuddle with me?” The last person you wanted to hear from breaks the silence. You pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not asleep! My six eyes tell me that you’re shivering.” Busted.

“I am not cuddling with you.” You stare at the ceiling above you, arms crossed. How could he even propose such an idea? Has he no shame?

“Well I can’t face the old granny here if my girlfriend ends up dead by freezing!”

“I am not your girlfriend, Gojo. Nor will I die.”

“That’s not what she thinks. Plus we have a mission tomorrow, so I can’t have you getting sick on me now.”

“I’ll be fine, Gojo. Now go to sleep.”

“I run hot when I sleep, y’know. Let me be your personal heater.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning.

“I refuse.”

“Well I refuse your refusal.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now c'mon,” He pats the spot next to him. “I’ll even make a wall in between us.”

You hear the bedsheets shuffle and you have to sit up to see that Gojo was stacking two pillows in the middle of the bed to prove his point. You’re nearly certain that the only thing you’ll be catching soon is a headache if you keep up with his antics. It was a tempting offer, one that you would surely accept if it wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Gojo, I—”

“...Please?” His voice is softer than you have ever heard it. It was unfair how Gojo was making it harder and harder to reject his offer.

A silent moment passes by.

“...Fine,” You reluctantly get up from your pathetic excuse of a futon. “But no funny business!” You warn him. 

You see Gojo perk up from the bed. He looks at you with expectant eyes, “You got it!” He gives you a thumbs up. 

Whatever. If Gojo knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t try anything. You take in a deep breath before turning to face the opposite direction of where Gojo laid. 

“Good night [Name],” You hear Gojo whisper. You sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight Gojo.”

Eyes closed, you pray a silent prayer that everything will be fine for the remainder of the mission.

— — — — — — — 

Ever since Gojo was young, his body has been used to getting little amounts of sleep. Unsurprisingly, that caused him to have a natural alarm. It was always annoying whenever he woke up at the crack of dawn on a day when he didn't need to, but luckily for him, today it proved to be a blessing. There was an unfamiliar warmth radiating onto his body. Satoru opens his eyes.

He thinks he feels all of his six eyes widen when he feels himself wrapped around another body.

There you were, in all your beauty, lying fast asleep. In his embrace. Soft snores were escaping your mouth and there were stray hairs in your face. Did he mention how beautiful you looked sleeping? He might have to ask Shoko about heart disease because of how fast his heart was beating.

Unfortunately for him, you also seemed to be drifting away from dreamland and back to reality. Your eyes flutter and your eyebrows furrow. Gojo takes this to his advantage and does the worst thing he can think of; pretend to be asleep.

When you wake up, your mind is still hazy from the good night’s rest you had gotten, but not hazy enough to realize that your body was tangled with another’s. And you’re pretty sure the pillow you had been laying on last night was not this hard. You try to delude yourself into believing that this is all a dream, but the effects of your sleep were fading.

It takes all the strength in you to summon the courage to open your eyes. To your horror, you were firmly wrapped in Gojo’s arms and your legs were intertwined.

“What the hell?” You pull yourself away from him. On the floor below the bed laid the two pillows that Gojo had set up as a makeshift wall. You stare at them utter shock.

“No, don’t go, I’ll freeze to death,” Gojo whines, miraculously waking up. You glare at him.

“Explain to me what just happened or I swear Gojo, I’m going to–” You try to threaten him, but you can’t seem to formulate anything.

Unlike you, Gojo looked unbothered by the sudden turn of events. He even looked pleased. There was a lopsided smile on his face as he sighed, “What can I say, I guess you subconsciously want me after all.” 

"I do not—"

“But if I had to guess, I’d say the room got too cold and we most likely cuddled for warmth unconsciously.” He shrugs it off like it was no big deal. You note that his hair is tousled from the night before.

You leave the warm bed you and Gojo had made. His theory was probably true, meaning it was neither of your faults. You purse your lips.

“I suppose that makes sense. I apologize for overreacting, I guess I was under the impression that we had done something lewd last night.” With that comment, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up both your mind and body.

You don’t end up seeing how red Gojo’s face got. It was foreign to feel all the blood rising to his cheeks. He takes one of his hands to slap it over his eyes before chuckling to himself. Yeah, he definitely knows why he likes you. 

All of a sudden Gojo feels like he’s on top of the world. For you, it was just a moment of weakness.

┊⋆｡˚. ੈ ┊

Extra notes:

gojo wished he and you got to go to the onsen together. 

gojo also regretted not taking a photo of you sleeping soundly in his arms. it would’ve been his new wallpaper. 

for the remainder of the trip, gojo was at an all time high, successfully locating and exorcising the curse in less than an hour.

[kxsagi]

hihi how r uuu, uhm i’d like to request aaaaaa like idk a series of odd compliements reader gives the bllk boys they didn’t know they needed like uhm idk “I love the way you floss” or smth like that. i’d also really like nesssss. Please and thank you

“𝐮𝐦… 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?”

a/n: could not think of a better title idea HELP

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, and karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

you: “you look like the type of guy who separates his m&ms by color and then eats the most powerful-looking ones last.” 

isagi: “... thank you?” 

this man does not know what to do with that information. he’s touched?? confused??? you once told him, “your jawline is the only line i trust.” and he almost cried. 

he gets so flustered and honored every time. he literally started journaling them. 

one day you told him, “you look like if a golden retriever was in a tax evasion scandal.” 

and he was like, “... wait what?” 

itoshi rin

you: “you give off the energy of someone who’d survive a horror movie just by being too emotionally unavailable to die.” 

rin: “what the hell is wrong with you.” 

but deep down, this man thrives off your madness. he will sit in silence for 10 minutes and then mumble: “i would survive a horror movie though.” 

you once told him, “you remind me of the moon. distant, cold, and capable of controlling tides and my mood swings.” 

he was silently smiling for the rest of the day. never admitted it. 

itoshi sae

you: “you look like you’d ghost me for 3 days then show up with a smoothie like nothing happened.” 

sae: “i’ve literally done that before.” 

you: “yeah i know. that’s why it’s a compliment.” 

he thinks you’re deranged. but he also thinks you’re funny. 

you told him he looks like a sexy ikea instruction manual and he actually laughed. 

but then you said he gives off “divorced stepdad with a dark past” energy and he was like “okay that’s enough.” 

nagi seishiro

you: “you remind me of a cat that accidentally became god.” 

nagi: “mm. sounds troublesome.” 

he doesn’t care what you say as long as you’re saying it to him while he’s lying on your lap. 

you called him “a walking paradox of soft boy and threat to societal productivity,” and he sleepily went, “cool.” 

he repeats your compliments to himself when he’s bored. 

“cat god… huh.” 

mikage reo

you: “you have ‘sugar daddy but emotionally available’ energy.” 

reo: “well damn. i– thank you?” 

you’re feeding this man’s ego like it’s on life support. 

he literally changed his phone bio to “emotionally available sugar daddy.” 

you called him “the human version of a platinum credit card with a conscience.” 

he was ready to marry you on the spot. 

bachira meguru

you: “you give off ‘feral art student who eats glitter’ energy.” 

bachira: “omg you get me.” 

he ADORES your compliments. the weirder the better. 

you once told him, “you’re like if van gogh and a raccoon made a baby.” 

he deadass teared up. 

he started complimenting you back in the same fashion. 

“you look like the reincarnation of a chaotic rainbow.” 

you two are an unstoppable force of bizarre love languages. 

kaiser michael

you: “you look like a man who knows he’s the villain but would still win in a romcom.” 

kaiser: “i am the romcom.” 

he is EATING your compliments up. 

you once told him, “you have the aura of someone who would sue god for character defamation.” 

he printed that. framed it. 

you told him, “you give main character energy, but like, the delusional kind.” 

he paused. “wait… what do you mean by delusional?” 

shidou ryusei

you: “you look like you’d propose during a bar fight with blood on your face.” 

shidou: “i totally would actually. baby you get me so well.” 

he’s OBSESSED with your compliments. 

he once made you sit down and repeat the one where you said he “radiates sexy chainsaw energy.” 

he made it his discord status. 

you told him he gives off “if chaos was hot” energy. 

he licked your cheek. you regret everything. 

karasu tabito

you: “you look like a guy who uses sarcasm to hide how much he actually cares. like if a middle finger could love.” 

karasu: “... shut up.” (translation: i’m blushing.) 

you once told him, “you have rizz that’s so potent it’s FDA regulated.” 

he snorted so hard he actually dropped his phone. 

you called him “the reason sarcasm was invented,” and he leaned in like: “say that again, but slower.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[rhyrhy]

Tryouts! Series

𖤐 Synopsis: Abby Anderson, known for her carefree reputation, finds herself drawn to a no-nonsense cheerleader. What starts as harmless flirting takes a sharp left into chaos, featuring bruised egos, unresolved baggage, As tensions rise, the real question remains—can the two of you move past first impressions?

[Content Warnings:] MDNI, angst, modern AU, sexual tension, fuckboy quarterback Abby x mean cheerleader reader, angst/smut, gays who can’t communicate. Intoxication, Cringe.

࿔ A/N: back from vacation with a little something Based on this drabble. I know this trope has been run into the ground, but let’s be real—the gay version of everything is always better

࿔ Wc: 7k and counting | moodboards

-Chapter Index-

Prologue: (below) “how to ruin a party in 30 seconds or less”

Chapter 1: “denial is a team sport”

Chapter 2: cold shoulders

3 in progress

How to Ruin a Party in 30 Seconds or Less

“Fuckboy, player, heartbreaker.”

She’d heard it all—each insult more cliché than the last.

Abby never set out to be any of those things. It just kind of… happened. She came out later than most, stumbling through her sexuality, unsure how to carry it at first. It felt heavier than the 203 pounds she could deadlift. In high school, dating was a formality—one guy, no real connection.

It wasn’t until college that it clicked: she’d never felt right with them because she wasn’t meant to. Most labels felt strange, even suffocating. “Lesbian” felt too big, too official, so she avoided saying it aloud for as long as possible—unsure if it would even roll off her tongue correctly.

Then came her first real relationship. It ended before it even began. She wasn’t ready, fumbling through the emotional part, ghosting before things got too serious. After that, she stuck to what she did best: keeping things light. Hookups were easier than messy emotions. They didn’t ask for much, and she didn’t have to give anything away. Eventually, the reputation followed. At first, she snapped back at teammates’ jokes, but in time she learned to laugh it off. Honestly? It wasn’t entirely wrong.

Now, she wore what she used to fear as a second skin. Attending her dream school, she earned pats on the back from a team she’d only ever dreamed of joining. Sweat beaded on her forehead after every game—a reminder of how far she’d come. This was her paradise.

But deep down, Abby knew she was just dodging the real issue. She wasn’t afraid of commitment; she was afraid of feeling something for someone and not knowing what to do with it. And so, she remained safely in her own world.

But you? You didn’t get it. How could this possibly be enjoyable?

Sitting in the middle of a frat party, you longed to go home, wash your makeup off, and collapse onto your sheets. You hated events like these—especially when sober. The booming bass, the humid, sticky air, the blinding lights, and worse—the clumsy chaos of students. You never understood why you let your friends drag you here. But as part of the cheer team, skipping meant endless group-chat nagging—and you never were in the mood for that.

Throwing a ball around or getting tackled by girls twice your size wasn’t your thing. But ponytails, the rustle of pompoms, and the feeling of wind with every toe touch—that was your world.

