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#little spicy here n there

ceilingfan5 · 9 months

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2 or 21 with taakitz? pls and thank u!!!

“I think we should cancel the gig, I don’t remember how to play,” Taako whines from his place melted on the floor in front of the fan. His shirt, which was already too short, and also says crab rangoon slut in sparkly fuschia Curlz MT font, flops up, giving Kravitz an eyeful he’s burning trying not to react to. Every time the fan rotates, it blows a little further.

“It’ll be fine, and we’ll get paid,” Kravitz says, instead of I notice you changed your nipple piercing jewlery and I’d like to see what it tastes like, if you don’t mind.

“But at what cost,” Taako gripes.

“The price,” Magnus provides cheerfully, bursting into their private moment like the motherfucking koolaid man.

“The price of admission,” Merle adds, like that’s anything. He is, as always, right behind Magnus, and also wearing a stupid tshirt (“SUCCULENT BOD”, handlettered and decorated with dozens of little plants). Kravitz wonders, not for the first time, how he let himself hitch his wagon to this fucking circus train.

“Anyway,” Kravitz says. “We ought to practice, so we don’t flop out there and stink like dead fish.”

“I’m gonna stink regardless if I don’t stop sweating,” Taako moans. “I cna’t do it. I’m not a solid anymore.”

“Liquids can play the keyboard, probably,” Kravitz valiantly charges on. With Taako, you have to humor him to a certain degree, or he won’t even give you the time of day. But also you can only take some of his bullshit, and if you take too much of it, he loses any and all respect for you. It’s a delicate balance. Fucking circus train. Kravitz feels like he’s wearing the sparkly leotard in front of the tigers and everything. Shame he’s so into Taako, or he’d just go do something easier. Also he loves the band, but shut up.

“Nobody wants wet keys, my man.” Magnus shakes his head.

“Tell that to Florida,” Merle muses.

Everyone else boos.

“Why don’t you try, just a little, and then we can go get ice cream before the gig?” Kravitz asks. “Because if you can’t. I’m going to quit, and become a solo artist and be able to stop taking my blood pressure medication, because of all the stress you fools put me through.”

“Said like he thinks he’s not also a fool,” Merle stage whispers to Magnus, who nods solemnly.

“I want bubblegum ice cream,” Magnus says though. “So get off your ass, Taako.”

“If I die about this, you’ll all be sorry,” Taako moans, but he does peel himself off the floor and mope over to the keyboard. Kravitz takes up his bass guitar, and Merle sits at the drums, and Magnus connects his amp. “Fucking, ugh, an’ a one, an’ a two,”

“And a skiddly, idly, oo,” Merle jokes, but they start–

And it’s horrible. Taako bangs rudely on the keys, which immediately fucks everyone up, and Kravitz tries to save it but is torn between laughing and ringing his boyfriend’s neck, and it spirals from there.

“Like this?” Taako asks, over the bullshit garbage heap of a tune they’re butchering, playing his keyboard horribly, comically wrong. He’d probably have an easier time trying to use his butt cheeks.

“No,” Kravitz barely manages with a straight face. “I’m afraid that’s not what we’re looking for, and you’re fired, goodnight.”

“THANK GOD,” Taako says. “I’m going home. Music is dead to me.”

“Iiiiice cream,” Merle tempts.

Taako pouts.

“With sprinkles?” Magnus adds.

“And maybe a cold shower?” Kravitz smiles at him, letting the implication float through the air on radio waves, and not having to say, out loud, between the other two chucklefucks, that he would in fact like to join Taako in that shower.

Taako pouts harder.

“Fine,” he says. “But if any of you make me stick around to sign shit in fucking ninety-eight degrees, I’m ritually sacrificing a fan and we’re going to be on true crime podcasts for decades.”

“Goddamn,” Kravitz says. “Anything but that.”

#taakitz #taakitz fic #taz #tazb #taz balance #the adventure zone balance #the adventure zone #fan5fics #thank you!!#clearing out my inbox #little spicy here n there

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scrawnytreedemon · 2 months

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Look, you know I'm always on about Zant chuckability this, Zant blendability that, but you know who I also need to grab by the torso and shake??? Imp Midna. She is just. She is so.

