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#been three weeks of trying to get something fixed

lovebittenbyevans · 2 days

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Rumors & The Truth

Summary: When Toji put out a statement about you and him, he realized things were about to really change for him personally.

Pairing: F1driver! Toji Fushiguro x friend! Female Reader

Warnings: cursed words, social media au

Author note: I appreciate people who left a comment on this series. Continue AU series Life In The Spotlight. Follow along Mystery Girl. This will be Toji pov and get a glimpse of what he’s feeling in a way. A little bit of reader pov as well. Enjoy reading!

– Comments, Reblogs and Likes are appreciated

Toji knew this would come out sooner or later. He knows everything is brought to the surface eventually. He just wanted to keep this side of you and him hidden way longer.

In his head he is panicking and pissed off at the same time. His publicist Ryan warns him about the paparazzi having a way of making things public and a way of not keeping quiet forever.

He tried calling you a few times but you didn’t pick up. He wanted to do the right thing even though he didn’t want to confirm anything. Toji and you were just friends who like each other company but sometimes fuck each other as well.

“What’s the plan?” Ryan asked, sitting at his desk.

Toji fixed his race suit while adjusting it a little. “You tell me.” He mocked him. “I am not going to put out a bullshit statement when you know I see Y/N only as a friend.”

Ryan sighs as he scratches the back of his neck. “Just be honest. I would never tell you to lie.” Toji pulled out the chair and sat down. “You do know her life is about to change right?” Ryan wanted to make sure that Toji knows what is about to happen.

He continues. “The amount of time the press sees you with different girls every week is different from you and y/n.”

Toji nods. “Mhm.” A part of him was hoping this day would never come. His whole career was about his new talk about him with you.

He leaned back in the chair when he heard his phone buzzing on Ryan's desk. He immediately picked up his phone and saw your name on the screen.

Thank fucking god

He pressed the green button to answer and put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Is it an emergency?” You spoke through the phone.

Toji clears his throat. “I have to put out a–” He pauses for a second, turning off his British accent. “The statement I am about to post is going to be about us. Is that alright?” He sounded more American.

He really needs to stop picking up the British accent since he's been living in London for three years now even though he sometimes doesn’t pay enough attention when he talks.

“What else is new, T? Do whatever it is.” At the end of the line all he heard was a beeping sound. He couldn’t blame you for hanging up on him. He deserves it.

He sighs. “She gave me the go ahead.” He pressed one of his social media apps on his phone.

“So, what are you going to say exactly?” Ryan leaned forward with a smirk on his face.

He was loving this to begin with.

Toji rubs his chin trying to figure out what to actually say without making y/n look humiliated. “Something along the lines of us being friends.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “I told you people might not believe that. They are already believing you and y/n are a couple.”

Toji rolled his eyes and let out a scoff. “For fuck stake Ry.” He knew his publicist was right. In his mind he didn’t want to screw up at all. He doesn't want to lose you as a friend either.

“I’m just saying just speak from your heart and be honest this time.” He shrugged. “And hurry up because you have a race to do.” Ryan got up from his chair and squeezed Toji's shoulder before he walked out his office door.

Toji sat there with his phone in hand already had in his mind what picture he wanted to post with a caption knowing you mean so much to him in a way.

tojifushiguro I have known y/nusername for years and we have built an amazing friendship over the years. She got my back. I have hers. She is my go to in this friendship whenever I need her to just hangout or just have a good conversation with. She will always be my best friend that I can count on. I will be always be there for her as well.

After hitting the post button on his phone screen, he noticed his instagram notifications started going crazy. He shut his phone off and gave his phone to his assistant.

“I think you did the right thing.” Victoria told him.

He got up from the chair and ran his hand through his hair. “Well, whoever doesn't like the truth can shove it up their ass.” He walked out the door going straight to his team garage.

Toji realized this was just the beginning of press being in his personal life more then before

#toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x female reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x y/n #toji fushiguro x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x female reader #toji x y/n

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foone · 1 year

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I see a lot of people joking about the adhd thing of "I have a appointment/phone call at 3pm, guess I won't do anything all day!"

But no one seems to make the connection that it's a time blindness thing. One of the symptoms of ADHD is not having a good and accurate sense of time. And not doing stuff prior to an event with a hard deadline is an obvious coping mechanism for that.

Can I go to the store? It's 10am and the appointment is at 3pm. How long does going to the store take? An hour? Three hours? Five hours? I DON'T KNOW!

I get anxious trying to do things before appointments because I'm aware that I don't know how long those things take, and that if I think I do, I may be very wrong. Too often I've been like "hey I can walk to the corner store and grab a drink, that'll take like 15 minutes!" and then an hour later I get back and whoops my rice has burnt.

Plus there's also the fact that ADHD people know that motivation and focus is a two-edged sword.

Like, let's say you decide to play a video game. You've got time, you can pause/save whenever, so this should be a perfect fit to make good use of your waiting-time. So you start playing and WHOOPS you get really focused for some reason today (because people with ADHD do not get to pick when their brain decides to focus) and the next time you look at the clock it's 2:49 and you haven't showered or dressed and the appointment is 30 minutes away. Fuck. (you could have set an alarm, but now you're asking people with the forgetting-things-and-time-ignoring condition to remember it set alarms)

And with motivation, it can be almost worse. Instead of playing a game, you so something useful or creative. You clean your room or fix your plumbing or write a story or draw a picture. And suddenly it's great. Your brain is firing on all cylinders. You've got all the motivation you can ask for, and you are FLYING. the ideas are brilliant, your hands are nimble, you're getting stuff done you've been putting off for weeks or months. And then the alarm goes off. Time to go to your appointment. Fuck.

You drive there, your brain still full of ideas and plans. But by the time you get back, the motivation is gone. You may still have the ideas but you don't have the drive to write them down. You can't force yourself to do it. Your sink is still in pieces. Your room is half-cleaned, and you have to shove all the sorted clothes into one big bin just so you have somewhere to sleep. You've left things half finished again, in a cycle that has been repeating your whole fucking life. It seems sometimes that nothing ever gets finished.

So next time you don't even start. There's not time. You've been burnt too many times. Why add another half-completed project to your pile of shame?

My point is that people seem to be going "lol I can't do anything all day if I have an appointment at 3pm" like this is a quirky "oh I'm so scatterbrained!" weirdness they alone have, and not a major complication of a disabling mental illness.

(and that's not even getting into the secondary effects. If you know that having an appointment ruins your whole damn day, you're going to avoid them. Even when it's things like "going to that party" or "meeting your friends for a drink/game" or "going to a movie with that cute girl from your math class". Things you should enjoy. Things that'd help you be social. Things that make you feel human.)

#ADHD

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sweetiecutie · 6 months

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Warnings: pantie stealing and sniffing, masturbation, Simon has a crush on you, kinda softie! Simon

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who felt guilt pooling in his chest as he fisted his leaking cock violently, a pair of your pink frilly thongs that he pinched from laundry basket in you house was pressed against his nose, inhaling lungfuls of your soury scent. Bright blush covered his normally pale cheeks, honey-coloured eyes rolling back as Riley’s back arched, series of low groans and stifled moans slipping past his lips as hot cum shot out of his overstimulated cock, landing in small puddles on his pubic and tummy.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who could barely look you in the eyes the whole next week out of sheer shame and embarrassment, brushing you off whenever you tried talking to him. You pouted, not getting such wanted attention from your older brother’s broody best friend, just clicking your tongue as he openly ignored you, finally giving up and turning around on your heels, marching off to your room, snacks and mug of tea in your hands. If only you could see Simon’s eyes lingering longingly on the soft slope of your ass, trying to burn the image in his brain, you small booty shorts doing nothing to hide delicious plumpness of it.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who clenched his teeth tightly, breathing deeply through his nose to try and control himself as you sat on an arm of the armchair he was settled in, drunkenly babbling about some new movie you’ve been meaning to watch. He desperately tried not to look at your tits as you leant against the back of that damned armchair, your chest poking out of the deep cut of your crop top barely ten centimetres away from Simon’s head, basically inviting him to bury his face in beautiful softness of your boobs. But he just gripped his beer tighter, looking strictly in front of him and nodding absentmindedly at your words, subtly shuffling his hoody down to hide a growing tent in his pants.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon on whom you can always count. You need a drive back home after going out for drinks? He’s grabbing his car keys and telling you he’ll be there in a few minutes. Some weirdo has been bothering you at work/uni? Simon is discreetly asking bastard’s name as to not rise any suspicions in you, just to have a little friendly chat with him a bit later, making sure to break duchebag’s nose so he doesn’t stick it into your business anymore. There’s something off with your car and you need to get it fixed? How good that Simon is a handyman, bringing your car back to life not worse than any mechanic would (and he’s definitely not flexing his stupidly big biceps while doing it).

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who knew better than to make a move on you. He knew you liked him, and he liked you too (more like was totally obsessed). But he valued his best friend too much, knowing perfectly well that he wouldn’t appreciate it if Simon fucked his little sister.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who realised that he was absolutely, utterly, totally fucked as he watched you and your older brother roughhousing around the kitchen, bickering and play-fighting - your smile was so bright and warm, making him feel hot like sun in the middle of August, your loud laughter made his chest buzz with something soft and Riley felt as if he was about to pass out because of the flow of softness he felt for you that moment. Soon your eyes met his, mischievous smirk curled your pretty lips as you threw a pillow at him, surely dragging Simon into your little brawl, creating a huge mess for which all three of you will surely get a good scolding from your mom.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who tried to distance himself from you because you deserved more than him. He genuinely did try to ignore all your soft smiles and fleeting touches, the way you batted you pretty eyelashes as you listened to him explaining something to you or the way you would nibble on your bottom lip as your eyes wandered up and down his torso as he wore one of his compression shirts. Simon did try his best to save you from himself, but all of his resolve vanished completely and utterly the moment you got brave enough to stand to your tippy toes and press a tentative kiss to his chapped lips.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who scooped you up in his arms, giving you no chance to escape as he deepened the kiss, moaning quietly into your mouth as you let his tongue in, greedy hands roaming up and down your body, feeling all the curves and dips of it - just like he dreamt of doing past few years. Simon barely registered pressing you against the wall, meaty forearms boxing you as his torso pressed against yours, grinding his boner against your tummy, goosebumps running up his spine as he felt your small arms gripping on his sides, pressing him closer to yourself.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who broke off your kiss, a silver strand of saliva connected your lips as he gazed deeply in your eyes, blush on your face made him feel warm and proud. He pressed his lips against your forehead, nosing at your hair and inhaling sweet scent of your shampoo. Withdrawing back for just a few centimetres he muttered in his raspy breathy voice “Go out with me”

Likes, reblogs and comment are highly appreciated, give writers some love!🩷 I’m thinking about making part 2, let me know what you think<3

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magicalmanhattanproject · 4 months

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Okay, so with Quackity Studios tweeting about adding new people and the need for tolerance and patience with people who don't speak English, let's just take a second and have a chat about what that's gonna look like.

First: you will hear things or read things on the translator that hurt or offend you.

This is inevitable. Do not immediately post about it. What you need tolerance for is hearing things that hurt or offend you and what you need patience for is figuring out of malicious intent was present or if this is a hill worth dying on right now.

As an example, we're pretty sure at this point that Korean is gonna be the next language added. The second person pronoun in Korean sounds a lot like the n-word in English. The n-word in English, if you're not aware, is like the single most offensive slur we have. It's not something that you want to hear unexpectedly. But also, if we get Koreans, they're gonna be using the word for "you" and English speakers are gonna have to be able to tolerate that.

On the other side of things, Korean has a complex system of honorifics and addressing someone without an honorific would be considered very forward and intimate at least if not very rude. None of the QSMP languages have honorifics though and only French really retains formality* so no one else is going to address them with honorifics unless they specifically explain it to people and walk them through it. That will probably be weird and uncomfortable for them and they're going to have to be able to tolerate that.

*Spanish and Portuguese do technically have formal vs informal but it's disappearing quickly in both of them.

These natural cultural clashes and pain points are going to be harder to overcome since we also know that at least some of these creators won't speak English at all so they can't just switch to English to helpfully explain things to us easily in a way we understand. We're going to have to deal.

So here's the thing: just because there can be cultural miscommunications and mistranslations, that doesn't mean that people can't also be assholes. How do you distinguish between the two?

Step One: Assume good faith. Assume that everyone in a given encounter is trying to communicate respectfully and compassionately and that a failure to do so can be overcome

Step Two: Don't get involved. Especially not in Twitch Chat. Two or more people trying to communicate through a language barrier does not get easier when they're also trying to wrangle hostile viewers.

Step Three: Are you sure you heard what you thought you heard or saw what you thought you saw? Did the translator fuck up? Is it a word that just coincidentally happens to sound like another word? If this is the case, the streamers can ask for clarification or use another tool and get it cleared up. Keep watching and see if they do.