Your best friend and team captain, Dina, who had held your hand through every drill, every first shave in middle school, and your recent breakup, was nowhere to be seen.

After settling in the living room, you figured a joint would help you zone out until Dina—and the rest of your ride—showed up. At some point, you found yourself face-to-face with the campus’ one and only Abby Anderson.

She’d been throwing looks all night, a silent challenge that told you everything: Abby was a well-known player, and the rumors weren’t flattering. Kissing and quitting? Not your scene. You’d crossed paths before—mostly during warm-ups on the field—but tonight, she slunk onto the couch beside you and started a conversation as if it were casual banter. Of course, it was calculated—but you indulged her, if only a little.

You were not interested.

Not after Valeria Martinez paraded you around as her girl, making sure everyone knew you weren’t the only one. Learning it all from some stupid “expose” page run by an idiot with too much time—it had been a sapphic nightmare. You’d poured your heart into routines and performances, trying to block out the frown that threatened to appear every time you entered the locker room. You’d held back soft sobs over a girl who played you like a fiddle—a bench-warming football player.

So no. You were absolutely not interested in going through that again.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Yet, unknowingly, you were judging Abby—a 6’0-something force of nature—entirely by her cover. If you’d looked closer—if you’d seen beyond the cool exterior—you’d know that Abby had her own routine. The gym, practice, study, sleep… it kept her sane. It gave her focus. And it worked… until you.

Until freshman move-in day, when she first saw you and dismissed you as just another pretty face. But then she found herself lingering on your social media, scrolling a little too long, just… staring at certain pictures. When she saw her teammates following you after the breakup with Martinez, her upper lip twitched in unknowing irritation.

She avoided you after that—pretended you didn’t exist—because it was easier than facing how you made her heart hammer against her ribs. The way she wanted you, even if you didn’t notice. But last night, she told herself, fuck it. If you weren’t going to make a move, she would.

A few jokes, a couple of lingering glances, and then—her fingers found their way under your chin, tilting your face toward hers. Your breath hitched. Her grip was firm, yet gentle enough for you to pull away if you dared. Almost as if she was testing you.

So close—just inches away. The heat radiating off her body, the defined collarbones peeking through the neckline of her jersey. Her gaze roamed over your features, as if she were committing them to memory, and when her blue eyes locked onto yours, you couldn’t look away.

The music pulsed around you, shifting, The slower beat stretched the moment, making it feel eternal. You didn’t move—why would you? She was convinced you’d fold like every other girl who caved under her size 10 cleats. But you weren’t going to. You couldn’t.

You were almost certain that if she closed the gap, you’d kiss her back. And that? That would be a problem. Because if she did, you’d pull her closer until the only thing you could smell was her.

Instead, you rolled your eyes and leaned back, your hair spraying across the sofa as you broke the moment.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Abby chuckled, her ego slightly bruised as her hand dropped from your chin. She punctuated it with a dramatic lip smack.

“Because I don’t want to fuck you?” you said, taking a slow drag from your joint. “Or because I’m not entertaining you?”

“Shit, both.” She shrugged, mentally slapping herself. She knew she’d come on too strong, and now she worried you might not even be into her type. So she doubled down.

“Especially the first one,” she added, dragging her eyes down your outfit before flicking them back up.

“Gross,” you scoffed, dismissing her further.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Abby huffed, tossing her head back against the couch. A beat of silence passed before she turned to you again.

“What’s your deal, anyway? You a prude? Because I know you aren’t straight.”

“What if I’m just not interested?” you shot back.

Her lips twitched, and she tilted her head as she studied you. “You aren’t?” Her voice was laced with challenge, and something in that tone made your heart thud. You hesitated—silence stretching uncomfortably as your uniform suddenly felt too tight.

Abby hummed and turned her head to the front. “Sure you aren’t,” she murmured, half-expecting you to correct her, half-expecting you to confirm her suspicion. When nothing came, she pressed on.

“So,” she said, her tone infuriatingly calm, “what’s your major? Or are you just here to shake your little pom-poms?”

You furrowed your brows at her comment before realizing you were still in uniform. A laugh burst out as you replied with your major. “And I won’t be shaking anything, thank you.” You added, taking another slow drag.

That got her attention. She tilted her head back for a once-over, arching an eyebrow. Testing your major like it was a word on her tongue, she paused and studied your face. “Nerdy,” she said with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather me throw a ball around all day?” you huffed, rolling your eyes.

“Aww, you jealous, sweetheart?” Abby smirked, shifting closer on the couch until she almost faced you head-on, her body angling provocatively.

You shook your head in amusement. “Aww Fuck no, I’m not,” you mocked in a sing-song tone. “Cute thought, though.”

It was Abby’s turn to roll her eyes, yet her smirk never faltered. “You’re a real smartass, you know that?” She leaned back, draping an arm casually over the back of the couch, fingertips grazing your shoulder.

“And you can’t take a hint,” you shot back, eyeing her outfit as you took another drag.

“And you’re full of yourself,” she retorted, eyes flicking to your hand as you passed her the joint. Their brief contact sent an involuntary shiver up your spine.

“Got your attention, though—so that says more about you than me,” you shrugged back.

Abby hummed in acknowledgment, taking a hit as smoke curled from her mouth. Her knee pressed against your thigh as she handed the joint back.

“But if you’re gonna check me out, at least be subtle about it,” she teased, her voice gravelly from the smoke.

“You wanted me to see you so bad, so I’m doing that. You complaining now?” you scoffed.

Abby exhaled sharply, a quiet laugh escaping her. “Holy hell, you’re annoying,” she said, though her gaze lingered on your face and lips.

“Yeah?” You returned, a slow smile spreading. “Good. Maybe you’ll run a play and leave.”

She glanced over at you, then back again. “You wish.” Abby flashed another grin.

The eye-fucking, the lingering tension, the still-aching wound from a previous heartbreak—it all painted her as a bad decision. You knew it, could feel it in the way your chest tightened, so you broke eye contact, pulling back just slightly.

“Why am I entertaining you right now?”

She followed your movement, not letting you retreat fully.“Because you like me,” she quipped, her hand still under your shirt, tracing lazy circles against your skin. “Because I’m entertaining, and I’m the best thing happening at this lame-ass party right now.”

You huffed a laugh. “Like you?” You arched a brow. “You think me letting you be handsy is a sign I’m falling for you?”

Abby chuckled, shrugging as if the thought had only just crossed her mind.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she mused, her fingers creeping higher, spreading over the bare skin of your hip. “But you’re still here, letting me touch on you… so something’s happening.”

You glanced down at her hand, then back up at her face, leaning against the couch.

“Mmn, I guess.”

A slow smirk tugged at her lips, but you rolled your eyes before it could fully settle.

“But I’d be an idiot to let it go further,” you said, it was something close to warning. “I know exactly how you get down.”

Abby’s grin only widened at that. No denial, no weak attempt to prove you wrong. Just that same wicked amusement as her fingers kept tracing idle patterns over your skin.

“Well, you’ve got me all figured out then, don’t you?” she teased, pressing her knee more firmly against your thigh.

“But I bet…” she started, voice dropping an octave, “if I really wanted a taste, you’d still let me have one.”

narrowing your eyes at her. You scoffed, looking away. “Oh please, I’m not that desperate, Anderson.”

She smirked, catching the way your eyes darted from hers, how the color bloomed across your cheeks despite your words.

“Also Betting you’re real easy under all this, huh?”

Your expression dropped instantly. “Excuse me?” Abby barely had time to react before you shoved her hand away.“God, you’re such an asshole.”

Pushing up from the couch, you adjusted your outfit and grabbed your cup, not sparing her another glance as you walked off. Pushing through bodies, The heat that burning under your skin wasn’t temptation anymore—it was irritation.

Abby watched you go, She hadn’t expected you to up and leave like that. A beat passed, her fingers flexing in her lap before she exhaled, dropping the joint into the ashtray.

Then, with a quiet sigh, she got up. Willing her mouth to say the correct words this go around.

It didn’t take long to find you. The kitchen was quieter than the rest of the house, save for the low hum of conversation from people passing through. You stood by the counter, fingers wrapped around your drink, but you hadn’t taken a sip.

Abby hesitated for the first time that night, her usual bravado dimming at the edges. Still, she approached, the smirk from before vanished, replaced with something else—something that almost looked like regret.

“Hey,” she said softly, her tone much gentle. “You alright? I didn’t mean to—”

“Save it, Anderson.” You huffed, waving a dismissive hand, trying to shake off the heat still simmering from her last comment.

Abby exhaled, rubbing a hand over her jaw. “Look, I was just messing around. You know that, right?”

You scoffed, finally looking at her. “Oh, so it’s just a joke when you’re the one running your mouth?”

Her brows raised slightly, sensing the shift. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“You and your teammates? All the same. It’s fucking embarrassing.” You spat the words like they tasted bad in your mouth.

Abby’s expression darkened. “And what the hell does that mean?”

“It means what I said.” Your low, red-rimmed eyes met hers, colder than before. “You. Williams. Stevens. Martinez. And every other meathead who likes to parade around campus like they own it. Simple-minded—”

“Hold up.” She stepped into the small space. “You don’t know me, so don’t you dare lump me in with the rest of them.”

She scoffed, her next words hitting hard. “And you call me simple-minded? Look at you—walking around with your prissy attitude, acting like you’re better than everyone just because Martinez screwed you over.”

Your fingers tightened around your drink but Abby didn’t stop there. “It’s not my fault you dated the biggest red flag on campus. Maybe you like getting played.”

The second it left her mouth, regret twisted in her gut. Your eyes widened—briefly, but enough for her to see the impact. The sharp inhale, the tension in your jaw, the way your grip tightened. Abby braced herself, half-expecting a slap, but instead, you exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, a cruel dig following.

“Wow. Funny coming from the girl who just figured out she likes pussy last year and acts like she invented the game.”

So lost in the heat of the argument, neither of you noticed the necks turning, the whispers starting to spread.

“Yeah. Congrats. You finally stopped fumbling your way through your sexuality just to become a fuckboy in a passed-around jersey, cycling through girls because you’re too scared to actually feel something.”

Abby’s eyes narrowed, her jaw clenching. “You think that’s funny?” she shot back. “You’re one to talk. You’re over here holding a grudge like it’s a fucking trophy. Maybe I’ve figured things out better than you, huh? At least I didn’t let one bad breakup ruin my life.”

She opened her mouth to backtrack, to fix what she just broke, but the look in your eyes told her it was already too late.

The murmur of your voice was beginning to cut through the music, unmistakable. Dina peeled herself away from the lanky body pressed against hers, tucked away in an empty bedroom upstairs.

She knew if you found out she was tangled up with Ellie—again—you’d launch into the “you deserve better” speech. She could already see the way you’d cross your arms, the unimpressed face. Tonight she just wanted to be selfish. Indulge. Regret it later.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, sitting up.

The Auburn haired girl, lazily draped over her, raised an eyebrow. “Relax, it’s probably nothing.” Her voice was almost a wine from the loss of contact.

Dina, on the other hand, was already untangling herself, listening harder. “It doesn’t sound like nothing,” she shot back, reaching for her phone off the nightstand.

Ellie finally shifted, more alert now. “Wait—hold on, is that __?”

Dina’s stomach dropped at the sound of your name.