I completely understand why her design might be offputting to some people, but she inspires a stupid amount of cute aggression in me. She's so grabbable, I want to smush her face like a little cat, I want to gently pull her lip back over her little teefies. Would I get immediately bitten and mauled and annihilated for this? Yes of course. Standard cat fare.

(And yes, my pfp is either very ironic or completely in line, depending on your view.)

#tloz #twilight princess #midna #scrawny rambles #she is so funnye !!!#she reminds me of my tortico cat with a little mask n mantle... biggie cheese....#biggie is a mother to six and midna is a cursed princess but they are both spicy with a sweet side #i love my cat so much i cannot help but project this onto the Imp Woman™#went on this website to post and then stumbled across the little face smush art glad to see we all feel the same here

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sordidmusings · 7 months

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Cuddling Headcanons - Straw Hats and the Three Unwise Men

A/N: Just mulling over something sweet and something to reference back to for my own use in future writings. I just wanna give all of them some love tbh I am a slut for affection

Includes! Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Luffy, Usopp, Mihawk, Buggy, and Shanks

Warnings: gn!reader, all fluff, opla leaning for the most part but I think it can fit both pretty well, an innuendo or two

Part 2 (drabbles for each character) here!

Enjoy some guided daydreams!

Zoro

Partial touches during naps were how he started interacting with your personal space but your lap no longer belongs to you it is now his pillow

Honestly, basically any of you is a pillow whenever he decides - I don't care if you are significantly shorter than him he will find a way to fall asleep on your shoulder

For more contact, you need to be the one to cling to him but he does absolutely need to be touching you at least a bit

Once he gets used to it he’ll give you a look any time you’re depriving him of his daily intake of physical affection (the sass king will always get his tribute)

He absolutely melts like a cat in the sun if you massage at any of his muscles, could be anything as much as an evening dedicated to working out every knot he has or as simple as putting intentional pressure behind your thumb as it circles and drags along his skin

He can get nervous about kissing you when it’s not on the lips - something about it feels more vulnerable to him somehow - so if he does venture to kiss your cheek or head or shoulder or hand please reassure him with a smile or your own kisses or a firm squeeze

He gets better about being seen hugging/holding you eventually, but will never get comfortable with giving more than pecks on the cheek or forehead around the others. Maaaaaaybe the corner of your lips if he’s feeling ~spicy~

Sanji

Back hugs, back hugs, back hugs-

He’s always making sure that the two of you brush hands or arms when near each other, even after you two establish a relationship it will always give him tingles

Likes to be very intertwined when you cuddle - if he can somehow wrap around you more then he absolutely will

He is The Best at tracing shapes gently on your skin, just like with brushing hands he never tires of it because, wow, he gets to touch you! He still can’t believe it sometimes

Very good at making you feel cherished when he holds you because of the way he always seems to take his time and ease into it and constantly caress you not to say that there’s never a time he’s hurried and ravenous

It also helps that he’s always whispering sweet nothings to you about how wonderful you are, how beautiful and precious and lovely and kind and capable and special

When he wants to trap you while cuddling, he wraps his legs around you and uses their absurd strength for evil

He will melt if you ever do the same to him and he will happily be at your whims to cuddle until you've decided it's enough, all of you could be under attack but he is staying right where you want until you decide that he needs to move

Loooooves showering you with sweet little kisses anytime you're cuddling

He can sometimes get carried away with pda because he forgets that there’s anyone else around whoops

Nami

She has her legs on your lap always - sometimes while she's laying/leaning back, sometimes with one leg hooked over one of yours, sometimes basically sitting on your lap

She likes to be the one that is held and feels most comfortable with her face snuggled into something (please nurture her and that scared, lonely inner child)

Enjoys brushing the tip of her nose across you, especially across your cheek or neck or the tip of your own nose

She likes to hook your arms together whether you’re standing next to each other during a convo or you’re walking or she’s sitting next to you, she just loves the casual contact and how she can use it to be playful and pull you around or use it to stay close and let others know that both of you are taken do not even think about it keep moving along dude

She’s very weak to hugs where you pick her up a few inches off the ground for a second, they send her heart racing (bonus points if you’re noticeably taller or shorter than her and do this)

She’s also weak for words of affirmation, especially when you speak them to her while you hold each other in the quiet hours of night

For some reason literally being on your lap around others is fine but if you give her a kiss to the temple while that's happening? Suddenly it's Too Much, both in how sweet it is and also because she’s being perceived while it's happening