Step Four: If they did say what you thought they said, are the streamers handling it? We had a thing a while back where Bad called some friends, including Bagi and Etoiles, uncultured because they didn't get a reference he was making and Etoiles was like "bro I'm French" and Bad apologized. That should have been the end of it, but I had to see people arguing about it for weeks. The problem was solved in 10 seconds.

Step Five: If the person is doubling down, are you sure this is something you can fix by yelling about it on Twitter or Tumblr? Would it be better to let people who actually know them talk to them behind the scenes? Pierre made a few missteps in the beginning of the server, Quackity said they had a chat, Pierre hasn't misstepped since. It's just easier to sort things out in private, one on one conversation than yelling at someone in public.

In short: it's fine to take note of behavior in case patterns start to emerge in it, but yelling on social media about how so and so is the worst person possible is not constructive.

#sorrelposting #qsmp

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 2 months

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DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.

or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?

or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~

Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive? Danny: Oh, really? And Danny took it personally.

It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?

Danny’s obsession was going crazy.

Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to. If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?

Johnny 13: Sup. Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty. Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week. Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em… Johnny 13: Suck? Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me. Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it. Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?

Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years. Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success. Johnny 13: When did you get drunk? Danny: I didn’t. Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that? Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems? Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it. ~~~~~ Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please. Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough? Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break. Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*

~~~~~

Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now.. Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving. Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!

~~~~~

Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny. Jason: There’s nothing funny about that. Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work. Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right? Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid. Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint. Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now. Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up. Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know? Hood *raises eyebrows*. Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?

~~~~~2 hours later~~~~

~~~~~

Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.

Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.

To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.

Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.