Her feet moved faster than lightning, her mind racing through every possible scenario as she shoved open the door. She just prayed you weren’t in another physical fight. The last one had been bad enough—some girl “coming to you as a woman” when in reality, it was just another cruel reminder that everyone knew about your ex’s infidelity before you did.

“Dina—seriously?” Ellie groaned, pulling her flannel back on and jogging after her.

“Don’t stand so close to me.” Dina shot her a look over her shoulder.

Ellie snorted. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

Dina didn’t have time for this. The music was getting louder, the voices sharper. The second she hit the top of the stairs, she spotted the crowd forming in the kitchen. Dina let go of Ellie’s hand without thinking, her pulse spiking.

“What the hell?”

She caught sight of you just as the sea of bodies parted. Her jet-black ponytail whipped over her shoulder, posture wound tight. Across from you stood Abby Anderson—just as tense, just as ready.

Dina’s stomach twisted.

“Oh, shit—” someone in the crowd muttered.

“Damn, they’re really about to throw down in the kitchen?”

“Nah, she brought up Martinez—this is getting personal.”

“She just called her a passed-around jersey? That’s crazy.”

The whispers started almost immediately, people soaking up the drama like it was the halftime show of a championship game.You barely spared them a glance. Instead, your eyes locked onto Dina—and Ellie, standing just behind her, arms crossed.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Ellie muttered making a beeline toward Abby.

Dina, however, reached you first. “Hey—what the hell happened?” she asked, searching your face for answers.

Ellie scoffed, flipping off the nearest group of nosy onlookers. “Mind your business.”

You didn’t answer Dina right away. Instead, you shoved past the crowd, heat radiating off you in waves. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue as you pulled out a compact mirror. Your reflection wasn’t great—mascara smudged beneath your eyes, making you look like a pissed-off raccoon.

“Can we go now?” you asked, not really asking.

Dina hesitated. “Yeah—uh—” She glanced over at Ellie and Abby, then back at you. “No—yeah, let’s go.”

She draped an arm over your shoulders, steering you away from the wreckage. As the three of you pushed through the crowded halls, a familiar laugh caught your ears, making your throat run dry.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You just wanted to be home, in bed, buried under your sheets until the semester ended.

The second you slid into the passenger seat of Dina’s car, she hesitated again.

“…You sure you’re—”

“Dee. I’m fine. Okay?” you sighed, sinking deeper into the seat. “Just—just take us home.”

Dina exhaled, giving a small nod. She turned up the radio, filling the silence with static as she pulled out of the makeshift parking lot.

Meanwhile..

Abby was still standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, jaw clenched. She refused to leave. If she walked out now, everyone would think she got chewed out by some hothead random.

“Abby, you good?” Ellie’s voice cut in, bringing Abby back to reality.

Steven’s, another teammate, leaned against the counter beside her. “That was… something,” tilting her beer. “Not even five minutes into the party and you’re already beefing with someone?”

Abby leaned back against the fridge, exhaustion creeping in. “She started it,” she muttered, running a hand down her face.

“Yeah, well, she’s been snappy ever since—” Steven’s gaze flickered toward the other side of the room.

Abby followed the line of sight. There she was. Martinez. Already wrapped up with another girl like she didn’t even care.

Ellie exhaled through her nose. “Yeah. Dina told me.”

Abby looked over at her. “Told you what? That you and her are back on?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, shifting her weight. “This is not about me.”

Stevens chuckled. “Well, the night’s still young. You should both just forget about the whole thing. No big deal.”

It should’ve been that easy. But weren’t first impressions everything?

Because in Abby’s mind, she had just made one hell of a first one.

Even now, as Abby retold the story, a stress ball bounced between her hands. Across the room, Nora caught it, her head full of curls bobbing as she processed the information.

“Wait, go back—you said what?”

Abby groaned. “I know, okay? Look, I was high, and I just…”

“Was being a dick,” Nora finished.

“Yeah.”

Nora sighed, barely hiding her amusement behind her hand. “Abs, you are genuinely an idiot.”

Abby threw the stress ball across the couch. “Whoa. Last time I come to you for advice.” She slumped further into the cushions, staring at the ceiling. What a mess.

“Well, I won’t disagree—first impression? F-minus, for sure.”

Abby groaned again. But then, Nora shrugged, something more thoughtful crossing her face.

“Maybe second chances can outweigh the first ones.”

Abby scoffed. “Tell that to her.”

And even as she said it, she felt the weight of last night pressing down on her all over again.

This was gonna be a long semester.

Next chapter >

[darkmatilda]

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one spencer reid tries to focus on work, but keeps getting distracted. first by an unexpected phone call. then by the way you start flirting with another agent right across from his desk. but in the end, why does it even bother him?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spender reid x diva!chemist reader, reader kinda threatens to poison him, but its not a threat, just their silly way of showing mutual affection <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.3k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request. heyyy wonderful people, just letting you know that your request was the second-to-last in my inbox, so im opening them again! feel free to send me your ideas for the diva reader series, im already grateful in advance :>

Spencer usually gave out his phone number only to the people closest to him.

That way, he didn’t get unnecessary calls distracting him from more important matters, and he could be sure that if someone truly needed to reach him, they wouldn’t have any trouble doing so.

So, as he walked through the Quantico office, planning to track down Hotch—who supposedly wanted to see him—he was so absorbed in their case that he pressed his phone to his ear without thinking, without even looking at the screen, fully expecting to hear a familiar voice. Someone from the team, maybe.

Instead…

"Hey there, gorgeous."

A slightly raspy male voice. Spencer immediately estimated the caller to be around forty, judging by the subtle rustling sound—whoever it was, they were holding the phone just a little too close to their mouth.

Spencer froze in place.

His first thought—a wrong number.

His second—another one of Morgan’s pranks.

Just in case it was the latter, he didn’t hang up immediately. If his friend had planned something, he needed to find out what—so he could properly retaliate later.

"We met last night, don’t know if you remember," the man continued after a brief silence, caused entirely by Spencer’s confusion. "I hope you do. Because I sure do. Hard to forget a face like yours. You still there, sweetheart?"

In case anyone had any doubts—Spencer was not the intended recipient of this conversation.

He hadn’t gone out the night before, let alone given his number to a stranger. In fact, he had been in an entirely different state.

"Oh, sweetheart, don’t make me mad now. Or maybe you’re staying quiet because you’re curious how much I remember about you? Want me to remind you what you were wearing?"

Suddenly, it clicked.

After a brief second of pure disbelief, Spencer rolled his eyes upward, staring straight into the glare of the overhead lights. He blinked slowly.

His brain was exceptionally sharp that day. Even more so than usual.

Which meant it didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together. A quick mental chain reaction, linking scattered fragments of information into a single, clear conclusion. 

The man on the other end of the line thought Spencer was the woman he had met the night before.

Spencer had a few female friends, but everything—literally everything—pointed to her.

First of all, he was nearly certain none of the others had gone out last night. They had all been working together, after all.

Second, and somehow more importantly—none of them, except her, would have found it remotely funny to give his number to a random guy.

As a joke? Was that what this was supposed to be?

“There’s no need for that,” Spencer cut in sharply, before the man on the other end could start poetically or less poetically describing her outfit.

This time, the silence came from the other side, laced with clear confusion.

Spencer couldn’t stop the faint crease forming on his forehead, nor the subtle tension drawing his shoulder blades together. The entire conversation left a bad taste in his mouth, and it wasn’t just because the guy was wasting his time.

It was his voice.

Self-important. Smug. Wet in a way that made simply listening to him an unpleasant experience. The kind of voice that could turn an otherwise neutral or even affectionate word sweetheart into something damn near degrading.

Years of experience profiling people meant Spencer had no trouble picturing exactly the kind of man he was dealing with. And the distaste coiling in his gut only sharpened.

“For future reference,” he said, barely pausing for breath, his grip tightening on the phone, “I’d suggest double-checking the numbers women give you when they’re trying to get rid of you. Because this isn’t your sweetheart. This is the Behavioral Analysis Unit, which, for your information, is part of the FBI. And your utterly pointless, time-wasting phone call could be considered obstruction of justice, which, surprise, can land you several years in prison.

A loud silence followed—one that left Spencer with a strange feeling. Satisfaction, maybe.

The man cleared his throat, and Spencer would bet good money that there were one or two silent curses mixed in there.

“This whore must’ve given me a fake number,” the guy muttered, no longer speaking directly into the phone.

The sudden shift from sweetheart to whore was so blatant that Spencer couldn’t hold back a sharp, mocking scoff.

“Well, I’m guessing you didn’t think of her as a whore when you were trying to hit on her last night—”

He barely finished the last word before the line went dead.

For a moment, he remained motionless, the phone still pressed to his ear, analyzing his own reaction. He was completely taken aback by it. Almost immediately, though, he forced himself into a nonchalant shrug, brushing it off as nothing more than irritation at an unwanted call.

Work. Right. Work. He had work to do, he had to meet with Hotch…

…but he had barely covered a few meters when his gaze caught a familiar stride and silhouette crossing one of the hallways. And before his mind could even consciously make the decision, he found himself heading in that direction—despite originally going somewhere entirely different.

“Did you have fun last night?” he asked as her hand pressed the elevator button.

She didn’t look at him at first, though she must have heard his footsteps. It wasn’t until he spoke that she slightly turned her head toward him.

“Not too bad,” she admitted casually. Her hands immediately moved to their usual position, arms crossed over her chest, and a small teasing smile danced on her lips.���How about your morning? Any interesting phone calls?”

He opened and closed his mouth, not expecting to be so transparent. He also felt a bit confused by her enigmatic, calm reaction. The elevator stopped, and she confidently stepped inside first.

Spencer followed her.

“I don’t quite get it,” he admitted, furrowing his brows. “Was that supposed to be a joke at my expense, or that guy’s?”

They stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder in the small elevator space. He looked at her, and she stared ahead. She slowly shrugged.

“Maybe both,” she replied, inspecting her nails. Spencer clenched his lips, holding back from saying that she could at least spare him the ignorant, irritating attitude for once. “Or maybe I just wanted to get rid of the pushy guy by giving him the first random number I could think of” She paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “And maybe I was hoping you'd scare the shit out of him with some long lecture, preferably about the law. Was I right?”

She shifted her gaze fully to him, her piercing eyes locking onto him with such intensity that denial was out of the question. He didn’t even need to answer—the flicker of expression that crossed his face gave him away instantly.

Her short laugh filled the elevator.

He always felt a little humiliated, standing there in silence while she laughed at his expense. So he spoke first, blurting out the first thing that came to mind—the thing that had been sitting there for a while now.

“Does that happen a lot? Guys being pushy?”

She gave him a closer look, maybe because of the unintended seriousness in his voice. He hadn’t meant for it to sound that way. Clearing his throat, he tried to appear more indifferent.

“Well, yes,” she said simply. Stating an obvious fact, a reality she was used to. “Every time. But getting rid of them isn’t hard. A well-placed conversation, and they run off just as fast as they showed up.” She scoffed. “But sometimes I’d rather just, you know, actually enjoy my evening instead of dealing with them. And that’s when the fake number trick comes in.”

Spencer caught himself listening with genuine interest. He was well aware of the effect she had on people—how she drew eyes just by existing, how so many of those looks were filled with nothing but desire. He also had the impression that, for the most part, she regarded them with mild disdain—or maybe even enjoyed being the center of attention.