Luffy

Any/all contact is being had whenever he’s with you

If he’s on the floor next to you then your calf is now his teddy bear, if you’re on the floor near him he’ll snatched your torso with his legs, if you’re sat near him he’s wrapping both arms around one of yours to snuggle it

One of his favorites is leaning your backs against each other, he feels really supported and the way you occasionally lean and twist your head back to nuzzle his or give him a quick kiss makes him smile with the utmost joy

He will carry and move you around in the strangest ways - fireman carry, one arm around your waist while you’re upside down, your knees hooked over his shoulders while the rest of you hangs down, you trying to koala to his side, one time you were curled completely around his waist like a pool floaty - no one understands why you two can’t be normal

Likes to be the one to hold you so he can fidget when he needs without feeling like he has to unlatch you first, this is especially when you two are laid down and/or going to be cuddling together for awhile

PDA doesn’t bother him at all, he doesn’t give a fuck if anyone sees you snuggled up together, doesn’t even occur to him that he should care

His playfulness will come out often with dramatic “mwah!” kisses, nipping at you, blowing raspberries on your skin, and the occasional tickling

Usopp

It’s necessary for him to have his arms wrapped around you some way

Likes to be the big spoon to feel like he’s acting as armor and protecting you, it just hits the right place in his brain that has him feeling Big and Strong in the best way

He loves when you plant a kiss on his chest, especially if you aim one directly over his heart (that is totally at a normal rate plz don’t check)

He likes to play with your hair and/or massage your neck and scalp

Big into making sure wherever the two of you are cuddling is comfy, has many extra blankets and a selection of pillows by size and firmness

Always down to cuddle but feels more comfortable if you initiate first, especially when it’s a new thing between the two of you

He simultaneously loves pda and is nervous about pda but that nervousness is absolutely gone when he’s drunk or even pretty buzzed

Good at incorporating his head into hugs - hooking his jaw on your shoulder or on top of your head, leaning his temple gently into the side of your head, bumping you softly with his forehead

Need background noise while you go to sleep? He’s more than happy to hold you and turn on storyteller mode. Honestly, it’s one of his favorite things to do and he cherishes that time together

When it’s bedtime stories he’s telling, his voice is so low and soothing

Mihawk

This man needs to have his hands holding something on you (your hand, your shoulder, your waist, your thigh, your back, your ass lol),

He likes to feel wrapped around you like hes hoarding you to himself, this leads to him enjoying you laying on his chest, having all of your weight on him has him feel like he’s fully possessing you

Will definitely kiss the top of your head/your temple/your forehead/basically whatever his lips are near, not a consistent bout of them, more one deliberate peck when the need strikes him (it’s also his customary goodnight to you)

Like the other swordsman, he will give you a look if you miss a habitual touch (especially if it’s the way you usually ran a hand through his hair with a kiss to the forehead before you left the castle, that was non-negotiable it had to happen), his stare however is more the 1000 yard variety and those bright yellow eyes will bore a hole through you until you understand what you did wrong

Something about this man makes me feel his temp runs hot but not in a way that bothers him, like he doesn’t feel hot or overheated but when you touch him the difference between you two is noticeable

It’s a damn good thing that he reciprocates your physical affection, even if 70% it’s just an arm coming around you, because his stony expression makes it easy to assume that your touches are unwanted

This type of limited response is mostly for more casual cuddling like hugs or sitting next to each other because when you’re laying together his face is always soft and he’s much greedier to be pressing into you

Okay with some pda like quick and passing touches including kisses, but not a fan of anything more intimate when others can see

Buggy

The Chairrrrrr, as you’ve told him it’s circUS so both of you need to be on the throne (If he’s wanting to look extra powerful or intimidating you have no problem sitting at his feet and holding him like a heroine on a 70s fantasy novel)

He’s a big fan of any possessive gestures - arm around shoulders, back hugs, pulling you to wrap your arms around him, having you sit in his lap

He’s a cuddle switch for sure because sometimes he needs to hold you to remind himself that you’re his and sometimes he needs to feel held

Very fragile for gentle affection - please draw shapes on this man’s back, play with his hair and massage his scalp, give him head kisses, hand kisses, wrist kisses