The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley. Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight. But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea. Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:

~~~~~

Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan? Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession. Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice. Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature. Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work. Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.

#dpxdc prompt #dpxdc au #dpxdc memes #dpxdc crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #dead on main #dead on main ship #alcohol

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lucyandthepen · 10 months

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sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

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

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

read the second part here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You really won’t help me?”

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

“I didn’t say that.”

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

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

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

“There’s no one better than you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, really?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

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

But it just isn’t the right time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got a ride?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you know this because?”

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

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

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

“You don’t want it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you to have it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I would.”

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

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

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

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

“Are you going to be here all day?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

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

“Mark, wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He must really want you there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m inviting you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The what?”

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

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

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

“How do you know this?”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Respect what?”

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

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

“You were jealous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Even when I’m jealous?”

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

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

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

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t want to?”

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

“You seem worried.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark, please—”

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

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Won’t you show me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then take me.”

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

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

“You’re not—?”

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

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

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

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do that again.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re all mine.”

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dcxdpdabbles · 3 months

Text

DC xDP fanfic idea: One hell of a good Bellhop

Danny and Jazz Fenton get a chance of a lifetime after a whirlwind of dimension displacement. It's hard to explain how it happened. One minute, they were visiting Clockwork, having tea with their surrogate grandfather, and the next, they were being attacked by what appeared to be woolly mammoths standing on two legs and carrying weapons.

Clockwork had dispatch to take them head on- timeline pests he called them- but in the confusion Danny and Jazz were taken by suprised, stuffed into sacks and thrown through a whirlpool turned portal that spit them out in a new world.

They tried to call Clockwork for help, but it was as if though the Ghost Zone was blocked by some power. Danny at least still had his ghost powers and Jazz was equipped with the standard Fenton weapons on her person, but that wasn't much help when between the two of them they had sixty dollars and thirty four cents to their names.

Drivers' invalid licenses, phones that weren't connected to any service, and maybe worse of all, no actual identity to speak of.

The Fentons simply didn't exist in this world. Not even their four fathers. The two were at a loss on what to do- for about three months. Then they put their Fenton intelligence to use and hacked into a hotel.

It was a run-down place in the heart of downtown Gotham- the place that the portal shot them to was Metropolis. Still, people paid way too much attention to homeless minors there, so they had to move after dodging a weird underwear guy who kept trying to capture Danny. Apparently, he thought Danny was a "Kryptonian Clone". Fruitloop.

Jazz thought they were the only guests in the Hotel, which is why the owner was so happy to host them for weeks instead of a few days. He was a sweet old man named Charles who was far too old to work but couldn't afford the staff, so he did everything himself.

Jazz felt an awful pity seeing him sit at his counter, staring hopefully at the door for any new guests whenever she returned from her work. It was heartbreaking to see Charles' eyes dim whenever the closing time came, and once again, no one stopped by. At this point, he kept the hotel open in a sad, broken dream.

Where did she work? Danny didn't know, but Jazz made him swear she would handle their expenses. She kept a tight lip on her day, and since Danny had no documentation to go to school with, he found himself helping Charles with maintenance.

He has no license to do anything, but Danny has been installing electricity, water pipes, and anything in between since he was young. FentonWorks always needed something fixed, after all.

He even went out and "borrowed" some paint cans to give the old place a little touch-up. Charles' eyes watered when he saw.

"My wife and I meet at this hotel, you know," Charles tells him one day as Danny patches up some old bricks. He runs to find the old man, gently running his hand along the fireplace. A picture of two young people dancing in the Hotel Lobby—back when it was new and shiny—is hanging right over it. It's easy to see it's Charles and his late wife, Sally.

"Of course, that was back in the forties—a few years after the war and before Gotham was crime-infested. We always wanted to run this place together. We worked two jobs, and when we finally had enough, we bought it from the old owners when they announced they were closing down. We were so happy and ran it together for a year, but then she got sick. Really sick. I was told to give up on the Hotel when I lost her. No one saw a reason when it was obviously failing, but it's the last thing I have of her, you know?"

Danny's lips wobble. He thinks back to hours and hours of tracing the Fenton Works logo on all his new clothes. It looks stupid but, gosh its the last thing he has of his parents since they been sepreated too.

"Yeah" His voice catches "Yeah I know. Did you two ever have children?"

Charles shakes his head. "Salley couldn't have kids, and no matter how many times we applied, we were never approved for adoption. Then we were too old."

"I'm sorry Charles"

"That's alright, my boy." The man's smile is just as heartbreaking and sad as it is soft. "It's something I accepted long ago. "

Danny decided then and there that he would save this hotel if it was the last thing he did. Danny wasn't aware that his Ghost Powers launched onto that oath and sent out a flair, turning Gotham's Fog Lodge into his new haunt.

This meant that overnight, Danny's haunt was carefully bettering itself as a reflection of Danny's happiness. It made it look brand new among all the old and falling apart scenery.

No one knew why or how, but it looked just as Charles remembered it in the glory days.

Danny decided they couldn't compete with large chain hotels, so he made it an experience instead. He did Era events using his experience with the different parts of the Ghost Zone as references.

Soon Gotham was hearing of the Victorian Era Ball—a chance to dress up and dance the old ways with antique clothing of that period.

But Danny didn't stop there.

Disco parties. Nineties garage bands. Murder mysteries nights from the roaring twenties. Even the props were so realistic that people swore they stepped into the time from when arriving for their events.

People started calling, hoping to book in advance, and Charles burst into tears the first night Danny told them they ran out of rooms.

Since it was Danny's haunt, he could complete all the work by himself, having the hotel help him along the way. No one knew why or how, but somehow it was always clean, food was always prepared whenever someone needed it, and bags would be up into their rooms without actually seeing the Bellhop pass getting them at the door.

Not a single staff member in sight, either.

Charles suspected Danny was meta, and he was using his powers to be one hell of a good host. Everyone else thought the place was haunted by staff made entirly of ghosts, and that somehow made it more appealing.

Jazz's new boss thought it a little too good to be accurate, but he was so good at keeping records and organizing that he gave her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she did mention she had a meta brother she was desperately trying to protect.

If there was one thing Red Hood knew, it was that desperate people turned to crime the most. If he could keep someone like Jazz Fenton away from working with the nutjobs of Gotham, he would have been doing one thing better for the city.

As far as Jazz was aware, she was only an assistant/secretary to an obvious front masquerading as an insurance company, and if she pretended not to notice all the crime, she could feed Danny and help Charles.

Charles, for his part, never said it, but he thinks if he and Sally had been able to have grandchildren, they would have been exactly like Jazz and Danny.

He may have let it be implied at one point, and the misunderstanding spreads that he is their grandfather. None of the three make haste to correct it.

Gotham Fog Lodge starts to gain traction around the same time it captures the eye of one very intrigued billionaire. Bruce Wayne keeps an eye on the business but decided to let Jason make the call since the grandduaghter's owner works for him. '

Surely, he would step in if something malicious was going on.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #One hell of a good bellhop #Part 1 #The Fenton kids find questionable employement #Charles is ther emotional support grandpa #Danny is vibing in his new haunt #The bats are watching #always watching #Pre-Anger Management

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a-hazbin-reader · 4 months

Note

Eeek I love your writing it makes me so 🫶🫶🫶 Can I make a request?

If you do angst to comfort, can you make reader waiting for Alastor to come back (they're married) for seven years? Reader's friends has been pushing them to have a new lover—introducing them to new demons or overlords that the reader might like, but the reader only loves one; which is Alastor. Until Vox made the news that he was back, for months, without looking for the reader. Which makes the reader think Alastor doesn't love them anymore and tries to not be in his attention whenever they meet and pretends to not know him. What will Alastor do? :3 Thank yous!!!

Oh man...that ANGST!!!

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Reader is sad, Suggestive

Description: ☝️⬆️

When Alastor first dissappears, you assume he's just busy and will be back by the end of the day

And then you wake up alone...so maybe he'll be back tomorrow. Tomorrow turns into a week, a week turns into a month...

He's just gone, suddenly ripped away from you without warning and you didn't even get a proper goodbye

So you search for him, you ask everyone if they've seen him or heard about his whereabouts

You even ask Vox if he managed to kill your husband, knowing the TV head wouldn't be able to resist bragging about it

Instead, he looks surprised and uncomfortable with your obvious distress, muttering something about keeping an eye out for you

Rosie is worried too and offers her help but turns up nothing, she does her best to keep an eye on you

You never give up on finding him, knowing that he's alive out there

After the first three years your friends start trying to get you to move on, setting you up with available bachelors

Valentino has offered to help you get over your husband multiple times because he's just such a good guy

You don't give any of them a chance, you had already found the one man you wanted to be with for eternity and married him

He's just not here at the moment

The pain in your heart is just as strong as when you first realized Alastor was missing, crying yourself to sleep nearly every night

The only time you get to see him now is in your dreams, clutching one of his jackets with his scent still on it

You just feel so abandoned...

After the sixth year, your friends try to get you to move or throw out some of Alastor's things but you can't bring yourself to do it

He's going to come back to you, you know it, so you keep your wedding ring on and still present yourself as a married woman

Rosie makes sure you take care of yourself on the days when your sadness swallows you whole

"Wipe away those tears now, have you eaten today? No? I have just the thing for you.."

Seven years go by and nothing has changed for you

You're sad and miserable, running errands when you suddenly pass by an electronics store, seeing Vox on the TV

That's nothing new to you, you almost turn away and keep walking until you hear Vox say something about Alastor

You're suddenly frozen, listening to Vox bitch about Alastor's multiple offenses during these last few months

He's been back...for months..? And hasn't come to see his wife?

You're blinking away hot tears, the air in your lungs going sour and your stomach doing flips

Did Alastor really abandon you like that? You need to go see the one person who you know has been digging into Alastor for as long as you have

Vox literally screams like a child when you're suddenly bursting into his office and grabbing him by his suit

"How long has my FUCKING HUSBAND BEEN BACK!? And why didn't you tell me, Vox!? WHY!?"

"FUCK! Who let you in here!?"

"VOX!" You're shaking him now, making his screen glitch out

"A-at least a couple of months for sure! He's doing something with Lucifer's daughter and a hotel or some shit! I thought you would've been the first to know he was back!"

Vox is relieved when you finally let go of him, fixing his suit before suddenly giving you a cruel grin

"Wait wait wait-don't tell me-he hasn't come to see you this whole time!? You wait all these years for him and he's shacking up with Lucifer's daughter, a porn star and who knows who else!?"

He suddenly stops laughing when you slam his screen into his desk, storming out afterward so he doesn't see the angry tears in your eyes

"Don't get mad at me because he started a new life without you!"

Vox knew exactly which ugly worries to pull out of your head and you let him get to you

But you knew he was right, looking at all the evidence presented to you...it does look like Alastor is starting over

A small part of you is telling you that he's replaced you somehow but you have enough pride to doubt it

But that self pity comes back to bite you that same night, crying harder than you ever have before

By the end of the week, you've convinced yourself that he doesn't love you anymore, that he got bored of you

You still haven't taken off your wedding ring yet

Imagine your surprise when on your way home you bump into Charlie Morningstar, the princess of hell herself

She somehow managed to crash into you and knock down everything you were carrying, making you sigh and bend down to pick it up

"Oh my gosh, I'M SO SORRY!!" 🥺

You mumble something forgiving back to her, still picking up your things when you hear a familiar voice that makes your heart ache

"Charlie, my dear! What sort of mischief have you gotten int-Y/N?"

You're still as beautiful as Alastor remembers, if not even more so

You can hear the surprise in his voice, along with notes of panic and guilt

You just ignore him, gathering the rest of your things before walking in the opposite direction of them, you don't dare look at Alastor

You know you would break down if you did

He doesn't follow you, nor does he follow you the next time you run into him, or the time after that

It hurts you a little more each time, wanting to know if your husband ever loved you at this point

He doesn't know what boundaries to push with you anymore, he just misses you like crazy

Alastor knows he has to do something-

He tries cornering you the next time he sees you, standing in your way

"Y/N, please just let me explain-"