He hadn’t considered that sometimes she’d had enough of them—so much so that she had an entire list of strategies to get rid of them just as quickly as she attracted them.

He realized he had fallen silent, lost in thought. The elevator stopped at her floor—he hadn’t planned on getting in with her in the first place, which meant he was now stuck pretending he was going somewhere else.

She took a step toward the open doors before his voice stopped her.

“Wait, you’re not even going to say thank you?” he asked. “I did waste some time on that guy. That was a solid lecture.”

She stood in front of the open doors, facing him.

“I have a suspicion,” she began, one brow arching as a teasing smirk tugged at her lips, “that you enjoyed it way too much to actually need my thanks.”

She gave him a small wave—just her fingers, really—before the elevator doors slid shut, cutting them off from each other. Spencer hated to admit—even to himself—that she had a point. Okay, a lot of a point, he realized as he recalled that fleeting rush of satisfaction when the call abruptly ended, punctuated by a hint of panic on the other end.

And maybe that was what ultimately decided it—because from that moment on, on the rare occasions he received similar calls, he always had a long, meticulously crafted, stern lecture at the ready. One that, just before the inevitable abrupt hang-up, sent the smallest, most satisfying shiver down his spine.

*

"You have three hours."

"I can handle it in two."

 "Do it in one."

Spencer remembered these words, muttering a soft shit under his breath. The massive stack of papers that not only needed to be read but also carefully analyzed seemed to be getting no smaller. The hour on the clock, however, kept ticking forward.

"Hm? What's up? Do you have something?"

He slowly shifted his unwilling gaze to the man he was trapped in the room with. Well, not literally trapped, but that’s how it felt. Dean Bradley, an agent who’d been working on the case they’d just been assigned to for years, knew it inside out—naturally, he had been assigned to cooperate with them. His current role, however, seemed to involve nothing more than pretending to write something on the whiteboard and occasionally throwing out a theory that supposedly brought them closer to the solution but, in reality, only pushed them further away. Bradley was incredibly distracting to Spencer.

"No... I just... nothing." Spencer replied rubbing his throbbing temple. That case had been exceptionally exhausting, he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and the coffee he had just drunk hadn’t helped at all. "Nothing. Just...can you not say anything to me for a while?"

Bradley raised an eyebrow at him but Reid didn’t really care. Simply buried his nose in the papers again, reading, or rather, devouring the pages with his eyes. There hadn’t been the best atmosphere between them ever since Spencer had ignored his outstretched hand for a greeting. Well, that was because he had seen Bradley leaving the bathroom earlier, and even if he had washed his hands, he had immediately touched the door handle that everyone in the building touched, half of whom hadn’t washed their hands. Honestly, Spencer would have preferred to kiss him as a greeting. It would have been safer.

For a moment, Bradley was actually quiet. He didn’t stay that way for too long, though—just long enough.

"So, where are those lab results? Weren’t they supposed to be here by now?"

"They were. So, I’m guessing they’ll be here any minute," Spencer replied shortly.

"It’s taking a while. Maybe I should just go grab them myself?"

Yeah, please do, Spencer nearly begged. He even opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, the door swung open and a woman stepped in, moving with quick, confident steps, but this time with a bit of frustration in her stride.

Completely ignoring the man's gaze landing on her, she stepped up to his desk and dropped the promised lab results onto it with a sharp motion.

"Could you tell me," she began, one hand still resting on the papers, preventing him from immediately going through them. Because she was standing while he was sitting, her figure loomed over him, forcing him to tilt his head slightly to meet her eyes. Naturally, he did, his gaze moving from her hand with neatly manicured fingers to her beautiful face, her bottom lip slightly protruding as she prepared to speak. "When exactly did I become your secretary? Because I don't remember that moment."

Spencer didn't even blink before responding, so used to thir verbal sparring and the fast pace she always set, just like her steps.

"Well, maybe since you started handing out my number left and right," he shot back instantly. Without breaking his gaze, he grabbed the empty cup sitting within arm's reach. "And since you consider yourself my secretary, would you be so kind as to make me a coffee?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Agent Bradley watching their exchange with fascination, focused on only one side of the conversation. No need to specify which side. Meanwhile, the woman tilted her head slightly to the side, a certain gleam lighting up her eyes.

"Sure," she replied, to his surprise. There was something devious in her tone. Suddenly, Spencer didn't want the coffee anymore. "But I’m not sure I’d be so kind as to make sure those ten teaspoons of sugar you put in your coffee are actually sugar, and not, say, arsenic..."

Instinctively, he pulled the cup closer to himself.

"Not ten," he mumbled.

"Oh, my eternal apologies, I exaggerated a bit. Five?"

"Well, now you're getting closer..."

Their conversation, or rather their verbal sparring, was interrupted by a cough.

“Reid,” Bradley said his last name much friendlier than ever before, with a mischievous grin on his face. “When you said the chemist would bring us the lab results, I imagined, I don’t know, Einstein with his hair sticking out in all directions. Did you really lock such a treasure in the lab?” he chuckled. “So it wouldn't distract y’all?”

Spencer looked up at the woman in front of him again, who had only just noticed the third person in the room. Her hand slowly slid off the papers she’d been resting on, though it stayed on the desk. She half turned her body toward the new speaker, casually sitting on the desk. There was something hypnotic in the fluid, clock-like motion as she crossed one knee over the other. For a moment, he just watched, realizing after a while that he wasn’t the only one.

“Maybe I locked myself in there,” she replied. Her tone calm, too calm, as it always was before she’d throw words, like precisely aimed darts, at the other person. “So I wouldn’t have to listen to the same tired lines from agents with the same tired faces, thinking they’re being creative.”

For a moment, he completely forgot about the pile of papers waiting to be analyzed. He watched what was unfolding in front of him, a small smile involuntarily starting to form on his lips. However, it faded the moment he noticed Bradley’s expression. He had expected him to be shut down. Speechless, maybe. Hurt in that characteristic, pathetic way typical of fragile male pride. Instead, Bradley was grinning like an idiot.

“Wow, that’s a bit harsh,” Bradley commented lightly, not in the slightest bit put off by her words. In fact, the fascination on his face only grew.

Spencer couldn’t help but glance at the profile of the woman sitting motionless on the desk. Her gaze was now also more focused, following the person across from her. Her eyes seemed even more concentrated, intrigued, and entertained than during their conversation. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from her, physically making himself look back at the papers. Work, right, work. He had to focus on it, despite how distracted he was by their presence. It was, after all, natural. They were speaking rather loudly, right in front of him. He began reading the text on the page, concentrating only on it.

“You must feel like some princess locked in a tower,”

His ears, against his better judgment, picked up Bradley’s next words. He shook his head. Text. A quick glance at the woman’s face. Text.

“You know, that German fairy tale from the 18th century…”

Spencer, from his own experience, knew that info dumping wasn’t the most effective way to flirt with a woman. Especially when it wasn’t even accurate.

“17th century,” he corrected, unable to stop himself. Both their gazes landed on him, but he didn’t respond to either, keeping his eyes fixed on the papers. He was reading them, but couldn’t grasp their meaning. He started analyzing the same paragraph again, continuing, “Assuming we’re talking about the German version of that fairy tale recorded by The Brothers Grimm. Because, actually, this was developed from the French literary fairy tale Persinette by Charlotte-Rose de Caumont de La Force, which itself is an alternative version of the Italian fairy tale Petrosinella by Giambattista Basile.”

A long silence fell. The woman shifted slightly in her seat, pretending to be focused on her work, and he tried not to look at her face. Was there pity or amusement on it? Why did it matter to him so much to figure that out? What mattered was only one thing: they were bothering him. The two of them. With the noise they were generating, to be precise.

The sound that filled the room was probably just a long breath from Bradley.

“Wow,” he repeated, thrown off. “Thanks for the clarification, Agent Reid.”

“It’s Doctor Reid.”

He couldn’t stop himself and looked at her. She closed her eyes when a smile spread across her lips. She didn’t try to hide it or hold it back. It was simply there. Bradley noticed it too, his arms, which had been casually resting on his hips, sliding down along his body.

"Didn't you have some urgent documents to analyze?" he began, trying not to sound confrontational, but he failed. He sounded confrontational. "The ones you kept reminding me about every five minutes since we got here?"

Reid didn't have a sharp retort ready for that one; in fact, Bradley had hit the nail on the head. He did have a lot of urgent documents to go through, but for reasons unknown to him, he'd decided to engage in this pointless conversation instead. His silence only seemed to fuel the satisfaction on Bradley's face, which was broken only by the movement of the woman. Specifically, her rising from the desk.

"You could've just said we’re interrupting," she remarked, stretching one leg after the other, every movement fluid. "Especially if it's something important. Is it?"

"Well, actually, yes..."

"In that case, I suppose we're in the way. Shall we go, Agent Bradley?"

She must have read his last name off the badge pinned to her chest. Both Spencer and Bradley looked at her, but only one of them slowly cracked a smile. The other let out a sigh, pretending to feel relief, though deep down, he genuinely did—finally, he could focus on what he had wanted to from the start.

They both made their way toward the door. Unused to her quick pace, and still a bit surprised by the attention she had given him, the agent trailed after her like a lost puppy. As they crossed the threshold, she turned back to him over her shoulder, looking like a kid bragging about winning a bike race.

Spencer merely shook his head with pity, and when they both disappeared in the same direction, he scoffed.

He returned to his work.

After a while, he found himself thinking that perhaps he preferred their conversation to be within earshot, rather than out of it.

[sheepispink]

by popular demand.... another angst no comfort fic. enjoy <3

SUPER SOLDIER!reader x lt ghost

you're just a freak of nature, an inhumane person with no morals and the higherups love to sing praises of your work. he hates it, and so he breaks you, albeit not quite in the way he thought it would happen

PART TWO Series Masterlist

AO3 VER

--------------

A born and bred weapon, that’s how they described you, the perfect asset crafted only for war. It was all you knew, your entire purpose and your only being. Not many know how you came to be, nor do they care much, just aware that no matter how hard they try, you will always be better than them. Your sight is honed to catch the twitch of a lip, ears listening for the wind passing the wrong way and your hands? They’re primed for the perfect kill, fast reflexes that could catch the smallest fly between your fingertips– a tested and proven fact. You were everything the military dreamed of, the perfect person, tested to beat every flaw on the battlefield. Paraded around to the superiors, praised for your skills by every colonel as they scrutinised you down to the way you fix your helmet.

And what better of a person to test you with than Ghost, the ever elusive and stoic wall, known to be feared on the battlefield just for his mask? 

When you were assigned to him three months ago, he had a vague idea of what to expect, assuming you to be like any other rookie he’s dealt with during his time as a lieutenant. Only likely stronger and probably cockier. So he stepped towards the car, eyes narrowing as he saw you being escorted in.. handcuffs. “What’s all of that for?” He raises a brow, and you only look between him and the man escorting you, oddly expressive with your wide eyes and bright face. Nothing like what the super soldier program described. “Just precautions, sir.” The soldier replies, passing Ghost the keys before climbing back into the truck once more. 

“You’re Lieutenant Ghost? You sure do fit the description..”

 He certainly did not expect your lips to quirk upwards like that, something akin to amusement on your face as you run your eyes up and down his form. For someone trained for war, you sure aren’t trained in respect.  He tugs on your handcuffs, forcing you to stumble into a walk beside him as he turns toward base, not bothering to entertain your clear attitude any longer. “That’s Lieutenant to you, and it’d do you good to think before you speak.” Surprisingly, you only laugh that off, and he hates it, used to rookies bending under his whim, especially stuck-up ones like you.