Feels like his heart will explode if you nuzzle your face into him whether its into his chest or the side of his head or good lord his pALM (He may have literally fallen apart the first time you did that and if you’re ever in the mood for some Entertainment bring it up)

He is actually made for cuddling because if his arm is uncomfortable to lay on or starting to fall asleep? He can detach it and now it’s your stuffed animal. This can extend to literally any part of him that either of you feels is getting in the way of the perfect cuddle

Need to feel needed? The way he’ll pull you into him and hold you like you’re going to disappear will let you know he needs you

Absolutely LIVES for pda, he gets to show you off to everyone and have your gorgeous self make him shine brighter in the spotlight? Nothing could be better

Shanks

Sharing his space often means one of you sitting between the others legs, whether one is on the floor in front of the other’s seat or y’all are laying down together with one settled further down the bed, this often leads to you laying your head on the hip or stomach or upper thigh of the other

He mostly likes to be on his back or stomach and pretty splayed out, so you’ve adjusted yourself to gripping to him after he’s taken over the bed

It always makes him soft to think about you always choosing to cling to him without him having to hold you there, it really drives home that he’s something you actively want

Will grope you, sometimes sexually, but he also just likes the feeling of grabbing you, it’s somewhat of a manifestation of cute aggression

He’s a sucker for getting his neck/shoulders/upper back rubbed while cuddling (which is a pain if he’s decided to be on his back) and he is not above bargaining for it or prodding you like an indignant pet each time you stop (very good puppy eyes), this is one of his favorite perks of having you in his lap

He’s another one to not care about being seen by others but not because it hasn’t occurred to him (like Luffy) but because anyone judging him is WAY less important than getting more affection from you

His heart gets really tender when you lay with him and massage the stump of his arm and the shoulder above it because it helps with the phantom pains when he has them, it also help with the tension from using the muscles on that side to compensate, and it reminds him how the only thing about his arm that bothers you is that it hurts him

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starneteyam · 1 year

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TOUCHY ★

🖇️ char. Neteyam x Omaticayan! fem! reader

🖇️ warn. Spicy, jealousy, fluff

🎥 In which Neteyam is an extremely affectionate boyfriend whose love language is physical intimacy, and when some Metkayinan boys start getting a bit too flirty with you, be gets jealous and sulks

A/N Just a short drabble

Neteyam was your mate, and you were his. Ever since he first hooked his eyes on you a year ago, he had been obsessed with you in every way. The way you looked at him with loving eyes, or the way you never complained whenever he held your hand while you did whatever you needed to do. You understood Neteyam loved being physically intact with you.

When he was sitting next to you, even that wouldn’t be enough. He would lay his head on your shoulder, or hold your hand, or wrap his arm around you. Around his family, he would play with your hair—the tiny unbraided strands of your goddess braids, or he would just hook a finger around yours.

He had separation anxiety, though you would never comment on it. You didn’t mind, one bit. You thought that part of him was adorable, like a little puppy.

Because you were his mate, it was decided that you would move to Awa’atlu with Jake and his family, leaving your family behind. You were heartbroken, having to leave your siblings and parents behind, but you said your goodbyes and left anyways.

When you arrived at the Pandora Reefs, Neteyam never let go of your hand, not once. But this time, it was to reassure you. When Au’nong and Rotxo stepped forward, he pulled you behind him, while they smirked.

At your new home, he huffed in displeasure. “They were looking at you.” He sulked, sitting next to you with his head on your collarbone, your body leaning against the wooden pillar, his pointer finger hooked to your pinkie.

You smiled reassuringly, shaking your head. “And I was looking at you, Neteyam.” You told him softly, playing with the bead on his braid. Your heart was full, your throat tightening at how adorable he was.

Another instance was when you were at the beach with Tuktirey, accompanying her and looking for seashells on the shallow waters. The two of you knelt on the sand, her laughing in joy. “Look, there’s one!” You laughed, pointing at a pink shell when you heard the water behind you splashing as if somebody was walking near you.

You turned around, seeing a stranger your age walking up to you with two of his friends. You furrowed your eyes. “Tuk, come here.” You whispered, ushering her.

She whimpered in fear as you grabbed her arm and pulled her behind you. You then stood up. “What’re you doing?” The boy asked, tilting his head. You gave him a dirty look. “Can I help you?” You asked, ignoring his question. His friend laughed. “We just want to get to know you, chill out.” He shrugged his shoulders, and you tried your hardest not to roll your eyes.