"I don't know who you're talking about, I'm not who you think I am."

He grabs your wrist, eyeing your wedding band with a frustrated expression

"You're wearing our wedding ring..."

"This is the ring my husband gave to me, and I haven't seen him in years."

You rip away your arm and walk away from him, crying to yourself over how much it hurts

You don't see how his ears lay low, and how he watches you with a regretful expression

He wishes he could just tell you everything, wants to run after you and hold you

But his deal doesn't allow it, he wanted to go straight to you when he got back-never wanted to leave you in the first place

But he was also too ashamed to face you, scared to find that you moved on or that you no longer loved him

He hates that he's hurting his wife like this and it sours his mood for weeks afterwards

Charlie and Vaggie start to understand that Alastor's sudden angry attitude always happens whenever he sees you

But they don't know who you are and they're way too afraid to ask Alastor because he's still digging his claws into everything out of anger

Niffty is actually the one who tells them that you're his wife but Husk explains to them that you're probably pissed at him for disappearing

Charlie is crying at the thought of Alastor and his wife being separated, Vaggie having to comfort her

So the two women get to work on finding you themselves, showing up on your doorstep one day and inviting you to the hotel

It takes a lot of coaxing and convincing from them to finally get you to go with them

You're a bit surprised to hear that Alastor is helping with a hotel centered around the idea of redemption

But you figure he's got some sort of angle, he always does

Alastor isn't there when you three arrive, Charlie having talked your ear off about everything Alastor has been doing to help

Which is unlike him, you're immediately suspicious

But you recognize Husk and Niffty, the little woman running to you and crawling all over you in excitement

"Y/N! Y/N! You're here! Are you gonna stay? Is your house messy? Do you have roaches for me to kill~?"

"Hey Y/N, you look like you need a drink.."

You almost start crying then and there, not having realized how much you missed them too, hugging Niffty tight as you take a seat at the bar

It almost feels like old times, the three of you talking late into the night until it's just you and Husker...

He takes a shot and seems to be preparing himself for something, uncomfortable suddenly

"Y/N...there's something I gotta tell you...about your husband..."

You're expecting to hear the worst, to hear that Alastor cheated, to hear that he's seeing someone new

But what Husk tells you is far FAR from that...you don't know whether to be thankful or horrified

Your husband's soul...owned by someone else? Just what did that man get himself into?

You don't even realize you're crying until Husk is awkwardly hugging you, patting your back gently as you cling to him

At some point, you must've fallen asleep because you wake up in an unfamiliar bed, your face buried in Alastor's neck

You almost relax and fall back asleep before your eyes suddenly pop open, jolting up and shoving him away

Even with what Husk told you, you're still mad at him, he never came back to see you

Alastor wakes up fast enough to realize he's falling off the bed, climbing back up with downward facing ears

"We need to talk, darling.."

"What is there to talk about? You don't want a wife anymore, is that it? Is that why you never came to see me?"

He looks so guilty and upset, his smile tense as he looks away, you have to resist the urge to rub his ears

You flinch away at first when he takes your hands before reluctantly letting him hold them, missing him too much to fight it

"I was too ashamed to face you...there's so much I can't tell you and I was...scared that you would be with someone new."

"Do you have any idea how much pain I was in? Alastor, it nearly broke me.."

He has tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, looking away to try and save face as he pulls you in for a tight hug

"Just please...forgive me and let me be your husband again. I'll do everything I can to fix this..."

It doesn't make up for all the pain you felt for seven years but it's definitely a start

You've missed him too much to continue being angry with him, so you just cling to him and cry

You cry until you both fall asleep again, eventually waking up tangled in each other's arms

He's kissing all over your face, ghosting his lips over your eyes, your nose, your forehead, eventually getting to your lips

You suddenly feel so full of emotion, like you could burst with happiness at finally having Alastor again

You had nearly given up hope that you would feel him, taste his lips, or smell his raw scent ever again

You dig your nails into him when he tries to pull away, forcing him to kiss you longer as his hands bruise your hips

You both are panting by the time you pull away, bodies pressed as close as possible out of a need for contact

His voice comes out like static, leaning in for another kiss as gazes at you with loving eyes

"I have missed you...so much..."

You could cry if it weren't for the fact that you were sick of crying, instead rolling yourself on top of him and kissing along his jaw

"You better prove it to me."

His pleased growl followed by claws digging into your clothes answered you well enough

You know he still has a lot to make up for but this is a good start

Sorry this one came out so long!! I hope you like it!!

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader

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authorhjk1 · 5 months

Text

Midnight

Kwon Eunbi X Park Jihyo X Yu Jimin X Male Reader

Stay here."

Jihyo can't tear her eyes off the screen.

"B-But you could die."

Twice's leader sees a smug grin on your face.

"I'd rather die than see you leave."

Her eyes grow wide as she watches you exit the room.

"Don't go!"

Tzuyu is sitting next to Jihyo. As if you could hear her shout.

Jihyo's heart aches. How could they put you into this dangerous situation?

She unconsciously bites her nails as you close the door behind you. You lock it, letting the key fall into the fish tank next to it.

"He is gonna die."

Chaeyoung is the third Twice member, who is sitting on their couch.

"Don't jinx it."

Jihyo tries to hit her, without looking away.

You let out a heavy sigh, the sad OST adding fuel to the three girls' emotional fire.

Shouts can be heard in the background. Footsteps are coming closer.

You take the pistol out of your belt. The Japanese soldiers can be seen, running through the wooden inn.

"Please, please, please."

Tzuyu mumbles to herself, praying that you are gonna survive. You are the main lead. You have to!

You cock your Mauser C96, before placing your left hand on the steel door.

"Stay alive."

You whisper. Your eyes are watery, the chance of staying alive slim.

"No! Chu-soo!"

The woman behind the door rattles at it, trying to get to you.

"Please!"

Taking a deep breath, you step towards the stairs, ready to go up into the saloon.

"Don't."

Jihyo sighs, hoping you would stay safe. Where is the backup the old guy promised?

The first soldier appears on the top of the stairs. Just as he sees you, your pistol fires. His limb body falls down the stairs, coming to a halt right before you.

"He is gonna do it!"

Chaeyoung exclaims, her voice louder in excitement.

Another dead Japanese soldier falls down the stairs. You jump over both of the dead bodies, taking two steps at once.

Stepping into the saloon, you shoot a third soldier in the head.

Seo Yeji bangs against the door in the basement.

"Chu-soo!"

Tears flow down her face. She tries to open the door, but you locked it.

A single shot can be heard from upstairs. The screen turns black. The episode is over.

"No!"

Jihyo slumps back into the cushions, groaning in frustration.

Tzuyu and Chaeyoung are equally disappointed. How could they just let it end this way?

"One more minute!"

Karina groans in annoyance, wanting to scream at the person behind the door.

She tries to collect herself. With a low moan, she let's her fingers slip out of her warm core.

There is no way she is gonna get off now. How long has it been? At least two weeks. Maybe even longer. The last time she was with a guy? She can only roll her eyes. Even if she would have time for that, who is she supposed to approach? Some are just not attractive in her eyes. And most behave like boys. It doesn't matter to Karina if they do it on stage or off stage or both. She isn't into boys.

Fixing the lower half of her outfit, Karina makes sure she is presentable again. As she stands up, she looks herself up and down in the big mirror on the wall.

Her eyes fall onto the white top she is wearing.

"Fuck."

Karina mumbles, seeing the dark spot on the white fabric.

"Not again."

She sighs, unbuttoning her blouse. This has happened a lot the last couple of weeks. Luckily, she has something else to change into.

After getting rid off her blouse, Karina sees that her bra is stained as well.

The first time this happened, she was really concerned. What the fuck was going on? But after some research, she found out that this can happen due to stress. Especially to women with larger breasts.

Most of the time, Karina doesn't have a problem with them. Hers are on the bigger side, which her fans seem to like. But in moments like these, she wished that she would have a smaller chest.

Changing into a new bra as well, Karina ponders on how she can get rid of this problem. Occasionally lactating isn't great. Especially if you are on stage. It hasn't happened yet, but it could anytime.

The stress is getting to her, which makes the problem even worse. How can she get rid of this?

"Are you alright?"

The woman's eyes are fixated on the idol in front of her.

"Unnie?"

It takes Kwon Eunbi more than just a moment to realize that she was staring.

Once she gets caught, she starts to blush heavily. She tries to hide it, but the woman she is eating with gets the hint.

"Who is it?"

Eunbi shakes her head, embarrassed.

"It's nothing. I-I just have a lot on my mind."

Her manager chuckles, knowing Eunbi quite well by now. If she blushes this hard, it means she has seen a very attractive person.

She turns around, trying to find out whom Eunbi could've stared at.

"Stop it. You food is getting cold."

Eunbi is trying to stop her manager from looking around.

"If you are not gonna tell me..."

She sighs before she keeps eating her scrambled eggs.

Eunbi looks over her manager's shoulders, looking at the man who is getting a serving of the food in the company's cafeteria.

There is no way she could tell anyone whom she is looking at. You are eight years younger than her after all.

She watches how you walk closer, her cheeks slowly turning red. She watched the new episode that aired today.

You never really caught her eye before, even though the two of you are in the same company. But your current lead role in this new drama has Eunbi swooning.

Especially this last episode. Since it takes place right before the second World War, Joseon is occupied by the Japanese. After your fierce fight, you took a bath in the river nearby.

It was a replacement for the cliche shower scene a lot of k dramas have.

Up until that moment, Eunbi always enjoyed seeing your handsome face in the cafeteria and on screen. Despite the scar on your right cheek. She thinks it makes you look even rougher.

But after she's seen you half naked, she can't get her thoughts into their proper order. Eunbi expected you to be fit. Probably even slim. But she didn't expect your well defined abs. The way the water made it's way through the valleys of your muscles....

Eunbi almost chokes on her food as you now stand in front of her table.

It's not like the two of you know each other very well, but there aren't a lot of empty table left.

You greet both women politely, before starting to enjoy your food.

Kwon Eunbi's head rests on the soft material behind her. The sofa in her empty waiting room was just a too good of a chance to pass up on.

She is a very comfort loving woman, which means she has to feel safe and secure to indulge into her more carnal desires. But lately, Eunbi seems to become horny almost all the time. Especially while watching your drama or seeing you in the cafeteria.

She is currently attending a music show. While waiting for her time to shine, Eunbi decided she could try to get off real quick. It's not like she is missing inspiration.

Your face crosses her mind. Your abs, your broad back, your muscular arms...

Eunbi sighs heavily. If this drama is gonna have a sex scene, she is gonna die sooner rather than later.

Her cheeks flush red. But not just because of how good she feels. Shame is part of the reason as well. She can't believe she is crushing so hard on somebody who is younger than her. By eight years. Maybe this taboo adds to her heightened state of arousal.

When Eunbi hears the door open, her pleasure shatters into pieces. More shameful red colors her cheeks, her legs instinctively closing around her hand as she opens her eyes. They are full of fear now.

Two women stand in the door, both shocked at seeing Eunbi lying half naked on the sofa.

In her lust filled state, Eunbi's mind takes a moment to recognize the two people standing in the door. Park Jihyo and Yu Jimin.

"Seems like you have the same problem as us."

Jihyo's words embarrass Eunbi even further. How could this happen?

"We were looking for a quiet room to talk in."

The two women step inside. The older of the three still very aware that she is half naked.

"T-To talk about what?"

A quick glance at the coffee table makes Eunbi's heart sink even further. Her phone is still on. She tossed it away as her pleasure started to get the best of her. A picture of you in that river is lighting up the screen. Please...

The two girls don't seem to notice yet.

"About our needs."

Eunbi looks down on herself at Jimin's words.

"We never have time for, you know..."

The youngest seems a little embarrassed as well.

"There is no need to be shy."

Jihyo takes the lead, probably because she is used to it.

"The three of us are all visibly in need of some action. Am I wrong?"

The other two shake their heads.

"So we need something that can help us out."

"Or rather someone."

Jimin's comment makes Eunbi immediately think of you.

"Are you saying, the three of us should..."

Afraid to finish her sentence on her own, Eunbi looks at the two leaders of Twice and Aespa.

"Yeah."

Jihyo nods.

"It would be a hassle to find three guys for all of us. One might be enough."

Eunbi shudders at the thought. She never even had a threesome before. How is she gonna share a man with these two women? Although, it might be a good experience. There aren't really any cons, are there?

"So, are you in?"

Eunbi slowly nods at Jihyo's question.

Jimin closes the door behind the two as they both step fully inside the room.

"Any suggestions?"

Jihyo's question makes the older woman glance at her phone. Jimin seems to have caught it. She steps closer, before Eunbi can hide the display.

"Wow, unnie. He looks handsome. Who is he?"

Jihyo takes a closer look as well. Biting her lip, she feels her body reacting to your picture. She tried the same thing Eunbi had tried a couple of moments ago. But sharing a house with eight girls made it impossible.

"(Y/n) really is a great candidate."

"(Y/n)?"

Jimin heard that name before, but it takes her moment, since you haven't been really popular so far.

"You mean Lee (y/n)? The actor?"

"Yes."

Jihyo nods.

"He is the main lead in 'Death's fate'."

"He really looks hot."

Jimin takes another look at the picture.

"He is."

Jihyo sighs dreamily.

"I don't even remember how often I imagined myself riding his cock, while my hands glide over his abs..."

Jihyo shakes her head, coming back to reality. Her cheeks a little red.

"But how are we gonna ask him?"

Jimin's question makes Eunbi think.

"I might have an idea."

Now that her time has come, Eunbi is almost too scared to act. There you are, on screen, currently reading out something on your cue card. You became a substitute host for someone else for one of the music shows.

Eunbi is standing in her waiting room, waiting for you to finish. Your deep voice makes her feel comfortable whenever she hears it. As if it consists of warm honey. Sweet and soothing. But strong and powerful.

The stylist gave you a completely different look compared to yours in the drama. Gone is the handsome, rugged rebel.

The scar on your cheek doesn't stand out as much and you hair is showing curls in the front.

Eunbi leaves her room as soon as you get off stage. She walks in the direction you have to come from, ready to follow through with the three women's plan.

"Hello, sunbaenim."

You bow respectfully as you see Eunbi walking towards you. It's hard to not stare at her. Especially since she is smaller than you. Which currently enables you to have a good look at her inviting cleavage.

She captured your attention for the first time, when you saw her performances during the water bomb festival. You never really saw her as a sexy, mature woman. More like a friendly and sweet senior. But more than enough pictures of her voluptuous chest started to draw you towards her.

Today she is wearing an all pink outfit. The sides of her waist are exposed and her shoulders are only covered by the straps of her top. Her tits look as good as they always do.

You have to stop yourself from staring at them. Instead, you look at her gorgeous face.

Her cheeks seem to be tinted slightly more pink than usual.

"Hello, (y/n)."

She greets you with a seductive smile.

At least you think it is one. Or rather, you hope so.

"I wish you good luck for your performance. Can't wait to watch it."

It feels like your words are kinda awkward, but you can't help it. Eunbi just takes your breath away.