 Mornings start early, the second he wakes, so do you, although you head to the gym first whilst he goes to breakfast— you’re too proud to show your face, he thinks, and they probably have you on some special diet. When he finally joins you in the gym, it’s an hour later, and you still haven’t broken your morning run, keeping a steady pace. He doesn't bother speaking, and you don't wait for him to ask, walking over for your usual spar. It’s the usual every day, the way he doesn't let you get a single move in, constantly blocking off any move from you. He says it’s just for training, scoffs when you can’t push yourself back up even if you've told him that you’ve been designed for speed more than strength. You don’t complain; in some weird robotic way, you always pick yourself back up and carry on going.

This continues for the next few months; every mission he only feels his gut twist and turn as you kill without a second thought, his training only making you a better soldier and not a struggling mess like anyone else would be. It’s worse when you walk up to him, head tilted in expectancy. Your face is  young, unlike your eyes, but you have a body too young to contain a killer. Every time he looks at you, he sees a rookie soldier, because that’s what your age usually is–it’s what you should’ve been. All he can really feel is disgust though, especially the inhumane way you smile after a job well done. How can you find joy in the copper smell that remains after you exit a room? How can you stand there and take any order dealt? It’s unnatural, and it makes him sick to think about.

“That’s enough.” He says firmly, heavy boots entering the room you had just cleared by yourself. He initially wasn’t sure on letting you do it on your own, but the scene of the bodies piled by your feet is proof enough of your capability. “So? Did I do well?” It sickens him how your lips begin to curve upwards, waiting for some sort of praise, some affirmation that he promised himself he’d never give, especially to you. “This was unnecessary.” He scoffs, pulling a knife out of a dead man’s throat and tossing it back to you, eyes raking over your bloodied form— never your own crimson. “You’re a mess.” He takes his radio, clicking the button as he gives the all clear and the rescued hostages start filing through, escorted by British soldiers. They all stare, right at you, their eyes piercing into your skin.

“It’s cold..” You murmur as you’re pushed outside, the cold air tingling your skin as he scoffs, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. He doesn't look too entertained, at least he looks grumpier than usual but at least he’s quieter than the usual times he’s angry with you. “Well, maybe if you could control yourself the hostages wouldn't crap themselves when they saw you.” He can't believe how you can just give him that oblivious look— he knows you’re not stupid, so why do you even try to act that way? 

“Ghost?” He forces down the urge to roll his eyes up at you, half expecting you to ask for a damn heater at this point because of the torturous weather. He bets the higher ups would get mad at him if he ever tried duct taping your mouth, but the thought is tempting nonetheless. “What?”

“It’s my birthday this Saturday.” You begin, still staring at him from your position against the opposite wall. A helicopter whirrs nearby, slowly approaching for exfil. “Captain said I could have some time to celebrate.” 

“So?” He nearly scoffs right then and there, looking at you with a raised brow. What? Are you trying to show off all your perks of being the best there is? He wouldn't be surprised if you had a mountain of gifts, or even given a medal for something. He doesn't know why you bother hiding it, he sees your shiny uniform every mission; he doesn't need a reminder of the favour you hold. Knowing you, they’d give you the whole weekend off while he still had paperwork to fill in.

“I was wondering if you’d come. The Captain said you’d be free.” He rolls his eyes, and lets out a long sigh, of course Price left him to babysit this devil on his off hours. He wouldn't be half surprised if he walked into your ‘party’ to see you receive some freakish torture device— it seemed like a gift you’d want. Likewise, he doubts it’s his scene anyway, with a bunch of soldiers likely hanging around wherever you plan to hold it.

“Sure, whatever kid, I’ll come.”

He reaches for a radio as the announcement of exfil echoes through, and you follow behind him as he leads you out of the building, only stopping when you step towards the helicopter. “You don't come in the helicopter, kid. Got a whole truck there for you.” Another soldier comes, leaving Ghost to walk away from you whilst you’re roughly pulled back, pushed into the back of a truck where you’re handcuffed in, left to the darkness to ride the journey alone. 

He lets out a long sigh as he sits down finally, tired out of his mind, and now he has to deal with you even longer than he should.

————-

Saturday. You wake up early, five am. The gym is the first stop; you’re not allowed to eat until you earn the right. There’s no sparring on weekends, so you do a couple of exercises to make up for it, even if you’re not feeling as good as usual. It never matters.

Mess hall. The same table, the same breakfast— like clockwork you sit down at exactly seven am, the tray scraping against something. It’s a piece of paper, as always. You’ve stopped paying mind to it anymore, deciding it’s not best to waste any moment of your short-lived time on the insults scribbled across it. The porridge is cold, the chef behind the counter had swatted your scratched hands away before serving it for you, leaving a large gap at the top of the bowl. Fruit; it doesn't taste as good when you get the last apple, but it provides good nutrients for you and some sugars. Water; you’re not allowed coffee often because too much could damage you. That's what the scientists always instructed you anyway.

Whispers echo around the hall as you sit on your own, menial conversations occurring on the table behind you, others laughing near the door. There’s never another chair on this table, especially when you’re sitting here already. A few lower rank soldiers ogle you from a nearby table, probably the same age as you if not older. Their eyes consume with jealousy and, as you step up to place the tray away, you don't miss the hard bread thrown at your back. The paper falls into the bin too, along with the apple seeds.

It’s still not time yet, only fifteen minutes past nine, so you head down to the track to work on improving your time, just like you do every day. Two hours are spent before it’s almost lunchtime and only now do you decide to shower, slipping into the communal area. You place your things into the locker, a few soldiers giving you sharp stares because of the marks across your back, the pin pricks and slices through the flesh. When you return from your shower, you find your clothes have been tossed across the floor, your shoes shoved into one of the toilets. Never a trace of the culprit though, and never caught in your sight.

Before you go to lunch, you sit outside and scrub your shoes down, using an old rag to clean off the muck that was purposefully placed on it, not that it’s particularly much cleaner afterwards. You arrive to lunch late, or well later than the expected time, but it’s always the usual for you. There aren't many options left, and the chef glares at you saying the soldiers over there already grabbed your share for you—why are you being greedy? Don't you get enough? The first time you walked over to the soldiers and asked for your share, but this time you decided not to, wanting to keep your clothes clean today. So you take a bottle of water and some fruit, walking back outside again.

It’s quiet out here, a nice respite from the many soldiers that bustle around the corridors, and you bite into your fruit quietly. It’s still cold, albeit a lot warmer than the other day— British weather had a tendency to never be quite predictable. A fox creeps out the bushes, one eye shut, and it’s limp evident as it sniffs around for anything of use. You had heard it's cries in the early hours of the morning, though you have no idea what may have attacked it. You lay your palm out, the banana peeled, and it steps forward, hesitant before taking half with a snap of its jaw. Laying down the rest, it starts to eat more, and you smile at the sight.

Unfortunately it’s immediately startled by a booming voice, one that you recognise as part of the taskforce— Sergeant Soap Mactavish You’ve never met him before, but you know who he is, just like the rest of the taskforce. They always pass by the corner of your eye, never meeting you head on. It’s almost like some sort of curse is placed upon you. You watch from your spot behind the tree, eyes peeking past as the four of them walk out of base and towards a car, your lieutenant, and the captain included. Maybe they were going out to lunch or something. Glancing down at your watch, the time is twelve fifty, and you silently come to the conclusion that they’ll only be out for a bit, hopefully coming back soon.

It’s two o clock, and you’re sitting in your room. The captain told you on Tuesday that you could have only two hours off for your birthday plans, which roughly gave you enough time to probably watch a movie with Ghost. He did say he’d try to make it as well, but he was a busy man so you had reassured him that it was quite alright since you’d have the lieutenant anyway. Since yesterday, you hadn’t thought much about what you could watch with the Lieutenant, but you’d eventually decided to watch whatever he liked, seeing as you could count on one hand all the movies you’ve seen. Thankfully, the captain told you last Sunday he'd organise some snacks for you, and maybe even a cake if you were good for the rest of the week, so right now was a waiting game.

A long one.

You reassured yourself at two thirty that they were likely just running late, even peeking out into the hallway a few times in case they couldn't find your room for whatever reason. By two fifty you were confused, and it was safe to say by three twenty you were feeling hopeless. But still, you knew they likely had a reason, they must. So you walk down the corridor, your feet unsteady for once, and head back into the main building, looking around rather frantically compared to your usual stature. 

What you didn't expect was to hear laughter dance down the corridor, instantly making you peek around the wall. It’s Soap and Gaz, holding a bunch of drinks in their hands, and they walk, chuckling to themselves. You could ask them, but something stops you, a weird feeling that stabs at your gut, and instead you hide behind the pillar, listening. 

“Today’s gonna be good– I mean drinks, nachos, and pizza? I’m gonna be stuffed.” Gaz laughs, the bottles in his hands clinking against each other as he adjusts them.

“Get ye own nachos, they’re mine.” Soap returns, elbowing the other lightly, and they both snicker, knowing Soap’s appetite. “Hey, didn’t Price say he had to organise something for that kid? Y'know, the super soldier Ghost works with.”

“He probably handled it already, otherwise he wouldn’t have stayed to grab the food with Ghost. But shouldn’t Ghost be going?”

Before he can respond, Ghost’s gruff voice rips out into the corridor, pizza boxes stacked high in his hands. “Hurry up, the games are gonna bloody start. They’ll survive with someone else.”

Who? There’s no ‘someone else’, there never has been, he knows that— you think he knows that. You thought he knew you; you thought you were doing good. Your feet stumble as you turn around and head down the opposing corridor, not sure when you placed your hands over your ears to protect them from anything more. It’s the first time in years you’ve felt your eyes water, something inside you snapping in a way that shouldn't, that can't, and you’re terrified by this revelation. You’re no longer a super soldier, no longer the best around, no longer the one they parade around— you’re another failed experiment.

—————

PART TWO Series Masterlist

buy me a kofi :)

[javierpena-inatacvest]

You Make Loving Fun

Summary: You buy tickets to Fleetwood Mac for Javi's birthday. After a few drinks, Javi ends up having a little more fun than he intended.

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (wrap before you tap) oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paise kink, creampie, aftercare, implied? breeding kink (I think it's illegal for me to write if this isn't in the warnings somewhere) drinking alcohol, Javi gets absolutely HAMMERED, talks of having more kids and stopping birth control, Drunk Javi wants to tell anyone and everyone how much he loves his wife, Drunk Javi being sweet and happy and so in love because that's what he deserves

A/N: If you're anything like me, you've spent WAY too long looking at all of these photos of sweet Pedro at a concert, and of course, my brain automatically went "THAT'S JAVI GETTING WASTED AND HAVING THE TIME OF HIS LIFE" and now, here we are 🤷🏼‍♀️ I feel like Javi would be a very happy/affectionate drunk post-Colombia bc he is so happy just to be having fun and enjoying his life and that makes me ✨emotional✨ Also, thanks @itsokbbygrl for ruining my life by realizing the ring Pedro is wearing in this picture is on his RING FINGER?!?! 😩

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

“I feel to fucking old to be doing this.”