“I like your hair.” The third guy commented, running his fingers through some braids on your hair. “We should hangout sometime, I can show you some islands around here.” The first guy said, smiling. You huffed, frowning.

“Excuse me.” You mumbled, making sure to keep Tuk away from the guys as you walked past them, and away. “O-Okay! See you around!” The guy yelled after, and you shook your head in disbelief and sighed. Pathetic.

Unknown to you, Neteyam had seen it all. He had the urge to go in and just punch those guys square in the jaw, but after fighting the Au’nong and his friends yesterday, he was sure his father would skin him alive if he were to cause more trouble.

So instead, he stayed out of sight, and watched quietly as his nails dug into his palms. He was glad you quickly had left and even barely spoke to them, displaying your clear unliking to them, but still, he couldn’t help but feel jealous.

Later that day, when the sky was dark, you stood in your home, your back turned to the entrance as you were busy taking the leaves off of berries Kiri had picked. You heard Neteyam enter, turning your shoulder and glancing at him. “How was your day, Neteyam?” You asked, not having seen him all day. He stayed silent, which you ignored. If he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t have to talk. You respected that of him, because you had your moments too.

You heard him dropping his things on the floor, then walk up to you. Without saying a word, his hands slid around your waist, pressing himself against your back as he kissed your shoulder. You smiled, leaning your hair into him as you continued to pick at the berries. His butterfly kisses trailed up your shoulder, to your neck, and his kisses became longer. Your breath hitched as he started sucking softly on the skin on your neck, his thumb rubbing your stomach.

“Neteyam.” You whispered, turning your head slightly towards him, but he ignored you again. You were confused on why he was acting this way. His tongue pressed against the bruises on your neck, before he turned you around and kissed your lips. You immediately responded. “Netey- mm- What’s- Mmph!” You tried talking, but he kept cutting you off by kissing you, each kiss more aggressive than the last. “Shh.” He hushed quickly, before kissing you again.

You did as told, letting him pour his feelings out on you. Your fingers brushed his back, tracing his spine upwards, before lightly tugging on his hair. He pushed his lips against yours, trying to get as close as he could to you, his eyebrows furrowed. He felt goosebumps on his skin as your tail brushed up the inside of his leg. After leaving his final kiss on you, he hugged your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

Surprised, you looked at him, before smiling softly and rubbing his back. “What happened, Neteyam?” You asked quietly, closing your eyes as you leaned your head against his. He was silent for a couple heartbeats, but then finally spoke. “I saw those guys trying to hit on you today.” He whispered, and it almost broke your heart—how cute he was. You laughed at his sulking sight, hugging him tighter. “Neteyam, you are too perfect for this world.” You told him, kissing his head.

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littleredwolf · 1 month

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Hungry Eyes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: The team overhears Nat and Y/N's 'girl talk' through the comms and feelings surface as a result.

Warnings: Suggestive content. Sex references.

Words: 956

A/N: I don't know what this is or where it came from, but if this goes down well I may write up something a little spicy for a part 2 *eyebrow wiggle* PART 2 CAN BE FOUND HERE

“Bucky's done nothing but undress you with his eyes since you walked in,” Natasha's husky voice came over your earpiece and your eyes snapped to the super soldier on the other side of the room, your cheeks reddening to find him already staring in your direction.

You let your gaze casually pass over him, playing the brief moment of eye contact off as a coincidence as you scanned the room for the mission, but your heart was pounding and you were sure he could probably hear it.

“Doubtful,” you scoffed, though you couldn't ignore the tingle that travelled up your spine at the thought of Bucky finding you attractive. You'd had the hots for him for months, but your fear of rejection strongly outweighed your desire to tell him so you'd kept your little secret to yourself…and Nat of course.

“Stop living in denial, anybody with half a brain can see how he practically drools over you every time he sees you,” Nat argued, and you rolled your eyes as you continued to survey the room. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, it’s true.”

“Stop watching me, you know it creeps me out when I can’t see you,” you hissed, eyes roaming the crowd in an attempt to spot the redhead.

“If you could see me, I wouldn’t be very good at my job,” she teased, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes again.