"Thank you. I hope you enjoy them."

You are puzzled for a moment. She only has one performance. What does she mean?

"Are you attending the year-end party by the way?"

"What party?"

Her question draws your attention away from her suggestive comment a moment ago.

"Oh, please don't tell me I forgot to invite you!"

Eunbi pretends to be truly embarrassed, hoping you swallow the bait.

"I-It's okay. I do have a lot of stuff to do anyway."

"No way."

Eunbi dramatically shakes her head.

"You have to join us now. I can't believe I forgot to invite you."

"Really, it's no big problem."

Eunbi takes your hand in hers.

"Please join us. The party takes place at a rented house at the beach. I will send you the address."

You nod hesitantly, still trying to get used to this new life. You were never popular before. And you never expected a famous and gorgeous person like Kwon Eunbi to invite you to her party.

"S-Sure. I will be there."

She flashes a great smile your way.

"But is there a dress code I have to worry about?"

Eunbi chuckles.

"It's just a party to celebrate the end of the year."

You nod in understanding.

"But if you want to shoot your shot with one of the guests, I suggest you bring your A game."

The confused look on your face makes her chuckle once again.

"You look cute like this. Bye."

She gives you a quick hug, before having to hurry towards the stage. Your heart is still pounding away. She just hugged you. Kwon Eunbi! And she told you you are cute!

Wait.

You are only able to properly comprehend what she said now. Is she trying to set you up with someone? Or is she telling you to hit on her? No way. Eunbi is eight years older than you. She surely wouldn't want to be with a boy like you.

Karina realizes that her sheets are wet as she wakes up. Her dream was more than just a lustful dream. She couldn't help herself after she saw your picture, so she watched all of the episodes of your drama.

Her dream was about you. And her. And how you fuck her from behind, pushing her head into the mattress. How you squeeze her tits with one hand, while the other holds onto her neck. How you cum on her chest afterwards, covering her tits with your thick load.

Karina still feels so horny after this dream, but she can't get herself off now. She has to change the sheets without her members finding out. And their schedule starts soon as well.

She groans in annoyance. Cuming in her sleep isn't as satisfying as consciously getting herself off.

Karina glances at her alarm clock, which shows the current date. Two more days to go. Two more days until she can make her dreams reality.

You always hated being unprepared. Just like right now. Looking at the house Eunbi mentioned, you have a weird feeling in your stomach.

Except for the address, she didn't tell you anything else. How many people are attending? And who? Does she have any particular events in mind? Or just drinking?

You were never a heavy drinker, but you brought a nice bottle of wine with you. A gift for Eunbi to say thank you for the invite.

The door opens a couple of moments after you rung the bell. You are surprised to say the least. In front of you is standing Park Jihyo.

You've never met her in person before. But you know she is a very nice and mature woman. And beautiful as hell too.

It's obvious that she had prior schedules. She is wearing a white crop top that shows off her shoulders and tummy. Her blue pants are held up by a turquoise belt. The small waist chain is highlighting her small waist. Her blue extensions make her look young and exciting.

"Hi (y/n). We have been waiting for you."

"Hello. I'm not late, am I?"

Jihyo shakes her head.

"No, no. Please, come in."

She steps aside to let you in, closing the door behind you.

"Make yourself comfortable. I have to change into something nicer. The others should be in the kitchen."

"I doubt there is a nicer outfit than this."

You only realize you said those words after Jihyo playfully hits your arm.

What the hell, dude? As an actor you should be able to control your thoughts better.

You watch her walk up the stairs. Unable to look away, you see Jihyo's butt slightly sway from left to right, tightly hugged by the light blue fabric of her jeans.

You are in for more surprises when you reach the kitchen. Food is filling almost every surface. Tteobokki, noodles, pork belly, kimchi fried rice, chicken and more. Who is supposed to eat all of this? How many people are coming here? A hundred?

The woman who is standing with her back to you looks familiar. But you can't say for sure if this is Eunbi or not.

Her black dress shows off her back, only slightly covering it with a few bands. Her hair is resting on her naked skin, while it's neatly tugged behind her ear on the left side. Her dress isn't really highlighting her curves, at least not from the back. But you do notice that it's quite short. You would just need to hike it up a little and...

You stop yourself from continuing your thought.

"Good evening."

You make your presence known.

Turns out it really is Eunbi. You immediately recognize her beautiful face when she turns around.

"Hello, (y/n). How have you been?"

"I'm doing alright."

"Did you bring this for us?"

She points at the bottle of wine you almost forgot you are holding.

"Yeah. I hope you enjoy it."

Eunbi takes the bottle out of your hands.

"Thank you very much."

"I tried to buy a good one, but all the older ones were gone already."

She shruggs her shoulders.

"Don't worry. I usually like younger stuff anyway."

She winks at you before turning back around. You feel your cheeks getting a little hot. You can't help but feel like Eunbi is flirting with you. But that would be crazy. Or not?

"Why don't you get comfortable in the living room? The table is already set."

It is? You are surprised. There is still more food? Did Eunbi clear out a whole grocery store or something? As you step into the living room you realize it's more like two grocery stores.

Karina let's her hand wander underneath her skirt. She can't help it. She has come to enjoy the sound of your soothing voice and the way you speak. Your scent slowly starts to make it's way towards her. A mix of wood and rain.

A moan almost escapes her lips, her pussy dripping wet. She is excited. She waited so long for this. To have someone to satisfy her needs.

You eyes fall onto the woman sitting at the table. Aespa's Karina? No way. You can't believe that those three women are at the same party as you.

Karina's outfit is all white, which reminds you of the snow outside. Her tits threaten to spill out of her top. It seems like the zipper is barely holding on. Her neckline is decorated with a pearl necklace, making her neck look a little longer. Her fuzy skirt looks kinda interesting.

Something is going on. This is weird to you. As the four of you eat dinner, you wonder what's going on. Jihyo said that everyone else cancelled. It sounds unbelievable, but why would she lie?

And what's with these outfits? Sure, they all want to look nice. But you can't help but think that they all look a little too sexy.

Eunbi keeps wiping her mouth with her thumb after every spoon of Tteobokki. Which wouldn't have caught your attention if she wouldn't keep staring at you while she does it.

Jihyo's fit makes her look elegant, but you can't help but notice how big her chest looks. You have seen more than enough of her to know that she is wearing a push up bra. Her cleavage tries to seduce you whenever she reaches over the table to try new food. Which seems to happen quite often.

After two bottles of wine, you start to relax a little more. The three women look like they are enjoying themselves as well. Your thoughts about their ulterior motives slowly fall into the back of your mind.

Once all of you are completely full, you offer Eunbi to help clean the table, but she insists on you staying seated. Karina excuses herself to go upstairs, while you and Jihyo talk some more.

"And dou have anything else planned?"

You shake your head at her question.

"I didn't get any new offers yet. But I'm positive. The current drama still has a couple of episodes that are going to air."

"I would love to see you in many more to come. I really enjoy your acting."

You can't help but smile at Jihyo's compliment.

"Oh."

You see her looking outside.

"I haven't even noticed that this house a hot tub."

Looking outside as well, you suddenly feel Jihyo tugging at the sleeve of your shirt.

"You wanna relax a little?"

"Isn't it like really cold outside? It's snowing."

Jihyo gets up and dismisses your worries with a wave of her hand.

"It's name is 'hot tub' for reason, right?"

"Sure."

You get up as well as Jihyo opens the glass door leading into the backyard.

Only now you realize that you don't have swimming trunks with you. Who could blame you though? You never expected to go for a swim tonight.

"Are you not coming?"

You are already standing in the door, while Jihyo is standing next to the hot tub, turning the heat on.

"Well, I don't have anyt swim trunks with me."

You see her chuckle.

"So?"

"Well..."

You don't know how to continue.

"We are just here to relax. Don't bother."

And with that you see Jihyo starting to get rid off her dress.

You bite your lip as you see it drop to the floor. It turns out that you were wrong. Jihyo isn't wearing a push up bra. In fact, she isn't wearing a bra at all. Only a black high rise thong.

As if it's a normal thing to do for her, Jihyo slowly steps into the pool. You have to do your best to not stare at her. Her tits look as good as you imagined them.

Once she sits down, she motions you to join her with one finger. A seductive smile on her face.

You start to get rid off your clothes as well. When you reach your boxers, you glance at Jihyo. You are hard. There is no way you can fix that now. But this might be your golden opportunity.

You let your boxers fall to the ground. This time, Jihyo is the one staring. She already had her eyes on your abs. But your cock is demanding all of her attention now.

She smiles, realizing that she underestimated you. Not just your boldness, but also your size.

Stepping into the water, you sit down across from her. Jihyo's tits are underwater, blocking the view at her lower body. Not that you mind though. They are good enough on their own.

"You were right, it is a little cold."

You only realize that you were staring as you hear her speak up. The goosebumps on her skin make you feel cold as well.

"But I know just the thing to make us hot."

Your eyes must be wide open as you watch her coming closer. Her eyes are locked on yours as Jihyo stands in front of you. Now, the water is only reaching her waist. She looks down at you, a soft smile on her face.

"It's time for dessert, don't you think?"

Without waiting for your response, Jihyo starts to lower herself.

You can't believe that this is actually happening.

You feel her folds slowly grazing your tip underwater. Her tits are now exactly at the right height for you to bury your face in them.

Jihyo seems to have the same thoughts. One of her hands wanders to the back of your head, slowly pushing you forward.

You start kissing Jihyo's tits as you feel her taking your cock into her pussy.

Jihyo doesn't seem to care much about foreplay.

She already starts to moan as she feels how you fill her up. She didn't have cock in her for months. Her tits are sensitive as she feels your lips dance on her skin.

Jihyo has to place both of her hands on your shoulders, needing stability. Her legs are already becoming weak and she has to use your body as leverage to push herself up and down.

As she slowly starts to ride your cock, you take one of Jihyo's nipples into your mouth. Your hand cups the other breast as you suck on this one.

"God, yes."

Jihyo sighs, finally able to enjoy the thing she longed for for month. Even if the other girls had other plans, she just couldn't pass up on this opportunity.

Her body starts to move faster, the pleasure in your groin increasing. Jihyo's pussy is warming your hard cock, hugging it tightly so you don't feel too cold.

"Fuck. Your cock feels so good."

Another moan as she impales herself on your shaft, the water making splashing noises as she moves up and down.

"Suck on my tits, baby."

You are already doing exactly that. And you don't plan on stopping anytime soon. Her full mounds keep pressing against your face as she occasionally rocks back and forth in your lap.

As Jihyo's pleasure increases, you start to taste something else besides her skin. The sweet taste of her milk floods your mouth. It's nothing more than a small dribble, but it's enough for you to become even harder.

You already thought you were at your limit, Jihyo as well. But she can feel how you stiffen inside of her, parting her walls even further.

"Fuck, yes. Suck on mommy's tits, baby."

You are surprised for a moment, but you are not complaining. Jihyo always gave you mommy vibes anyway.

"That's a good boy."

She keeps praising you as she fucks herself on your cock. Both of her tits are releasing a little milk by now. You make sure to not waste a drop, enjoying the sweet taste.

Until now, Jihyo's riding was quite slow, her main focus on making you suck her tits. But as you empty her tits further and further, her desire to roughly bounce on you increases.

"I wanna fucking cum on your cock."

She starts to increase her pace, making it harder for you to stay attached to her nipples.

"Mommy wants your cock in her pussy so bad."

She moans and sighs, the built up tension in her body needs to be released. She can't even remember the last time she felt this good.

No members she has to take care of, no fans, no managers, no appointments or interviews or shoots.

Just your cock in her pussy, hitting her g-spot everytime she fully sinks into your lap.

Jihyo starts to lose her rhythm. The pleasure washes over her like the waves she is creating in the hot tub. Her hands have moved by now, both of them on the back of your head.

She hugs you tightly, pushing your head into her chest.

"Good boy. You are doing so well."

Jihyo keeps moaning as her pleasure increases.

Your hands are folded on her wet back, making sure that she is not able to fall off. For a moment, you wonder where her panties have gone, but this situation is almost too much for you to be thinking about anything else.

Unbeknownst to you, Jihyo's thong is still lazily swimming around her left ankle. It's slightly sticking to her skin as she keeps bouncing in your lap.

"Mommy is gonna cum on your cock, baby!"

Days and weeks of pent up pleasure are starting to make their way towards Jihyo's core. They hit her dam repeatedly, trying to break out of her.

"Harder, baby! Make me take your cock!"

You switch from just holding her, to pulling her body into your lap. The added force makes Jihyo lose control.

A couple of moments later, the dam inside her body breaks open. Waves after waves of pleasure rock her body as her juices mix with the water in the hot tub.

You feel Jihyo's tight pussy contracting around you, trying to make you cum as well. Doing your best to hold on, you don't want to cum too early.

You want to pleasure Jihyo for longer, now knowing that she has too much sexual tension in her body. You are more than willing to release all of it.

"Oh Goood!"

She moans loudly, her head rolling back, her eyes closed.

Jihyo's orgasm is even more powerful that she expected herself. It feels like hours for the both of you, until her body starts to calm down.

"Your cock fills my pussy so well, baby."

Jihyo starts grinding on you once again. It's obvious that one orgasm just isn't enough to satisfy her needs.

"Be a good boy and suck on mommy's tits."

She has come back to her slow, sensual riding, which enables you to capture her nipples with your mouth again.

Just like before, Jihyo starts to ride you faster, the longer you suck on her tits.

"Holy fuck."

She sighs feeling you attacking her chest as she keeps grinding against you. The woman on top of you feels that she is pushing you towards your orgasm. But she isn't satisfied yet.

Jihyo slows down once again. Her grinding isn't enough for you to cum, but it almost feels like torture. You are close, but not close enough. Instead, her pussy keeps pushing you towards the edge, only for you to hang on by a thread.

Meanwhile, you bring Jihyo closer towards her second orgasm. Your work on her tits doesn't stay unnoticed.

"Good boy."

Her praises make you work harder, earning more moans from her.

"Fuck."

Another deep moan and Jihyo cums for a second time. It's less violent this time, but you can still feel how some of the build up tension leaves her body.

"So good..."

She coos as she cums down from her high. Her pussy almost painfully tight by now.

"I think it's time for your reward, baby."

Jihyo increases her pace once more. Because she has kept you near the edge of your orgasm, it doesn't take long for you to feel the familiar pull in your groin.

"Gonna cum."

You groan, unable to say much more.

Only now do you realize that you are having unprotected sex with Park Jihyo. The realization hits you like a truck, almost making your orgasm immediately. The fact that you are balls deep inside Twice's leader is already hard enough to compensate. But you are actually inside of her without any protection. Is she even taking the pill?

If she is not...

The heat of the moment made you forget about the risks. But now it somewhat turns you on. What would happen if you breed Park Jihyo?

"You can't cum inside."

She moans, making you realize that she isn't on the pill. And that you are not wearing a condom. Which means...

"Naughty boy. Thinking you could breed me."

Despite her words, Jihyo keeps fucking herself onto your cock. She doesn't stop.

"What would the public say if you cum deep inside my pussy?"

The thought brings you towards the edge. If your orgasm is a cliff, you would be standing on the edge with one foot hanging in the air. One more step...