“To do what? Go to a concert? I hate to break it to you, Jav, but there are, in fact, no age limits at concerts. What, are you worried security is gonna try to kick you out for being too old?” You giggled, looking over at Javi next to you in the bathroom, finishing fixing his hair and adjusting his shirt. 

“I know, I just haven’t been to a concert in so damn long. Definitely not since we’ve had the girls.” Javi sighed, running his hand through the dark curls of his hair once more before turning to face you, still finishing up the last of your makeup in the mirror. 

Although you had intended for your Fleetwood Mac tickets to be a surprise for Javi’s birthday, trying to coordinate around your schedules and 3 little girls had made spontaneous date nights much more challenging than they used to be when you first met. But, with Chucho needing no incentive to babysit his granddaughters, you and Javi were excited to have a night out just the two of you, getting to enjoy your favorite band together, singing and dancing the night away to celebrate another year of Javi getting older. 

“Well then lucky for you, you’ll be the hottest dad at the concert.” You smirked, sassily tilting your head towards him to prove your point, your reaction just enough to snap him out of his self doubt, Javi joining in on the laughter as he stood behind you, grabbing your waist and placing a soft kiss on the bare skin of your shoulder next to the strap of your sundress. 

“Good thing I’ve got a fucking hot MILF of a wife to go with me then, huh?” Javi grinned, the kiss he had left on your shoulder now slowly starting to creep up your neck and collarbone as his hand reached down to grab a handful of your ass, making you squeal in surprise. “I know you picked this dress out on purpose because you know it drives me fucking crazy. God, you look good.” 

“Javi! You better stop or we’re gonna be late to dinner before the show!” You scolded, giving him a playful jab to his stomach, only making him tighten the grip on your ass even firmer with his other hand coming to join his first. 

“Hermosa,” He cooed, gently turning you around to take the mascara you had in your hand and set it on the counter before cradling your jaw in his palm, forcing your gaze up at him, “I know you. And you and I both know damn well you at least put enough a little buffer time into our plans for us to have sex before we left. Am I wrong?” 

Well, he caught you there, because he most certainly was not. 

“Maybe…” You replied sheepishly, overdramatically rolling your eyes at his statement, only making his boyish grin spread wider between his cheeks, “Okay, but seriously though, we do have to be quick, because I don’t want to- Ah! Javi!” 

You couldn’t help but let out a little shriek of surprise as Javi suddenly lifted you up, setting you down on the bathroom counter and caging your body under his, his arms planted on either side of your hips as his mouth crashed into yours, tongues and teeth dancing in a hungry and desperate clash. 

“I promise I won’t take too long. But I can’t help myself when you look this good, mi amor. Eres tan hermosa (You’re so beautiful). You’re gonna kill me in that dress, Momma.” Javi hummed, his hands now gripping the meat of your thighs and sliding down your legs to bunch up the skirt of your dress, hiking it up as he sank down to his knees in front of the bathroom counter. 

You could already feel the damp patch that had begun to grow in your underwear as Javi hooked his fingers around the elastic of its waistband, tugging the fabric down your legs and letting it fall to the bathroom floor, revealing your pussy, already wet and aching for him. 

Javi settled himself between your legs, draping them over his shoulders as his fingers slid through your folds, collecting your juices before beginning to circle at your clit with the pads of his fingers, peppering kisses along the inside of your thighs as you whimpered in delight. 

“J-Javi, please, baby.” You moaned, fingers tightening around the edge of the countertop as his thumb replaced his fingers on your clit, his middle and ring finger dipping inside your already weeping core, curling just slightly as he began to pump them in and out of you. 

It wasn’t long before his thumb was replaced by his mouth, the flat of his tongue licking a broad strip across your cunt, the new sensation sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body. No matter how many times Javi had gone down on you, it never failed to surprise you how goddamn good he was at it, memorizing every twitch and gasp that made you fall apart in the best way possible, and tonight was no exception. 

His slow, long strokes began to quicken, circling his tongue around your clit with the perfect amount of pressure as his fingers worked in tandem, curving in just the right place to press against your g-spot and begin to build the arousal swirling in your core. 

As much as you (and Javi, for that matter), would have loved to have taken your time and let him eat you out on the bathroom counter for hours, the both of you knew you were on a time crunch, but not enough of a crunch to stop Javi from making you cum at least once before he fucked you. 

The pressure of his tongue on your sensitive nub became more and more, before latching his lips to suck at your clit, your cunt clenching in anticipation around his fingers as you writhed beneath his touch, moaning his name as you felt your orgasm begin to build. 

You couldn’t help but let your hand shoot down to his head, your fingers burying themselves in his thick, brown locks, with absolutely no regard for the time he had just spent fixing his hair in the mirror just a few minutes ago.  

“Javi… Oh, shit. Fuck, more baby, please. P-please, I’m so close.” You moaned, looking down at Javi with what you were already sure was a wrecked expression painted across your face. 

You could practically feel Javi’s smug smirk pressed against your cunt before pulling away to respond. “Give it to me, pretty girl. Wanna taste you all over me when you soak my face.”

Before you could reply, your jaw dropped open and face scrunched in pleasure as Javi dove back in, burying his face in your cunt, each press of his tongue became more firm and precise than the last, feeling your pussy begin to flutter as you clutched tighter around the edge of the counter, trying to keep from screaming out in pleasure and raise any suspicion. But as your legs began to tremble and your heart race, teetering on the brink of collapse, it was taking every ounce of willpower you had left to make that happen.

Fuck, Javi. Fuck, I- fuck- I’m gonna, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh.” You whimpered, feeling your orgasm crash through you, pleasure radiating in your veins as you fell apart, losing all inhibitions to keep yourself quiet as you threw your head back in all consuming bliss. With his fingers still buried in your cunt, gently working you through your high, Javi shot back up, his mouth engulfing yours in an electric kiss to try and capture your ragged moans that had been coating the walls of the bathroom, the tangy taste of you still lingering on his lips. 

”That’s it, baby girl. Fuck, you’re so perfect. Love this pussy so fucking much.” He groaned, reaching down to frantically undo his belt buckle, his fingers working rapidly to undo the metal clasp before pushing his pants and boxers down his legs, letting them pool in a pile around his ankles. 

Still coming down from your high, your breath hitched as the tip of Javi’s cock ran through your folds, coating his length in your arousal before slipping inside you. You couldn’t help but gasp even harder at the new sensation of his fullness inside you, cockhead already kissing your cervix as his hips flushed with yours. 

Javi’s hands began to wander up your legs, pushing your dress up your thighs until he got to your hips, digging his fingertips in the soft fabric as he thrust in and out of you, mouths melding together as one. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, Hermosa. So fucking wet for me, taking me so well.” Javi moaned, nipping at your ear as his pace became faster, fucking into you in the spot he knew made you lose all control, silently smirking at the pathetic whimpers that were escaping your lips. 

Javi buried his face in the crook of your neck as your legs began to instinctively lock around the small of his back, bringing him closer to you with each thrust. You could already feel that all too familiar tingle building at the base of your spine once again, wanting to feel every inch of him you could deeper and deeper inside you before you came. 

With the way the hairs at the base of his cock were brushing against your clit, you knew you didn’t have much longer until your orgasm was about to crash though you, finding yourself grasping fistfuls of Javi’s shirt for dear life as you mumbled incoherently. 

”O-oh shit, Javi. Fuck, F-fuck, don’t stop baby. Please, don’t stop.” 

You could practically hear the hum of satisfaction deep in Javi’s chest feeling your cunt clench tighter and tighter around his cock, his firm grasp of his hands on your hips holding you in place on the counter as he pounded into you. 

”C’mon Osita. Cum all over me. Give it to me and I swear I’m gonna fuck you so full of me, I’ll be dripping out of you all night.” 

“Yes, fuckfuckfuck, please, Javi.” 

“Is that what you want? You gotta be a good girl and cum for me first, baby.” 

That was all it took for you to break before you could feel a wave of pleasure rushing through your body, euphoria running through your veins as you came, crying out Javi’s name like a prayer as he started to chase his own high. His thrusts became frantic and sloppy, his brows furrowing in focus to hold out just a little longer until your body melted into his in your blissed out state. 

“That’s it, hermosa. I love you so much. I- oh shit- I’m close, too. F-fuck, I’m gonna fill this tight little pussy so full of me that it- oh fuckkkkkkkk.” With a few more pumps, a moan escaped from Javi’s parted lips as he came, spilling himself deep inside your walls. The warm mix of his spend and your arousal dripped out of you as his cock softened, whimpering at the loss as he pulled out, but catching your muffled moans in his mouth as his lips met yours, cradling your face in his palm. 

Through your heavy breaths from heaving chests, you and Javi both couldn’t help but smile and laugh to yourselves as your foreheads rested against each other, quietly whispering “I love you” to each other in sync, your bodies slumped together in a blissed out heap on the bathroom counter. 

”Fuck, you’re so hot. I’ll never get over it.” Javi smirked, biting down on his lip after giving you another quick kiss, rummaging through your bathroom cabinets to pull out a washcloth to clean you up with.

”Takes one to know one, Peña.” You giggled, letting out a content sigh as you let your head fall back, closing your eyes for a moment before looking over your shoulder to see Javi, and behind Javi, the clock that you both had very much not been paying attention to in the midst of your antics.

”Oh fuck…” 

“Already did that, mi amor,” Javi teased, running the washcloth under the warm water of the sink, “What’s wrong?”

Without saying a word, you gestured to the clock hanging on the bathroom wall with a defeated shrug, Javi turning around with a quiet laugh to himself, shrugging his shoulders right along with you. 

“You’d think after how long we’ve been together we’d start giving ourselves even more time than we think to leave for things, huh?” 

“You would think, huh?” You giggled, accepting defeat that the two of you would most definitely not be making it to your dinner reservations that you had planned before the concert. “Sorry, Jav.”

 “What do you have to be sorry about, cariño? Fuck, I get to have amazing sex with my beautiful wife before we go see our favorite band, what a horrible birthday night so far.” Javi teased, giving you a reassuring nudge that you had nothing to apologize for. “I think the real question is…” 

”Is what, Mr. Sarcasm?” 

“What size fries do you want with your McDonald’s Coke and McNuggets for dinner?” 

“How did you know I was gonna say we should get McDonald’s for dinner?!” 

“Because Osita, I swear I know you better than I know myself.” 

After some quick touch ups and a call to Chucho to say goodnight to your daughters before you left, you and Javi were on the road, happily enjoying your McDonald’s and taking turns picking your favorite Fleetwood Mac songs to jam out to, spending your ride debating what songs they’d play, reminiscing about the songs you loved, and singing at the top of your lungs, to the point you were positive you would have no voice tomorrow. 

While you hadn’t been able to keep the concert itself a secret, the one thing you had been able to hide from your husband was the fact that you had managed to get not just good, but great seats for the show. If Javi had known how much you’d spent for him on his birthday, he would have insisted on finding cheaper tickets, but if there was anyone who was deserving of getting to see his favorite band from an incredible view, it was him. 

From the moment the two of you had entered the venue, you had your tickets peeled to your chest to keep them from Javi, reassuring him that you knew where you were going, much to his dismay and insisting that working together would help you find your seats quicker. 

After a few minutes of wandering and secretly maneuvering to the right section of the stadium, you had finally found where you belonged, excitedly pulling Javi along behind you towards your seats.