“Just hurry up and do your job, Romanoff - the quicker we finish and I can get out of this dress the better,” you stated, readjusting the silky garment that Natasha herself had picked out for you. It suited your cover well, but it was a little provocative for your usual tastes.

“I’m sure Barnes would agree with you on that one…”

“As much as I’m enjoying watching Bucky squirm from this conversation, head’s up that this is an open channel,” Sam’s voice cutting in over the comms caused any reply you had prepared for Natasha to die on your tongue, the blood draining from your face as you turned to look at Bucky.

The super soldier was no longer on his mark, but as you searched the crowd you caught a glimpse of him as he was making a swift exit. More than anything you wanted to follow him, to defuse the awkwardness and recover from the embarrassment of him overhearing Nat’s comments, but you stayed rooted to the spot, unable to leave your position.

“Go,” Nat urged, as though sensing your inner turmoil. “Me and Sam have got this.”

A quick look towards Sam confirmed that he agreed, and you wasted no time in hurrying towards the same door Bucky had gone through moments ago.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t gone very far, and you found him leaning against the wall in the foyer. Heat rushed to your cheeks as his eyes landed on you, and you smiled sheepishly as you approached.

“Hey Buck,” you softly said as you reached him. “Sorry about what you heard back there - Nat was just teasing, she didn’t mean any of it.”

“Didn’t she?” He asked, raising a single eyebrow.

“What?” You frowned, unsure how to interpret his response. There was a way you wanted this to go, but you didn’t want to get your wires crossed and make even more of a fool of yourself.

“You said she didn’t mean any of it, but how can you be sure?”

He pushed himself off the wall and fixed you with an intense gaze, making your knees weak and your breath short. You didn’t dare look away - afraid that if you did, this moment would end.

“I-uh…I don’t know what you’re getting at here, Buck…” you stammered, too dumbfounded to form a better response. You were very aware of how close the two of you were and the smell of his cologne and warmth emanating from his body was making your brain short circuit.

“Then let me show you.”

There was no hesitation as he took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours, and you melted into him with a whimper. The sound gave him the encouragement he was looking for and he spun you round so that he could press you up against the wall, moaning into your mouth as you raked your hands through his hair.

Everything around you ceased to exist and all sense left you as you gave into your desires, the feeling of Bucky’s hands roaming your body setting your skin on fire. You couldn’t believe this was happening, you’d never even let yourself hope that Bucky might actually feel the same, yet here you were, making out with him while his sizable bulge pressed up against you.

Had Sam not cleared his throat over the comms, you were sure you’d have let the super soldier take you right there and then, regardless of the fact that you were in public and on a mission.

“Channel is still very much open, guys,” he informed, and Bucky’s eyes widened in horror as he pulled away. You giggled and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“I’m not even sorry,” you told Sam teasingly, straightening up and readjusting your dress. You were aware of Bucky’s eyes on you and you looked up to meet his hungry gaze.

“I can’t wait to get that thing off you when we’re finished here,” he blurted, and you bit your lip as heat flooded your core.

“Then we’d better hurry up and finish,” you replied, taking him by the hand and leading him back to the main room so that you could get the mission, and later on your clothes, out of the way.

PART 2

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #avengers #sebastian stan #fatws #winter soldier #natasha romanoff #sam wilson

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cupid-styles · 23 days

Note

bodyguardrry x stripper!y/n?

pink pony club

in which harry is a bodyguard at the club y/n dances at

word count: 2.8k

content warnings: spicy content, minor violence, a small unwanted touching scene, smut (thigh riding, spitting, dirty talk, breast play, one "sir" mention, minor slapping......I think that's it gkdfjgkjd)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Harry doesn’t care much about his job.

He’s not all that interested in working night shifts that start at 8:30 p.m. and don’t end until 4 a.m. He’s not tempted by the constant flow of alcohol, the endless lines of powder that decorate the bartop and booth tables, and the half — and sometimes fully — naked girls that make their money by twirling around oiled up stripper poles and sweet-talking businessmen.

His job as a bodyguard is simply a means to an end. A paycheck. A way to survive.

Unless Y/N is working.

The second she started at Pink Pony Club, it felt as if his world brightened up. She emitted an effervescent pink hue everywhere she went, bathing Harry in it with her bright smile and sweet eyes. He’s always kept a special eye on her — while he didn’t care for the logistics of his job, he took the safety of the dancers seriously, and Y/N was no exception. In fact, maybe she was the exception.