"We can't have that."

Jihyo's tone and words make you lose your hold on the edge of this cliff.

"It's gonna be much safer if I swallow that load of yours."

Your hands have moved to her wide hips by now. You keep pulling her into your lap, taking control of her pace.

"I'm gonna have a belly full of cum either way."

The thought of filling Jihyo's tummy makes you groan, slamming into her from underneath her.

"Besides, we have the whole night. Maybe I would be willing to let you breed me at one point.."

Your body malfunctions. While your hands try to lift Jihyo off your cock, your hips try to thrust upwards as high as possible. You don't want to cum inside, the risks too high, and yet you want to feel her pussy, milking your cock.

Jihyo gets off your cock right before you explode.

"Paint my throat, baby."

She glides into the water, opening her mouth. As you start to see stars, Jihyo wraps her lips around your cock.

"Fuck!"

You groan as you finally orgasm. The long build up makes you shoot a bigger load than you expected. You fill Jihyo's throat within seconds. Your warm cum fills her completely as she tries to gulp it down. It's sticky consistency makes it harder to do so.

You feel Jihyo's throat tighten around you as she coughs up some of your cum, letting it spill out of her mouth.

It takes her a couple of moments to swallow all of it. Once she is done, Jihyo opens her mouth, showing that her mouth is empty.

"You cum tastes amazing."

"Thank you."

You don't know what else to say. You never expected to hear a compliment like that from her. Or any compliment for that matter.

"You should go upstairs. The bathrooms have towels."

You get what she means. You think that she is trying to hide this from the other girls.

"What about you?"

Jihyo chuckles and motions for you to leave.

"I'm gonna enjoy myself a little longer."

As you slide open the glass door, Jihyo calls for you again.

"There should be condoms in one of the bathrooms. Take them. You're gonna need them."

She gives you a seductive smile as you step back inside.

You hear that Eunbi is still in the kitchen. What is taking her so long? It sounds like she is using the hand blender. But for what? You already had dinner. And no one said anything about dessert. At least not for now.

But you don't complain if it means that Eunbi won't be in your path.

Reaching the top of the stairs, you look around. Aware that you are still naked, you want to make a decision quickly. There are two bedrooms, both of them have bathrooms. But which one is empty? You remember Karina coming up here for a little privacy earlier. She got a call from someone, if you remember correctly.

But you don't hear anything right now.

You decide to just go for it. Opening the door on the right, you seem to be lucky. Karina isn't in this one.

You drop your clothes on the bed and walk towards the bathroom. Seems like this is the one Jihyo mentioned. You find four boxes of different sizes on the dresser. Why did Jihyo buy so many condoms? Even if she didn't know your size, why a whole box? And why didn't she know which bathroom they were in? She must have put them here earlier. Or...

It feels like someone just opened your eyes. How can you be so dumb?

Eunbi's rushed invitation, the fact that you are alone with the three of them, their outfits, their flirting. How didn't you pick up on all of that?

You stand there in the bathroom. Towel in one hand, a box of condoms in the other. How is this even real?

"Seems like you found them."

Karina is standing the doorframe, her eyes glancing at your half erect cock, before moving back to yours.

"Wanna put them to good use?"

Still too surprised at what is actually going on, you are unable to answer.

Karina chuckles at the face you're making.

"What? Is this really so unbelievable?"

You slowly nod.

"Well, let me spell it out for you."

Karina steps inside the bathroom.

You watch her hand wandering in the direction of her zipper. Painfully slow, she starts to open her top.

"The three of us are horny. Desperate even."

She reveals more of her cleavage as she keeps talking.

"I need a man who can suck on my tits and make me feel good."

Only a second later and her tits are gonna spill out. Karina stops right before that happens. To your disappointment.

Instead, she steps forward.

"And I need a man who can rail me into the mattress. Make me scream."

Her hand finds your cock and she lazily starts to stroke it.

Only now do you realize how ridiculously short her skirt is. You have a good view of her tits now. She doesn't even have to open her top fully.

"Are you in?"

After just having Jihyo use you for her pleasure, you have the need to take out your own on someone else. Your fingers itch for you to just push Karina into the wall and fuck her brains out.

But you hold back for now.

"Of course I am."

She takes the box of condoms out of your hand, opening it and taking out a pack of one.

"Let's go then."

Her other hand takes yours as she leads you back into the bedroom.

"I need you to get hard enough first."

Karina motions for you to sit on the bed. As you move your clothes out of the way and sit on the edge, Karina kneels down in front of you. You watch as she finally opens her top completely. She isn't wearing a bra either.

Her tits bounce a little as they are freed, almost hypnotizing you. She takes both of them into her hands.

"You like them?"

You nod, licking your lips. The taste of Jihyo's still lingers inside your mouth.

But instead of letting you suck on them, Karina wraps them around your cock.

Her soft flesh slowly makes you hard. The warmth of her body adds to the sensation as she starts to move.

Slowly. Up and down. Up and down. You've never received a boobjob before. But it feels great. Better than you expected. Almost as if you are fucking her pussy.

Your groan makes Karina smile as she watches your tip glide in and out of her cleavage. The condom is lying on the ground next to her, forgotten for now.

"I can't wait to be filled by this."

She nods towards your cock, before spitting into her cleavage. The lewd action makes you even harder as you feel her warm saliva. It starts to coat your cock as she keeps bouncing her tits around it.

You are almost fully hard by now. If it weren't for Jihyo earlier, you would probably be on the edge of orgasm already.

"This feels good."

"Of course it does. This is what they are made for."

You see Karina shifting a little, indicating that she really can't wait much longer.

"You are hard enough now."

She let's go of her tits, making your cock lie against her cleavage without any friction around it.

Picking up the condom, Karina opens the package.

"I hope this fits you. I don't know if we have bigger ones."

You expected her to put it on herself, or just to give it to you. But you never expected this.

Karina pust the condom in her mouth, right between her teeth. As if she is showing off a round candy. She leans down and you feel her lips on your cock.

Slowly, Karina starts to pull the condom over your dick, giving you head in the process.

It takes two tries, but she eventually reaches your base. Her tight throat massages your cock and you can see what's written on the package that's ripped open and lying on the ground once again. Extra thin.

Of course.

Being needy herself, Karina doesn't waste much time. Her blowjob only lasts for a couple of moments, before she lifts her head off your cock.

"I didn't have anything in my pussy for ages."

She gets off her knees.

"You want me to go slow."

Your interpretation proofs itself wrong.

"No. I want you to use my hole like a fleshlight. Destroy my pussy."

That is something you would never say no to.

Getting up as well, you turn Karina around. She expects you to bend her over the edge of the bed. Instead, you make both of you spin around, before pushing her to her knees once more.

With her head pressed against the carpet, Karina can't see what you are doing, but she can feel how you make her raise her ass.

"Fuck, yes."

She moans as you put her into the perfect position. Her skirt slides off by itself and is now bunched up around her waist.

Without much build up you insert your cock into her pussy.

"God, yes."

Karina's moan is louder this time.

Since you just fucked Jihyo, you can't help but compare the two. Karina is definitely tighter. There is no reason to doubt that, although you think that Jihyo was wetter. Or maybe that was just the water in the hot tub.

Either way, you start to thrust into Karina. Her right cheek gets pushed further into the carpet as you bottom out inside of her in one stroke.

She feels your weight on top of her as you almost stand above her.

Half standing, half kneeling you start to fuck Karina. You don't start slow. Just like she wanted, you use her pussy for your own pleasure as soon as you thrust inside of her for a second time.

Karina mewls into the carpet. She didn't expect you to go this hard immediately.

"Fuck!"

She can't hold back a shout as she feels you hitting her cervix.

Meanwhile, Eunbi uses the hand blender incorrectly. Instead of making food, she uses it to get herself off. She couldn't help it. She got turned on by you during dinner, but she is too shy to make the first move.

Sitting on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, Eunbi has the blender stuffed inside her needy pussy. It's obviously not as good as your cock. But it definitely satisfies her enough for now.

The moans she hears from upstairs inform her of the fact that you are currently busy with fucking Karina's pussy. The younger woman's moans echo through the whole house.

Eunbi's mind is floating off into the dreamworld. Her improvised vibrator turns into your cock. Her hand in her black hair turns into yours.

With a quiet, almost shy shout, Eunbi cums around the vibrator. Her slick stains the steel, making it slippery. Some of her juices stain the tiles.

The sounds of you fucking Karina don't just attract Eunbi's attention.

By now, Jihyo has made her way up to the first floor. She is leaning against the wall of the room you are in, right next to the door. Her fingers are buried knuckle deep inside her pussy.

"Harder! Please!"

Karina's earlier dominance is gone by now. Just like her dignity. It's not like she can still save face now. With her head pressed against the floor and her ass high in the air. Her pussy being used by you while Karina is only able to moan and shout.

After Jihyo called herself mommy, you want to experience something similar with Karina.

"Tell me how good my cock feels, baby girl."

You grunt, making Karina shudder.

She asked Eunbi and Jihyo for a man, not a boy. Although she was sceptical at first, because of your age, she agreed to give you a shoot.

And right now, Karina feels a lot of things. And regret isn't one of them.

She loves how you treat her. Like a wet hole to jerk off your cock with. Like a toy, it's only use to make you cum.

"It feels so good! Fuck me, (y/n)!"

You chuckle as you take a step forward. You push Karina's lower body forward, while her upper body stays in place. The girl's weight is held up by her head, not her legs or arms.

Karina feels the blood in her system rush towards her head.

"Call me properly."

You give her right ass cheek a slap, making it jiggle a little.

"Oh god, daddy!"

Karina immediately knows what you want to hear. Her own preferences coming to light as you keep fucking her into the floor.

"Your cock is so big. You tearing my little pussy open!"

You take another step forward.

Karina feels how her feet are being lifted off the ground. She instinctively wraps her legs around your waist. She is almost doing a handstand by now.

Unbeknownst to you, Jihyo rests her head against the wall behind her as she cums around her fingers. Karina's loud moans made her orgasm once more. Her pussy dripping wet while she only thinks about being able to fuck you again very soon. She is slowly sliding down the wall, until she is sitting on the ground, needing to take a breather.

Karina is unable to take a break though. Her hair is a mess already as she is almost floating in the air. You keep her body steady as you keep fucking her.

"Daddy!"

Her shout signals her incoming orgasm.

With another loud shriek, Karina falls over the edge. Her pussy squeezes your cock. Moan after moan escapes her mouth as her body shakes.

You keep her in position, not caring if she needs a breather or not. It doesn't matter to you if she needs to calm down. You are too far gone by now.

You grip on Karina's hips tighter as you keep thrusting inside of her. You are standing directly above her by now.

"Daddy! Daddy! I'm gonna cum again!"

Karina didn't expect herself to be this needy. To be this sensitive. You keep wracking her pussy in this unconventional position.

It makes her orgasm for a second time. Another shriek leaves her mouth as she cums around your cock. Her pussy becomes a little tighter, while her body starts to become lifeless.

She is too tired to continue. And yet, she can't force herself to ask you to stop. The opposite is actually the case.

"Harder, daddy!"

She can't stop asking for more as you have your way with her pussy.

Karina cums for a third time, when you completely pull out of her pussy. The lack of your cock makes her orgasm around thin air, making her even more desperate for your cock.

You spin her body around, wanting to be able to look at her face while you fuck her.

You fold Karina in half, leaning on her legs as you thrust back inside.

"Fuck yes, daddy!"

Her eyes are wide open as she looks up at you. Your cock is drilling into her pussy hitting her cervix with every thrust.

You sling your right arm around her leg, reaching for her clit.

Karina tries to shake her head. But she can only feel the back of her head rub against the carpet.

Your thumb works her clit while you keep thrusting into Karina from above.

"Cum again, baby girl."

Karina is unable to answer. How is she supposed to cum for a forth time? Her body is completely spend. Completely wrecked.

And yet, her pussy craves more. It gladly takes your pounding as you reach forward with your left hand and take a fistful of Karina's hair. Her legs are being held in place by your own body.

"I told you to cum."

"Daddy!"

As if her body only waited for your permission, Karina orgasms one more time.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her pussy tightens and you feel some of her slick leave her pussy. Her lips are glistening with her juices.

Karina stares up at you as she tries to recover from her forth orgasm. She is breathing heavily as you finally start to slow down.

There is still one thing she wanted you to do to her.

Using your current position, you lift your weight off Karina's legs and force yourself between them. You grab her waist with both hands.

She moans as you start to change your position, your cock still deep inside her pussy.

You slowly pick her up. Karina's body lifts off the floor as you start to carry her. Her legs wrap around your body, trying to keep her balance.

Karina's hands hold onto your neck as you start to thrust into her again.

"Fuck, daddy."

She sighs, too tired to scream right now. Her pussy feels used. She feels sore. It's an unfamiliar feeling, but Karina is able to enjoy it. After months of no sex, she is finally getting her pussy fucked properly.

You impale Karina on your cock as you stand in the middle of the room. Your hands have found her ass by now, squeezing her cheeks as you lift her up and down.

You aren't fucking her fast, which means that Karina can relax a little. She is getting used to this new position as you slowly move in and out of her.

"Your cock is so good, daddy."

Another sigh of hers makes you lean your head down.

You haven't given her tits any attention so far at all. Her soft skin tastes a little salty as you start to drag your tongue across her chest.

"That's it. Suck your baby girl's tits, daddy."

Karina moans as she arches her back, giving you a better angle at her chest.

You start to suck on her tits as you make her slowly bounce on your cock. The pace is too slow for you to cum, but it's almost the perfect pace for Karina.

The slow fucking turns her on as you carry her as if she isn't weighing anything at all. It enables you to enjoy her tits fully, while cleaning her skin of her sweat.

"Daddy."

Another deep sigh escapes Karina's lips as she feels how you slowly push her towards another orgasm. It feels a little different this time. As if it's starts from her tits and it's slowly making it's way towards her core. Your cock in her pussy makes Karina clench around it as you keep sucking on her tits.

"Almost."

She is unable to say more, her body too weak to do much more but enjoy the pleasure she is receiving.

You let your tongue flick against her nipples as you keep squeezing Karina's ass cheeks. Her soft flesh in your hands makes you want to pound her harder again. But you are currently focusing on her tits, trying to make her cum again

"Mmmmm!"

Karina is unable to open her mouth as she cums for a fifth time. Her nipples are covered in your spit as her pussy contracts around your cock. Her body becomes stiff for a moment, before she becomes a lifeless weight in your arms.

You keep up your lazy thrusting while you start to explore more of her body. You lick the salty sweat off Karina's skin, while you wait for her to recover.

Your tongue glides over her collarbone and her neck until it finally finds its way inside her mouth. Karina can taste her own sweat as you keep fucking her slowly.

"Make yourself cum, daddy."

She mumbles into your mouth.

"Use me."

Without a word, you squeeze her cheeks harder to have a better grip.

Your eyes meet and Karina feels a shiver run down her spine.

You give her one deep thrust, pulling her onto your cock while you push forward.

"Fuck!"