“Baby, not that I don’t trust your navigation skills, but I feel like we’re down way too far in the stands. ” Javi questioned, his hand in yours as you dragged him through the crowd, looking back and forth between your ticket stub and the stadium rows to find your spots. 

“Not to burst your bubble, Jav, but my navigation skills are as on point as they ever have been.” You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest before handing him over your tickets, his face stunned and in shock as he read the small stubs of card stock, realizing you had absolutely led the both of you to the right place. 

”Happy early birthday, Javi. I know the concert itself wasn’t a surprise, but I hope that these seats are still a good one.” 

“Osita… Baby, you can’t be serious…” Javi’s jaw dropped, eyes going wide in shock, convinced you had to be joking or playing some sort of prank on him. 

“Serious as a heart attack, Jav.” 

Javi stood there speechless, tears welling in his eyes with an awestruck grin on his face, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug before peppering your face with kisses, making you giggle and squeal in delight. 

“God, I love you so much. Thank you, Hermosa. This is… fuck, this is absolutely incredible. Thank you. I don’t- this is way more than I deserve. Thank you so much.” 

Your heart swelled at the boyish grin spread across Javi’s face as he looked out at the view in front of him, knowing that if you could give your husband the world in his pocket, you would in a heartbeat, but to see his excitement over some seats at a concert would do just fine. 

“You’re so welcome, baby. You do deserve it. You deserve it more than anyone I know. You are the most amazing, wonderful husband and dad. If I could get you up there on stage with Stevie Nicks, I would, because that’s what you deserve.” 

“I think the last thing anyone needs is to hear me even attempt to sing.” 

“The girls love it when you sing to them.” 

“That’s because they don’t know any better. Give it a few more years and I’m sure they’ll be begging me to stop.” 

“What they know won’t hurt ‘em,” you laughed, giving Javi a playful shrug, “Also, the other part of this gift is that I am driving us home from the concert, so you can have as much fun as you want.” 

“Baby, you don’t have to-” 

“I can and I will,” You sassed defiantly, cutting Javi off before he could oppose your offer, “You always drive so I can have a good time, and you deserve to have time to let loose, too. So, with that being said, I am going to go get us drinks. Drunk Javi is one of my favorite Javi’s and I don’t get to see him very often. Okay?” 

“Okay. Thanks, Hermosa. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Jav. Now, what do you want to drink?” 

“Surprise me.” He laughed, giving you a quick kiss and a subtle smack on your ass as you walked past him to make your way back to the concession stand. “Drunk Javi is really one of your favorites?” 

“Absolutely. Drunk Javi loves to dance. Drunk Javi also gets very sweet and a little handsy, both of which I am more than okay with.” 

A few drinks deep and the opening bands finished, Javi, or better yet, Drunk Javi, was having the absolute time of his life. For as fun and goofy Javi was at home with you and the girls, it was few and far between that the former DEA agent found himself intoxicated out in public with a case of dancing shoes and uncontrollable giggles. 

“God, I’m having so much fun. Are you having fun, Hermosa? You’re the best wife ever, you know that?” Javi grinned, wrapping his arm around your waist as he pecked a sloppy kiss onto your cheek before taking another sip of his beer. 

“Glad to know you don’t have a secret wife who you like better than me.” You teased, giving him a little nudge and giggling at his drunken state, a little surprised when all of a sudden his face turned serious, setting down his beer to cup your jaw with his palms and forcing his gaze on his. 

“Baby, you know I would never ever do that, right? I literally love you so much. You and the girls are my whole world. I think I would rather die than be with anyone else besides you. No, I know I would rather die than be with anyone else. You are literally perfect.” Javi pleaded, his concerned, big, brown puppy dog eyes making your heart melt. 

“Yes, Mr. Dramatic, I know you would never have a secret wife, but thank you for your very adamant confirmation.” You giggled, pressing up on your tiptoes to give him another kiss, washing the worry away from the concerned furrow of his brow. “You are such a goofball. I love you so much too, Jav. I promise, I’m not going anywhere either. Well, actually, that’s a lie. I do need to go to the bathroom before Fleetwood Mac comes on, but I will be right back.” 

“Okay, mi amor. I’ll be right here when you get back.” Javi nodded adamantly, knowing in his drunken state he would be taking his job of not leaving your seats very seriously until you safely returned. 

“I know you will, Javi. I’ll be quick, okay? Need anything when I’m gone? Besides another drink?” 

“How did you know I was gonna say I needed another drink?” Javi asked in complete shock, like you had just showed him the world’s most inconceivable magic trick. 

“I’d say the almost empty bottle was a good clue.” You winked, giving his arm a little squeeze before shimmying your way through the row of seats and up the stairs to find the nearest bathroom and concession stand. 

Normally, Javi wasn’t one to strike up small talk with strangers just for the fun of it, but with his lowered inhibitions, he couldn’t help but find himself turning to the group of women seated next to him to kill the time before you came back from the bathroom. 

“Have you guys seen Fleetwood Mac before?” Javi shrugged, finishing the last bit of beer at the bottom of his bottle. 

“Yeah, we’ve seen them a few times! They’re really good live!” One of the women responded, her friends nodding in agreement. 

“I’ve seen ‘em before too, but this is my wife and I’s first time seeing them together. She got me the tickets for my birthday, but she surprised me with how good these seats were. She’s amazing.” Javi beamed, subtly nodding his head to the music playing in the background between sets. 

“Awh, that’s so sweet!” One of the other women chimed in, the three women laughing to themselves at how drunk and awestruck Javi was over you. 

“It is. I hope they play Everywhere. It’s our favorite song by them. We played it at our wedding when she walked down the aisle and I bawled like a baby. She looked so beautiful. Who am I kidding? She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Like, ever.” Javi’s grin was growing wider by the second, staring off into the distance as he rambled on about you. 

“Oh my goodness, you are so cute. She’s a lucky lady.” The women smiled, incredibly entertained by everything Javi had to say. 

“No. I’m the lucky one.” Javi responded, stone cold serious as he pointed to himself, finger poking his chest. “Have you seen her? She’s so pretty. And she married me! And on top of that, we have a family, too! Can you believe it?!” 

“With how in love with her you seem to be, I 100% can. How many kids do you have?” 

“3 daughters. Lucy is 5, Elliot just turned 3, and Harper is 7 months old.” Javi counted on his fingers, holding up 3 to represent each of his girls. “I love them so much. Being a dad is like, the most coolest thing ever. And she’s such a good mom. They’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“Hey, Chatterbox.” You laughed, gently tapping Javi on the shoulder, trying not to startle him as he turned around, beaming from ear to ear at your presence. “Here is your drink and- oh!” 

“Osita! I missed you.” Javi swallowed the rest of your sentence in his mouth with a strong kiss, pulling away to greet you with a goofy grin, followed by a confused frown. “Wait, where did you go?” 

“Oh boy, we’re gonna have to pick some Gatorade and Tylenol up on the way home, aren’t we? I was just going to the bathroom, remember? And to get you another drink, silly goose.” You giggled, holding out his beer for him. 

“Oh shit. I should probably go to the bathroom, too. Do you think I have enough time to go? I don’t wanna miss anything with you!” Javi questioned frantically, realizing he definitely had not utilized the bathroom to the extent he probably should have. 

“You should be fine, babe. The lines were pretty short, so if you hurry I’m sure you’ll be back in plenty of time.” You reassured him. 

“Phew, okay, I can go fast, no problem. I’ll be right back, hermosa.” Carefully taking back his beer as he handed it off to you, Javi quickly scrambled through the crowd to follow the path you had just returned from, leaving you laughing to yourself and shaking your head. 

“We just wanted to let you know, your husband is absolutely adorable.” One of the women furthest away from you piped up, catching your attention. 

“Oh, um, thank you?” You replied, tilting your head in confusion. 

“That man is utterly obsessed with you. I think he had more nice things to say about you in 30 seconds to a group of strangers than any of my exes ever did combined.” 

“Girl, not to mention he is handsome. You are one lucky woman. Who knew it would take a stranger in love at a Fleetwood Mac concert to once again raise the bar for men.” 

“Wow, uh, thank you. That’s really nice of you. I’m not gonna lie, he’s pretty darn great.” You blushed, trying to keep your smile from spreading too wide at their compliments for Javi over his affection for you. 

“Of course. We won’t bother you anymore, but figured you’d like to know that your man is still head over heels for you. Enjoy the rest of the concert!” 

“Thanks, you guys too!” You smirked, your eyes darting down towards your feet to hide the red glow of your cheeks, your heart bursting with warmth from the fact that even in his drunken state, you found yourself falling harder and harder for Javi every day. 

Suddenly, the lights around the stage began to dim, the roar of the crowd overtaking the stadium, signaling Fleetwood Mac were only moments away from taking the stage. Instinctively, you peeked your head behind you through the crowd to look for Javi, relieved when you saw his broad figure hustling down the stairs, waving at you with a goofy grin the whole way. 

"I was worried I was gonna have to come find you before the show started!” You sighed, grabbing Javi’s face and giving his cheeks a playful squeeze before giving him a quick peck on the lips. 

“Osita, you know I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” 

Any high hopes that you had for the show were surpassed, and then some. The band played all of your favorites, the both of you singing and dancing along, probably making complete fools of yourselves, but you couldn’t care less. 

You were particularly impressed with Javi’s over dramatic stomping and air drumming to “The Chain” to kick off the show, having to grab his beer to keep it from spilling all over himself several times throughout his performance. Although incredibly offbeat, Javi's enthusiasm made up for any drunken lack of rhythm throughout the song.

The both of you couldn’t help but shout along to “I Don’t Wanna Know” at the top of your lungs, painfully off key and obnoxiously loud, Javi reaching down to grab your finger, wrapping his hands around it to use as his own makeshift microphone for the entire duration of the song. 

During “Landside”, you found Javi standing behind you, chest pressed to your back and arms wrapped around you as you swayed back and forth, gently wiping your tears and choking back his own as he whispered in your ear how lucky he was to build his life around you and your girls, mumbling something about how if any of the girls get married and pick this song to do a father daughter dance to, he’d be an absolute mess. 

By the end of the concert, you and Javi were both exhausted, giving every last ounce of energy to “Go Your Own Way”, the crowd erupting with thunderous applause as the show came to a close, lights flashing and confetti exploding from the ends of the stage in an array of bright colors in the same way your heart felt like it was exploding with joy from the incredible time you had with Javi. 

Over the cheers and hollers, Javi leaned in, cupping your cheek in his palm, the other arm wrapped around your waist pulling you closer to his chest, capturing you in a kiss that seemed to make time stop and everyone else disappear, feeling like in that moment, no one else existed but the two of you. 

“I love you so much, Osita.” 

”I love you too, Javi.”

“Tonight was- Oh shit, hold on,” Javi paused, letting out a long, low burp, a signature Drunk Javi move, placing his hand over his chest and letting out a long sigh before speaking again, “Sorry, that felt good. Wait, what was I saying again?” 

“That you had a lot of fun. I think it’s time that we get you home, cowboy.” You couldn’t help but snort at his impressive display of flatulence, wrapping your arm around his waist as you walked with the flow of the crowd departing from the stadium, hand patting his hip in reassurance. 

It wasn’t until you began to try and travel up the stairs and through the sea of concert goers that you realized just how drunk Javi was. While wrapping your arm around his hip had started off as a sweet gesture to help guide him in the right direction to leave, you began to worry that you were going to have to try and keep him up until the two of you got to the car. 