He was the only dancer he watched. She was the only one he spoke to. His pretty, shy, pink girl.

When she took one-on-one dances in the Red Room, he was the guard she asked to accompany her. He never minded. No, he dropped everything to be there with her, even if it meant standing there stoically, watching as she grinded on the lap of a man that would tip her too little.

If it were him, he would never take her perfect presence for granted.

He would sit back and let her take her time. Shower her in every compliment his brain could churn out. He’d comply with the strict no touching rule, but god, if his hands wouldn’t tremble at his sides. He’d have to sit on them to stop himself from doing something stupid.

Sometimes, it’s what he wished those grimy men would do. Like this piece of shit, who’s been shelling out hundred after hundred dollar bills to keep Y/N locked away in the Red Room all night. It’s been hours and the guy can barely keep his head up straight. From Harry’s spot in front of the door, he can tell Y/N’s tired and in need of a break. And when the song comes to a crawling end, he’s ready to step in and tell the guy to get lost, but he’s already digging in his pocket for his wallet. Harry grits his teeth as he watches Y/N’s shoulders fall.

“Another one,” the idiot mutters, stuffing three hundred dollars in the waistband of her panties. Y/N jerks away from his touch and the man stills, flashing her a confused expression. “What? I’ve paid you your entire yearly salary tonight and I can’t put some fuckin’ money in your panties?”

Harry’s fists ball up at his sides, already taking heavy strides towards them as Y/N’s mumbling out, “you’re not allowed to touch the girls.”

“Oh, give me a fuckin’ break,” he wails, sending a look of disbelief to Harry, as if he should agree with him. “This girl’s a cocktease!”

Harry snorts and Y/N shuffles off the man’s lap. He stands in front of her, creating a physical barrier between the two.

“You heard her, you’re not allowed to touch any of the girls. Doesn’t matter how much money you’ve paid.” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you gonna get lost or are we gonna have a problem?”

The guy rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me you’re always here watching over this one and you’ve never once copped a feel? She’s out with her fuckin’ ass and tits out and you—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish whatever disgusting sentence was coming out of his mouth because Harry’s already pulling him up by the shirt collar. The guy yelps as Harry’s strong grip yanks him off the couch and he scoffs, resisting the urge to spit in his face.

“Disgusting piece of shit.” he mutters, throwing him up against the maroon velvet wall. “You know that? You think you can fucking talk about her like she’s some kind of object?”

“She’s a stripper!” he exclaims, raising his hands up in mock defense.

“I don’t fucking care,” Harry growls, “She could be an escort for all I care, but you don’t touch anyone without their fucking permission. Especially her. Do you fucking hear me?”

“Yeah, man, whatever! It’s all good, I promise!”

“Oh, it’s all good?” he mocks, keeping him pushed up against the wall with his hand up against his chest. His other arm cocks back and his hand forms a tight fist, his knuckles white as hot adrenaline courses through his veins. He’s ready to beat this guy until he’s unrecognizable — until he hears it.

A small, quiet whimper of his name.

Immediately, he turns around. Y/N stands behind him, looking small and helpless with glassy eyes. Again, she repeats his name. “Harry,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s not worth it, I don’t wanna lose my job. Just let him go.”

And just like that, he does.

He lowers his fist, his hand unfurls around the cheap fabric of his button-up, and he’s free to go, scrambling out of the Red Room before Harry has the chance to tell the other bodyguards to escort him out. But he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the teary eyed girl with trembling fingers.

“Baby,” he breathes, fear surging through his chest as he wraps a tender arm around her waist. He sits onto the crushed velvet bench and pulls her into his lap, keeping a soothing hand placed at the small of her waist. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She quickly shakes her head, allowing the tears to flow a bit more freely now. “I-I’m okay. Just scary.”

“I know,” he mumbles, biting his lip. “Was it— did I scare you?”

“No, no. I know you were just… trying to protect me.” she says softly, blinking her eyes at him.

“I was, sweetheart. I promise. I would never do anything to hurt or scare you.”

She nods. “I know.”

“How much longer do you have left of your shift? I can take you home. You shouldn’t be working when you’re upset.”

Y/N glances down at the watch around Harry’s wrist, nibbling on her bottom lip as she thinks. It’s already 2, which means the club closes in less than three hours.