Karina's eyes roll to the back of her head as she feels you filling her completely.

"I'm gonna use your body, baby girl."

You kiss her one last time, before you pick up your pace.

"Do it, daddy! It's yours!"

Karina moans loudly as you start to destroy her pussy once again. Just like she wanted. You use her tight cavern as a fleshlight, pulling her onto your cock, whenever your thrust into her. She is helpless, unable to do anything but take your cock.

Not that she is complaining, really. Karina can't remember the last time she felt this good.

You drive yourself towards your own orgasm, using Karina's body as a tool. Her pussy's tight grip makes it hard not to pull out completely, which means you are always halfway inside of her.

Karina's head rocks back and forth as you keep fucking her, reaching your orgasm eventually.

"Karina."

You groan her name, trying to tell her you are about to cum.

"I want to feel it."

She sighs into your ear, her voice to weak to produce a proper moan.

"Feel it on my body. On my face."

It only takes you a couple of more thrusts, before you finally have to pull out. Karina almost falls to the ground, her legs too weak to hold onto your hips.

You make sure she doesn't hurt herself, dropping her on the bed. She slides off the edge, half kneeling, half lying on the floor.

Karina's face is dripping with sweat. Her hair sticks to her skin. She opens her mouth, her eyes wide open.

You don't even have to do anything anymore. Only aiming your cock at her, after pulling off your condom, you start to unload on Karina's face.

Thick ropes of your cum hit the bridge of her nose, her cheeks and her mouth. Some gets into her left eye, making her flinch as she feels it.

"So much, daddy."

Karina sighs as you smear the last drops of your cum on her red lips. She kisses your cock, starting to clean it as you take a fistful of her hair.

You admire your work, making Karina look up at you as she sucks your cock.

You still can't believe your luck. And this isn't even the end. There is still one more person waiting for you.

You planned on making your move on Eunbi after you came on Karina's face. But you didn't get very far. Jihyo intercepted you in the hallway. Not that you really mind though.

"That's a good boy."

She smiles up at you as you keep fucking her tits. The hot water of the shower hits both of your bodies as you are standing in front of a kneeling Jihyo.

She has wrapped her tits around your cock, while she occasionally catches your tip with her mouth.

"Be a good boy for mommy. Cum on mommy's tits."

She can feel how close you are. Despite just having fucked Karina, the combination of Jihyo's blowjob and now her boobjob pushes you closer towards your next orgasm.

"Fuck!"

You groan as you start to unload. The warm water hits your chest as you cum all over Jihyo's. Her cleavage is painted by your thick semen.

"Baby..."

Jihyo coos as she scoops up some of your cum. Most of its slowly gets washed away by the water. She sucks her finger clean, looking up at you.

"Delicious."

You almost choke on the fortune cookie in your mouth. After taking a shower with Jihyo, the four of you started to eat some ice cream. All servings are decorated with a fortune cookie.

The reason for your new near death experience? Karina purposefully letting some of her vanilla ice cream fall into her cleavage.

She had to take a shower as well and is now wearing one of the white bathrobes. Jihyo and you both have your old clothes on.

Jihyo can't help but grin at Karina's antics, knowing what the younger girl is up to. You glance at Eunbi, her cheeks a little red once more as she watches the youngest girl's bold actions.

Eunbi walks into the kitchen, holding two empty bowls. She asked if you could help clean the dishes and of course you said yes. She watches you for a moment as you clean the two bowls you brought in yourself.

Eunbi catches herself staring at your broad back as you turn around.

"Give them to me."

You reach out to her with both hands.

Because of the lack of another person's touch and all the things she heard over the last hour, Eunbi almost pushes her chest forward, instead of handing you the bowls.

Once she does, you wink at her, before resuming your cleaning.

"Come on. This is not so hard."

Eunbi tries to tell herself that. But for some reason, she can't help it.

"C-Can you s-suck my...?"

Her cheeks are the deepest of red as you turn around.

"Can you suck m-my tits?"

You chuckle.

Eunbi tries to hide her face behind her hands. What was she thinking?

But you grab her wrists, putting them down on her sides.

"I was waiting for you to ask."

Her eyes grow wide as you reach behind her, looking for the tie that's securing her dress. She feels your chest press against her face as you need to lean down a little.

Eunbi inhales your scent, closing her eyes. This is really happening.

She feels how you slowly unwrap the back of her dress as if she is a present. The front becomes loose as well and finally you pull down the black fabric.

You're met with a black bra that is holding up her beautiful pair of tits. Unable to take your hands off Eunbi, you let them wonder over her tight tummy, before cupping her mounds over her bra.

The oldest of the three women lets out a shaky breath.

"Are they alright?"

You almost laugh at her question.

"Alright? They are the best I've ever seen."

You hesitate for a second, before you add the last part of your sentence.

"Mommy."

You see goosebumps forming on her skin as you call Eunbi that. She doesn't seem to be dominant, but she strikes you as a rather caring older woman.

Opening her bra, you free her tits.

Eunbi watches you closely, biting her lip, while you lean down to kiss her chest.

Another shaky breath of hers makes you smile.

"You are so hot, mommy."

You're turned on by the fact that Eunbi is nearly a decade older than you.

"Please suck on them."

She sighs in pleasure as she feels your lips tracing all over skin.

You finally capture one of her nipples with your mouth, eliciting a moan from her. Another one quickly follows as you cup her other breast.

You feel her hand in your hair on the back of your head. She pushes you further into her chest, silently asking for more.

You pinch her nipple with your fingers, making her flinch.

"Yes, baby."

She murmurs, unable to hide her arousal.

It doesn't take long until Eunbi starts to lactate. She is more sensitive than Jihyo and soon, you are able to taste her milk. It's also a little sweeter. Almost as sweet as the ice cream you just had.

You are almost able to drink from her tits as she keeps lactating. Switching sides occasionally, you try to get as much as you can.

Eunbi is a mumbling mess by now as she leans against the kitchen counter behind her.

"Good boy."

She purrs as you keep sucking on her tits.

The constant rise of her arousal pushes Eunbi closer towards her orgasm. She never expected this to happen. She never even thought it could be possible that she lactates and cums at the same time.

But she does so now. A mewl escapes her lips as she ruins her panties. She has to keep herself steady against the counter, while you keep sucking her tits.

"How does this feel so good?"

Eunbi moans. She never had someone worshipping her tits like you do right now. And who can blame you? They are perfect in every way.

A second orgasm follows shortly after the first. Eunbi's legs quiver as she cums once more. This time, some of her slick starts to run down her thighs.

As much as you like sucking on Eunbi's tits and enjoying her milk, you also have the desire to orgasm eventually.

At one point, that desire becomes too strong to resist.

While you keep sucking her right tit, you fish another condom out of your pocket. You spin the two of you around, so that Eunbi is standing in front of you. You turn her around, making her back face you. Bending her over, you can see how her dress stretches over her ass.

"Fuck, mommy."

You can't help but squeeze Eunbi's cheeks over the fabric.

"Oh yes, baby. Give it to me."

It feels like Eunbi is slowly losing her shyness.

You reach between her legs, feeling the soft skin of her cum covered thighs. Quickly pulling down her black panties, you can feel how drenched they are.

"Mommy is so wet for you, baby."

You are happy to hear that Eunbi is starting to call herself that.

Sliding up the hem of her dress, you admire Eunbi's backside.

"Put in please."

You quickly put on the condom, before aligning your cock with Eunbi's snatch.

"Oh my god."

She moans as you push inside. You feel her walls parting as you penetrate her pussy for the first time. It's almost on a similar level than Karina's, although it's much wetter. You are actually surprised that Eunbi doesn't seem to be a squirter. Or maybe she needs to warm up first? You decide to find out.

Eunbi's head sinks onto the electric stove. Her black hair is sprawled out all over the glass.

"More please."

She moans, not satisfied with how slow you are thrusting.

Slowly picking up the pace, you make Eunbi's head rub against the black surface.

You can't believe that you are fucking a woman like her. In the kitchen. With her head on the stove.

This still feels like a fantasy to you.

"Give mommy that cock."

Another sigh from her makes you fuck her even faster. Your hips meet hers with every thrust.

Reaching out, you take a hold of both her arms and place them behind her back. Your free hand moves to remove the hair out of Eunbi's face.

"Oh my!"

She yelps as you pull her up by her arms, while you pound her harder.

Her upper body is now hanging in midair as you take her from behind. The moans she is producing can probably be heard throughout the whole house as her volume increases.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Instead of lying on the stove, her hair is now getting dragged across it over and over again with every thrust into her tight cunt.

More slick is running down her legs as you enjoy Eunbi's pussy to the fullest.

After some time, Eunbi's body finally proves too much for you. You try to fight your impending orgasm, but it's no use. You know you are going to cum sooner than later.

Eunbi can feel how your cock grows a little more. How it becomes a little stiffer.

"Oh yes, baby."

Her eyes are glued to the window. Because it's dark outside, it's almost as good as a mirror, reflecting the lewd scene that's going on inside the kitchen.

Her next sentence surprises you completely.

"Please breed me, baby. Cum in my pussy."

She sighs needily as you keep fucking a bend over Eunbi.

Is she for real? You already fucked Jihyo raw. So where could be the harm in fucking Eunbi without a condom, too?

But she is asking you to cum in her.

"Fill my pussy up. Shoot your load inside of me."

Her wide eyes make you think that she is just as surprised as you at her words.

"A-Are you safe?"

It feels like time is slowing down. Eunbi shakes her head no as her hair flies in all directions. Your orgasm reaches you faster than you thought it would. You only have a moment to decide.

"Please. Breed my needy pussy."

Eunbi moans deeply.

Her words push you over the edge. But you don't do as she says. Instead, you cum inside the condom.

Despite being disappointed, Eunbi can feel your cock twitch inside of her. She can feel the warmth of your cum inside her pussy.

"That was so good."

Her breath is as heavy as yours as she leans over the stove.

You check your watch. It's almost midnight.

Eunbi is lying in front of you on the dinner table. Her legs are wrapped around your waist, not letting you go. She is completely naked by now.

Karina is kneeling on one of the chairs, sucking on Eunbi's tits. By the way her eyes are closed, you can see how much she enjoys drinking the older girl's milk.

Jihyo is standing next to you, her hand running along Eunbi's left leg.

You have been taking turns, fucking the three of them throughout the whole night. You can't even count how many orgasms you had and you can't remember how often the girls came already.

The whole house smells like sex after you've fucked the three of them for hours.

"Fuck her faster."

Jihyo eggs you on, just like she did earlier, when you were using Karina's mouth as if it was just another wet hole.

The sight of Eunbi lying on the table is already enough for your eyes. But the evidence of your torture makes you fuck her even harder.

After finding out about her breeding kink, you and the two other women started to tease Eunbi.

You are currently wearing the last of the condoms that Jihyo bought in your size. The used ones? They are all spread out over Eunbi's body. One is placed on her shoulder, another one is in her right hand. Two are decorating her stomach.

They are all still full with your cum, painting one of the dirtiest pictures of Eunbi you could've ever thought of.

The last orgasm you had, made you shoot your load right onto her pussy. Not inside. But right above her clit, staining her neatly trimmed pubic hair.

"Please."

Eunbi whines, still hoping for you to cum in her.

"Cream pie me, baby. Breed mommy's pussy."

Her words become dirtier by the second.

Jihyo joins in as well.

"Cum in her tight pussy. Put a baby in her."

You are fully aware that you could get Eunbi pregnant if you cum in her. And it seems like she knows it too. Or rather, she doesn't anymore. As if her mind is too focused on you breeding her. She doesn't even think about the risks anymore.

"Please! Paint my pussy!"

Eunbi mewls as her cunt contracts around you. Another mini orgasm rushing through her system. How many already washed through her, she doesn't know. The number too high for her to keep track of.

One more minute, until the time strikes midnight. One more minute until the year 2024 begins. And hopefully one more minute of you, pounding Eunbi's pussy into oblivion.

"She would look so good with your baby in her belly."

Karina joins the two other women, trying to convince you.

"Right."

Jihyo whispers into your ear.

"Impregnate that slutty pussy."

"Eunbi."

You groan her name, still not entirely sure on what to do. Do you really give in to all of them? Or should you do what's safe?

"Please."

Eunbi whines, begging for a cream pie.

"Cum inside. Fill me with that delicious cum."

The clock shows that it's midnight as you pull out of Kwon Eunbi's pussy. As if time is slowing down, you pull off the condom.

One last time, you thrust inside of her. You can't believe you are actually doing this.

Your load fills Eunbi's pussy, making her orgasm once again. Her pussy milks you dry, trying to make herself pregnant. Your cum floods her belly, turning her insides into a sticky mess.

The night is a complete success. Instead of just satisfying the three older women and fulfilling your wildest fantasies, you do breed Keon Eunbi.

And not just once. Until the sun rises and the new day of the new year starts, you breed Eunbi again and again. Pumping her pussy full with your cum, almost drowning her in it.

--------------

(Additional scene)

Happy new years everyone!

I hope you enjoyed the last story of my December special. I really liked writing the four requests you all voted for. If the opportunity presents itself again, I will definitely do this again.

But because I have a lot going on in my life during the beginning of 2024, I will barely have time to write. The next fics I want to write are: the next chapter for "Take what you can", the second chapter of Sana's small series (on Tumblr) and the first part of another small series.

It's gonna take a while, until I will be able to upload them, but I hope you stick around until then.

I also want to thank everyone one of you for supporting my writing. I can't believe that I only started writing on Tumblr seven months ago and I already got this many followers.

1665 is an incredible number. Thank you so so much.

I wish you all a great start into the new year. Stay healthy and enjoy the next 12 months of your life.

Happy new years! Thank you for reading!

2K notes · View notes

cosmosis · 1 year

Text

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - surprise visit modern au!

an unfamiliar secretary won’t let you into the building to visit your husband, Miguel, at his office

Visiting your husband at work may as well be the best way for you to spend your day off. He’s been working hard, his passion truly bursting at the seams when he talks to you about the latest improvement project he’s been working on for the past three weeks.

You’re walking down the sidewalk in an outfit you knew would make Miguel go crazy, holding a nice bouquet of flowers in your arm. You decided men don’t get flowers enough, so you’re here to fill in that gap. He really deserves more than flowers anyway.

With the badge embedded into your watch, you scan your wrist against the access monitor on the wall. The doors automatically open, and you feel a nice gust of air conditioning run into you.

The office is very modern, clean, and sleek. All around you are advanced units of technology; a result of your husband’s successes. It smells the same it always has; clean, crisp, and slightly minty. As you walk through the doors, you’re greeted with the exact same things you always are; same lounge chairs, same grand elevator...

Though, you don’t recognize the secretary at the desk.

She’s blonde, red lipstick smeared onto her tight lips in an unwelcoming frown. A matching pearl set adorned over her crisp, dark blue blazer.

Usually, you’d say hi to the secretary you knew, Lyla. You assume she got fired, which was a real shame, you love her sass. She was always so kind to you, saying hi with a smile, or offering to help guide you through the office and such.

But instead, you walk right past the desk, digging through your memories to find how you managed to find Miguel’s main office last time.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?“

Her voice is just as snarky as you had imagined.