Thankfully, your humming, happy as can be Javi made it to your parking spot, breaking free of your grasp to race to your car, tugging at the driver’s side door with profound confusion at it’s locked state. 

“Hermosa! The car is locked! How are we gonna get home if we can’t get in?” Javi fretted, tugging harder at the door handle. 

“I have the keys, baby, don’t worry.” You laughed, reaching into your purse to unlock the truck’s doors, sending Javi stumbling backwards as the driver’s side swung open from his last tug at the handle. “Also, you are on the wrong side there, pendejo. I’m driving home, remember?” 

“Oh fuck, you are! I was gonna say, I think I’m a lil drunk. I probably shouldn’t drive.” Javi grimaced, quickly scampering to the other side of the car as you unlocked it, laughing as you watched him squeeze into the passenger set that was clearly set for your stature and not his. 

“I think you might be more than just a little drunk, baby.” You corrected, clicking in your seatbelt and firing up the ignition, peeling out of your parking spot. 

“Yeah, I’m a lot a bit drunk. I’m sorry, Osita.” He pouted, slumping his face in his hand, elbow resting on the center console. 

“Jav, why on earth would you possibly be sorry?” You frowned, wondering what Javi had to apologize for. 

“I’m sorry I’m so drunk and now you have to drive me home.” 

“Baby, I’m glad that you decided to get drunk. I wanted you to have a good time! Number one, you’re always driving me home whenever I wanna have fun and number two, it’s your birthday, and you deserve to let loose and have as much fun as you want to. Don’t apologize, okay?” You smiled, gently grabbing your hand in his and giving it a little squeeze, instantly flooding his face with relief. 

“Okay. I’m sorry I talked to those ladies sitting by us earlier while you were going to the bathroom, too. I was just trying to be nice. I just wanted to tell them how excited I was to see Fleetwood Mac with you, and how beautiful and amazing and perfect you are, and that you’re the best wife ever.” 

“I know Jav, it’s okay. I didn't even think twice about it. They were very sweet, and said you had lots of nice things to say about me and the girls. It was very cute.” You smirked, lifting your interlocked hands to your lips to plant a kiss on his knuckles, giving it an even tighter squeeze of reassurance in the process. 

At this point, Javi had practically melted into the passenger seat, limbs spread out as wide as he could to try and get comfortable, tilting his head towards you with a mischievous grin and sparkle in his chocolate brown eyes. 

“You know what we should do when we get home?” Javi asked, now biting down on his lip to try and subdue his smirk. 

“I don’t know Javi, what should we do?” You responded back mockingly. 

“We shoulddddddddd....” He paused, dancing in his seat in excitement.

“We shoulddddddd, what, baby?” You sighed, laughing to yourself at his drunken goofiness. 

“We shouldddddd throw away your birth control and make another baby when we get home tonight.” Now Javi was full on beaming in an ear to ear grin, raising his eyebrows at you as he crossed his arms over his chest, trying to find any way to warm you up to his intoxicated acquisition. 

“Javi! We talked about this!” You scolded, giving him a playful slap to his chest, doing nothing to wipe his stupidly wide smirk off his face. “4 kids is a lot of kids. At least one of us can have a spare hand with 3, even if we’re outnumbered. I think 3 is the magic number, babe.” 

“I knowwwww, but making babies with you is like, the best thing ever. If you asked me to list my favorite things to do, that would be number one, no question.” Javi protested, convinced that this argument alone would be enough of a selling point for you. 

“Believe me, you’re not wrong, Jav. It’s a ten out of ten pastime, but even if I stopped taking my birth control tonight, I don't think it would happen, ya goof.” 

“Crazier things have happened. Maybe we'd just get really lucky. Our daughters are so cute. I know it’s unfair to say because they’re our kids, but like, we make some cute fuckin’ babies, Hermosa. What if we made another super cute baby? Just like, one more?” At this point, Javi had broken out his signature pout and big baby cow eyes, looking at you like a stray puppy who had been kicked to the curb. 

“Another adorable baby means I’m gonna have to build up my immunity to those sweet, sad, puppy dog eyes even more, and I honestly don’t know if I’m strong enough. I don’t know how all 3 of the girls ended up with your big brown eyes, but I hope you know it’s killing me slowly because of how frickin’ cute they are.” You sighed in defeat, knowing that your willpower with 3 sets of Javi’s mini-me’s was already low enough, let alone adding a 4th pair to the mix. 

“Soooooooooo it’s a maybe?” 

“Oh my god, you are so bad, Javier Jesus Peña.” 

“That’s not a yes or a no, Osita.” 

“....Maybe. But don’t get your hopes up, okay?” 

“So we’re not not gonna make a baby tonight?” 

“Javi, I love you, baby, but with how much you’ve had to drink, I don’t think nature is going to give you enough grace to even let that possibility play out.” You snorted, gesturing down to his crotch, making him roll his eyes. 

“Okay, that only happened one other time!” Javi sloppily pointed at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, when you were absolutely hammered after Steve’s 40th birthday party and wouldn’t let me put you to bed until you could prove to me that you did not, in fact, get whiskey dick, to which you fell asleep with your hands down your pants sitting in the guest room chair, unable to prove your point.” 

“That was not my proudest moment, I will admit that. Most of the time, I’m pretty good at sex, though.” Javi retorted, trying to bring himself back from your last point made. 

“Yes, Jav, you’re very good at sex.” You agreed, patting him on the leg and rubbing his thigh. 

“So good…. That we should make another baby tonight when we get home.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“I’m just saying!” 

“Jesus Christ, you goof. I think when we get home, someone needs to drink some water and get into bed. I love you very much, but that’s about as far as we’re getting tonight.” You laughed, rustling the messy curls of his hair as he leaned his head to rest against your shoulder. 

Javi sat silent for a moment, watching the headlights of the cars flash through his window, staring into the serene darkness of the clear night sky, the familiar warmth of his body pressed against yours in a comfortable calm. It was almost as if you could feel his eyelids beginning to droop, slowly closing while his sleepy state washed over him as he nestled against you. And while in that moment, the air between you hung quiet, you could hear the silent agreement that if given the choice, there was nowhere else you’d rather be than right here, right now, with each other. 

“Hey, Hermosa?” 

“Yeah, Jav?” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“....Enough that we should make another baby tonight?” 

“Javi!”

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[hamilando]

ੈ✩ wrong couple ? (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : lando norris x fem reader

summary : the chaotic process of Lando getting a wife

fc: Olivia Culpo

a/n : This is a series, and this is PART 2, let me know if you want to be tagged in the final part ! it was requested anonymously, thank you for requesting it 🫶🏻

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by landonorris, alexandramieux and 137,937 others

ynculpo sunsets with the best man I could get 🌅

view comments

user1 I saw what she did there 🗿

user2 MA'AM!? WHAT IS THE CRUISE FOR !?

user3 istg everyone is just posting pics and not telling anything

user4 MAX AND KELLY GOT ENGAGED !?

user5 #KELLAX

user6 that sounds like a crime mob name 😭

landonorris forever and ever 🧡

liked by ynculpo

user7 I luvvv how lando's media personality is different from his real one

user8 Sir Lando, please lend em your gf, she is too gorgeous 🤺

user7 Only Lewis is Sir, Lando is master 🫦

charlesleclerc mama and papa 🐱

ynculpo HELL NO- I CANT BE A GRANDMA AT 24

oscar.piastri 😔

ollie.bearman 😔

ynculpo stop, you have alex

fransisca.gnomes I am stealing her lando

landonorris sure, take her for the day, because her nights are mine

maxverstappen1 you horny ass

landonorris what? you never watch Netflix and chill with Kelly ?

maxverstappen1 😒

user9 did he mean netflix or chill

user10 or NETFLIX AND CHILL

liked by maxverstappen1, ynculpo, landonorris, fransisca.gnomes and 1,284,294 others

kellypiquet mijn wereld ❤️

view comments

maxverstappen1 to many more years and watching P grow ❤️

liked by kellypiquet

user1 IS THAT A RING ON HER RING FINGER

user2 THE CRUISE WAS INDEED FOR HER AND MAX’S PROPOSAL

user3 THEY ARE GETTING MARRIED

user4 congrats to the best couple 🌟

user5 max really took that groomer as his wife…

user6 can you like not spoil their special day ?

user7 max, pls tell Lando to propose to yn as well

user8 fr, they have been dating for almost 4 years now

fransisca.gnomes my heart 🥹

liked by kellypiquet

landonorris best sil 🧡

liked by kellypiquet

user9 LANDO’S COMMENT

user10 LANDO JUST CONFIRMED

user11 damn, max flexing his money from this proposal

user12 if my standards are not up-

user13 fr, DAMIAN, YOU BETTER PROPOSE TO ME IN PRIVATE HIRED CRUISE

user14 who is damian? user13 my bf 🗿

liked by landonorris, kellypiquet and 849,278 others

maxverstappen1 best man duties

view comments

user1 TOLD YA

user2 HE IS GETTING MARRIED YALL

user3 EVEN KELLYY LIKED

user4 she likes all posts 🗿

user5 MY PENELOPE AND MAX HEART

user6 MAX VERSTAPPEN, 3 TIME WORLD CHAMPION IS NOW MARRIED

user7 we got one more down before Lewis 🤺

landonorris 😏🙃

liked by maxverstappen1

charlesleclerc so excited 💪🏻

liked by maxverstappen1

carlossainz55 tequilla and music 🌇

liked by maxverstappen1

user8 THE GRID DRIVERS ARENT EVEN DENYING IT

user9 GRID MARRIAGE WOOHOHOHOHOHOHO

user10 but isn't the best man for someone else's wedding ?

user11 wait..

user12 WHAT

user13 y'all it's him and Kelly getting married only, being a best man for Kelly ?

user14 makes sense

user15 y'all are dumb

user16 why is Lando in all the pics tho?

user17 can't there be friends 😒

liked by user1, user2, user3, and 483,683 others

f1wags New Marriage in grid !? A huge ‘marry me’ was seen in the ocean, presumably where the f1 grid cruise was passing by. With the recent post of Kelly Piquet, Max Vertsappen’s girlfriend, it seems she is the new Mrs. Verstappen ?

view comments

user1 AHAHAHAHAHAH

user2 told ya-

user3 where is my invite ?

user4 to all the haters, TAKE THAT

user5 can’t wait for more max x penelope crumbs 🥹

user6 that man seriously showed off his wealth for the proposal

user7 they look cute together ngl-

part3

tg: @lydia-demarek @mel164 @h34rts4maisey @poppyflower-22 @dolphlinda

@ilivbullyingjeongin @fangirlforever2000 @magnusi-97 @clo5406 @yesmanbabe

@wosof1 @luvsforme @nikfigueiredo @evie-119 @clarenciago

@raynetargaryan2 @brekkers-whore @lifesass @formula1-motogpfan @yawn-zi

@barcelonaloverf1life @jxnellat @gigicisneros @yukimaniac @l-sofiamia-l

@s0phiad @shiftermeance @coriyaps @formulaal

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @landotd @fulla02 @orlafitz1664

@abq654 @mastermindbaby @awritingtree @nichmeddar @emz2092

@mysteriesincorporated @dramallama9 @emxlando @ahnneyong @burkylover

@czennieszn @weekendlusting @charli123456789 @mamako23

@mxdi0 @claudiajacobs