“Visiting Miguel?“ You pause, your patience already growing extremely thin for the new secretary. You’d probably chat about this to Miguel later, maybe bat an eyelash or two to convince him about hiring someone different.

“Nuh uh! Miguel O’Hara is busy right now, not open for any visitors at the moment.“ She replies, fixating her eyes on the large monitor in front of her.

You pause for a moment, critically thinking things through for a moment.

“Oh! I get it. M’am, you haven’t met me before, have you?“ You ask, trying your best to not crinkle the flowers in your hands. She raises a single eyebrow, glaring as if you insulted her mother. (Which, you might as well should do.)

“I’m Miguel’s spouse. He lets me visit him whenever, I even have my badge right here-“

She holds up a single manicured finger.

“Nice try, but my charts right here say that Miguel is busy at the moment. Try another time, maybe send him a fan letter or something.“

Your blood starts to boil as the new secretary has a satisfied smirk on her face.

Instead of choosing violence and risking your hair getting ruined, you opt for the better option. Glaring at the desk manager directly in the eye, you pull out your cellphone from your pocket, manually pressing the contact button for Miguel. You wait for the phone to dial, pressing the cellular to your ear whilst examining your own nails.

And finally, he answers.

“Hm? You need something, honey?“

“Miguel.“

Miguel on the other line, freezes to a halt. Now, he knows he’s in trouble. Carefully, he clears his throat.

“What is it, sweetie?“

You take a deep breath. “Your... secretary isn’t letting me into the office. Will you fix that, please?”

Miguel pinches between his eyebrows, groaning.

“Of course, hun. I’ll be down in a sec.“

“Thank you, Miguel.“

The call ends, but the secretary still stares at you like you’ve thrown up all over her salad. She almost looks like she’s going to laugh, which makes you even madder.

Within literally a few seconds, the elevator whirs to a halt, the top light switching on with a chime. As expected, your husband walks through the sliding doors, clad in a crisp white dress shirt and office pants. He’s so undeniably gorgeous, you almost consider forgiving the secretary.

But, you don’t.

“Ah, Miguel, this p-“

“Shut your mouth for moment, would you?“

The woman is taken aback, red bursting onto her cheeks as her fake smile melts into a frown. Her mouth is left agape, watching as Miguel saunters over to you with a smile.

“What happened?“ Miguel asks, his Office Face™ dissolving into a genuine smile. He slots his hands to your waist, silently peering at the flowers in your arms.

“Well, I was going to come surprise you... but then she said that you were busy.” You reply, pouting.

“Aww, baby, it’s okay.“ He smooches the top of your head. “The flowers are pretty. I’ll handle this.“

Miguel then swerves around, this time with his Office Face™ on. He keeps his hand glued to your side, each step of his getting louder and louder as he makes his way towards the desk.

“Tiffany.“

Tiffany, in question, shudders, keeping her eyes glued to the floor while a shit-eating smirk finds its’ way onto your face. No remorse whatsoever.

“From now, until tonight, please let my partner into the building whenever they like.“

“Yes, sir. Why until tonight?“

“Because I’m firing you from any future stand-in’s, or any sort of work in here for the matter.“

Miguel: 1 Tiffany: 0

Tiffany looks like she has so much she wants to say, so much that she could scream at this very moment... but instead, she stays silent. You can see a vein practically ready to burst at her temple, her jaw grinding her teeth in her mouth.

“I will dismiss you at the end of the day, Tiffany. I expect you to cause no more trouble until then.“

Tiffany is left utterly speechless, her jaw left slightly agape. Miguel ushers you by your back towards the elevator, poking and prodding his finger at the flowers in your grasp.

Automatically, the elevator doors smoothly slide open, and you both step inside. You stare at the glass view outside, watching as the two of you get higher and higher above the city.

“I even had my badge, and she didn’t let me.“ You frown, indulgently leaning into Miguel’s chest.

“I’m sorry, hun. Lyla’s out sick for a bit, so she was the only substitute I could find for today.“

Apologetically, he rubs your back, secretly praying that you’d forget about the whole ordeal so you’d pay attention to him instead.

“S’okay. Thank god Lyla wasn’t fired.“ You mumble, breathing a sigh of relief.

“She’s annoying, but she does her job well.“ Miguel remarks, and you gasp, personally offended on behalf of your beloved Lyla.

“No she’s not! She’s super nice, actually.“

“Whatever.” Miguel scoffs. “Kiss me.”

“No. You called Lyla annoying.”

these oneshots have really skyrocketed my account! thank you guys so much for the positive feedback, i love loveee reading all the comments i get! please stay tuned for more!

- cosmosis <333

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara spider man #spider man #spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #lyla #atsv lyla #lyla across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #x reader #reader insert #fluff #romance #cosmosis-writes ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

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ckret2 · 22 days

Text

So y'all know the Gravity Falls production bible that leaked three weeks ago. Someone in one of my discord servers pointed this out:

And, naturally, that spawned an entire AU.

AU Concept: Ford was kicked out instead of Stan and takes a job as a trucker to makes ends meet since he couldn't go to college, while still studying the weird and anomalous however he can.

Ford driving around from quirky small town to quirky small town, drifting through the liminal spaces of truck stops, meeting odd people in isolated diners, seeing strange things out on the road—a deer with too many eyes bounding across a two-lane highway, a flirty woman at a rest stop who doesn't blink or breathe, mysterious lights in the sky at night, inhuman growls on the CB or 50-year-old broadcasts on the radio—and taking notes when he stops for gas or food.

Aside from having gotten kicked out before graduating high school, Ford's the same person he is in canon.

He's still an ambitious guy, and here "ambitious" means working hard and saving as much money as he can—so, a long haul owner-operator who spends weeks at a time on the road. (He goes through a LOT of educational audiobooks.) Plus, this is the easiest way for him to get to travel the country; and since it looks like his "travel the world" dreams with Stan are dead, he'll take what he can get.

Since he's never in the same spot long and carries his life in a truck, almost all of Ford's research is in his journal. His bag of investigation supplies has an instant camera, a portable tape recorder, a thermometer, a flashlight, rubber gloves, and a few zip lock bags—and that's about it. It has to share space with all his clothes, toiletries, and nonperishable food when he's on the road. He doesn't have much opportunity to closely examine anything odd he finds, unless he's lucky enough to run into something when he can stop for the night. He has to cram his paranormal research around the side of his full-time job.

He doesn't live in Gravity Falls, but he knows it exists. Every time he moves—to Chicago, to Nebraska, to California—he seems to inch closer. He currently lives in Portland and usually hauls loads between the Pacific Northwest and Chicago or New York. He stops at the truck stop outside Gravity Falls when he can and has gone fishing in town a few times. He doesn't have the benefit of extensive research to know that this is the weirdest town in the world; but it seems pretty weird to him, there are local rumors about the town, and he's had some weird experiences in the area.

Plus, he can't explain it, but it's like the town's calling to him. He wants to move there, but it'd put him over an hour outside of Portland where the nearest jobs are. Maybe if somebody chucked him like $100k to build a cabin in the woods; but what are the odds of that?

He does know Fiddleford. Truck broke down somewhere and Fiddleford kindly pulled over to fix it on the fly. They looked at each other, had mutual knee-jerk "dumb trucker/hillbilly" reactions, and within ten minutes both went "oh wait you're the most brilliant genius i've ever met." Fiddleford's living the same life he was in canon before Ford called him to Gravity Falls—with his family in California, trying to start a computer company out of his garage—but they make friends and keep in contact.

One time Ford stops at a kitschy roadside knickknack store that also sells new agey magic things—crystals, tarot cards, incense, etc. He bought a "lucky" rearview mirror ornament that looks like an Eye of Providence in a top hat and hung it from his cab fan, and ever since then he's had weird dreams whenever he sleeps in his truck.

Things I don't know yet: what Stan's up to; or why Ford's the one who got kicked out. I tend to believe that in canon Stan wasn't just kicked out because he ruined Ford's college prospects, but rather because the family thought he deliberately sabotaged Ford; so in this AU, Ford would've been kicked out over a proportionate crime.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #grunkle ford #stanford pines #fanart #my art #my writing #(since i'm not posting a chapter this week this is y'all's substitute Writing And Art From Me)#(i traced the trucks & diner background and i am not ashamed bc i cannot be assed. i just wanna draw ford in Situations)#(i tried a new kind of lining & coloring on the truck! i will never be doing it again!)#(for my follower who's into vehicles: his truck's based on a late 70s Kenworth W900A. loosely. the headlights are anachronistic.)#(the design has been simplified via the logic of—)#(—'if I don't think that detail would be included in a cheap Optimus Prime toy then I don't need to draw it.')#(EDIT: over a week later i realize i typed freightliner instead of kenworth... i don't know why i typed freightliner.)#(i hope the reason no one corrected me is because no one noticed rather than because y'all think im dumb)

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railingsofsorrow · 5 months

Text

drabble #11

summary: you are caught red handed squinting while reading and your coworkers don't let it slide.

w.c: 682

warnings/content: no warnings just fluff and bickering between friends; annoyance towards dirty lenses (based on a personal experience); secret relationship (implied).

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

━━━━━━━━━

“pretty girl.”

you were writing something down in a post-it note that you thought was relevant for the investigation before derek's voice came out of nowhere, startling you.

you look up at him, frowning, “why do you have to sneak up on people like that?”

“where are your glasses?” he inquired, narrowing you down with a suspicious look. his arms crossed over his chest as he had the serious stance he usually carried when he was trying to figure someone out. you straightened your back slightly, choosing to go back to your reading since you didn't have a reading speed of 20 000 words per minute and you also didn't want to answer that question.

see, here's the thing. glasses are annoying. dealing with dirty lenses is the worst part of wearing them, because as soon as you clean them up, they get absolutely filthy in the next second. also, you broke your lenses at least three times given your line of work.

so, yes, you purposely forgets them a few days a week to not deal with these issues.

maybe more than just a few days a week.

and your coworkers decided to make a comment or give you a look every time they catch you squinting up at a page.

“hey,” you glared up at derek morgan as he flickered your case file much to your annoyance. “i'm talking to you. where are your glasses? can you even see me right now?”

“shut up, derek.”

“do I need to get you a new pair to leave it here in the office?” he asked with indignation written all over his face. “that's the only way you'll wear them!”

“I don't need to wear them.” you practically hissed at him before he broadcasted the conversation into the entire bullpen. “they're reading glasses, it's not like I need to have them on all the time.”

“the strength of your glasses recently increased to 2. so you do need to wear them if you don't want it to get worst.” spencer dropped his things on his desk, butting in on the conversation as if he had been invited. you scowled, not the slightest amused. he only shrugged.

“see what I'm saying, pretty girl?” derek gave you a look. he resigned with a ruffle to your hair then walked away to make some coffee.

you let out a sigh, fixing up your strands in frustration.

“here.” you looked down at the object placed in your lap. “you forgot it at my place last night.” you blinked up at him, mouth agape.

“i-what?”

“at the bedside table?” spencer gave you a look. the faint memory of your eyeglasses case on top of his bedside table came to your mind.

which was why you couldn't recall where your glasses were at home. you had been late for work and decided to give up on the search.

but they weren't even at your place.

“I cleaned them up.” he added.

“oh. right.” you took the case from him, a coat of pink painting your cheeks. you hoped he didn't expect you were going to wear them. “thank you.”

“thankfully you didn't purposely forgot it at home, right?” spencer softly teased, poking your hip which earned a kick in his ankle.

“shut up.”

he chuckled, stealthily eyeing the bullpen that was fairly empty because it was still early in the morning. he leaned down and quickly pecked your cheek then the corner of your mouth.

“spencer!” you hissed, a warning in your tone as you looked around for any prying eyes.

grinning cheeky at you, he took a few steps back. probably to go to the kitchen to grab the coffee derek was taking too long to bring. “movie night at 8 again?” he mouthed.

with a roll of your eyes, you nod “yes.” you mouthed in return, sticking your attention back to the twenty files to be finished at your desk.

“put your glasses on!” he said out loud on purpose, now attracting attention.

you groaned, hiding your face between your hands.

idiot. an absolute idiot.

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taglist: @lilyviolets

#spencer reid drabble #criminal minds drabble #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x reader #reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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justwannabecat · 1 year

Text

“That’s it! I give up!” Phantom yelled. As though he had said something blasphemous, all fighting stopped as the participants stared in confusion. “You humans think you’re the paragon of all existence, proclaiming that anything different is lesser. Well we aren’t! We’re just as sentient as you are, and we have thoughts and feelings! You just choose to ignore it so you can justify your xenophobic actions!”

Phantom turned to Technus, who had frozen in shock as Phantom went on his tirade. “And you! Tell the other ghosts I’m done saving them, too, because none of you care! You don’t care if property is destroyed, or if humans get hurt, or if other ghosts get hurt! All you care about is your stupid Obsessions! You’re too caught up in your own mind to see what you’re doing to everyone around you!”

“But your Obsession is Protection, is it not? You’ve never stepped down from a fight-“ Technus began. Phantom didn’t let him finish.

“My Obsession is Space! If I had my way, I’d spend my nights stargazing, or maybe even on the moon! Instead I’m stuck cleaning up your messes because you can’t control yourselves!” Phantom growled. He glared at the crowd of people who had gathered, curious as to why all fighting had stopped.

“Humans are cruel and hateful. Ghosts are ignorant and careless. I’m tired of wasting my time protecting both sides from the other and being blamed for it. I quit. If anyone dies, or is captured, it’s no longer my problem.“

Like that, Phantom vanished.

The Fentons celebrated, not even noticing Technus make his own escape. The crowd murmured, worry just as prevalent as confidence. The few phones that were recording the event were put away, and later the footage would be checked. Unfortunately, most recordings were corrupted beyond recognition.

Most, but not all.

——————————————————

Amity Park. Ground Zero for the start of the war between the Living and the Dead. Humanity and Ghosts.

Why it had only recently escalated to this, Batman couldn’t tell. His research found that there had been a portal opened to the Realms years ago, and the laws passed just a year after that. Most of the town was stuck behind an information blackout that the government refused to give access to. Whatever happened, Constantine assured him that it was almost certainly the government’s fault.

After almost three weeks of trying to get beyond the firewalls, he finally figured it out. “Research” that claimed ghosts were nothing but evil. News articles calling “Phantom” a troublemaker. Forums that spoke about how “Phantom” ruined the town while fighting other ghosts.

A video, old and grainy but still clear enough to be used as evidence. A glowing, white-haired boy that told everyone he was done. That he was tired of fixing everything. Of saving everyone. That nobody was good, everyone was bad, and they were on their own.

They used to have a hero, but Phantom left. Without him, both sides tore at each other until there was nothing but an all-out assault. They needed to stop this, but without a mediator they would not make it through to the ghosts.

If they could find Phantom, perhaps they could fix everything before it was too late.

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