“Just another hour. I can make it,” she replies as she straightens her posture in his grasp. “I’m just… I don’t think I’m ready to go back out there yet.”

“That’s fine. We can stay here as long as you’d like.” And he’d certainly knock out anyone who threatened to give her shit for it.

They sit in silence for a bit and Harry keeps a protective arm looped around her waist the entire time, drawing soft circles into her exposed hip. He feels relief at knowing that she doesn’t express discomfort at being in his arms and frankly, if it were up to him, she’d never leave them.

Harry’s torn from his thoughts when she runs her fingers over the expanse of tattoos that cover his arms. Glancing down, he watches as her manicured nails slowly float from the anchor on his wrist all the way up to the ship on his bicep. He swallows, staying impossibly still as she analyzes the ink. Eventually, she lands on the cursive A on his shoulder.

“Girlfriend?” she asks, peering up at him. He shakes his head.

“Mum,” he murmurs, “Do you have any tattoos?”

Y/N nods. “One.”

Harry’s tongue peeks out to moisten his lips as he maintains heavy-lidded eye contact with her. He’s seen nearly every bit of her skin and prickles form in his stomach, thinking about where her hidden tattoo could be.

“What is it?”

Slowly, she shifts off of his lap to stand in front of him. Using deft fingertips to peel the waistband of her lacey lingerie down, she reveals a simple red rose inked into her skin, just above where her mound begins. Harry swallows harshly at the sight.

“Do you like it?”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Gorgeous.” he mumbles.

“I was thinking about getting another one,” she breathes as she shimmies the fabric just a bit lower. She taps the small patch of skin across from the rose. “An H, maybe.”

“That would be a silly decision, sweetheart,” he says lowly, leaning back against the bench and spreading his legs a little wider. “You don’t want an initial for the guy who beats up idiot losers.”

“I do, though. I love knowing you’re there to protect me.” she replies. Briskly, she climbs back into his lap, this time straddling his waist and placing her knees on either side of him. As if on instinct, he wraps his arms around her to steady her, pressing one palm to the back of her thigh.

“I’ll always be there to protect you,” he mumbles, chest tightening as she leans closer. Her lips are centimeters away and it makes his breath catch in his throat. His throat bobs as he swallows, angling his head ever so slightly to minimize the small gap between them, and then he whispers: “Stop me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not,” she’s so close to him that her breath ghosts over his plush lips, “Kiss me. Please.”

That’s all he needs to seal their lips, her shaky hands finding purchase at the back of his neck. It feels so special to have her hands on him as their lips meld; slowly at first, and then she’s straightening her back to push her chest forward, desperate to be closer, closer, closer.

It feels like their only source of oxygen is coming from one another. Harry’s hands grip her ass firmly, squeezing the plump skin in his palms. He’s content with keeping things here at a steady PG-13 level until her wet mouth breaks away for just a moment, only long enough to murmur, “touch me, I need it.”

A groan oscillates from his throat as his hands travel down to her neck, her shoulders, her chest, and then finally her breasts. His hands find the covered peaks of her nipples and she inhales sharply, shuddering beneath his touch. He smirks as he settles on the right side of her chest, using his thumb to gently brush over her nipple. She straightens her spine and leans into the sensation as he slowly rubs it back and forth.

"Always gonna keep you safe. You know that?” Harry mumbles into her mouth, licking at the seam of her lips. Her eyes squeeze shut and her thighs threaten to close around his wide, spread legs. “Uh-huh,” she nearly whines. He swallows as he watches her, noticing her quick descent into desperation. He gives her nipple a soft squeeze before quickly pausing to unhook her bra and toss it to the floor. He resumes his teasing just a moment later, leaning forward and attaching his lips to the hard bud. A quiet, shaky mewl falls from her swollen lips. He parts with a pop but only to spit messily onto the peak. She gasps when he takes her nipple into his mouth again, hissing as he bites the skin. It’s not hard or long enough to elicit any real pain, just a sweet sizzle in her stomach that makes her tug at the curled ends of his hair. He chuckles softly at her reaction before licking over the bite and tucking the bud back between his lips. Once he’s gotten his fix, he removes his hand from her breast and moves it up to her mouth. "Open." he commands. As if under a spell, her bottom lip drops open and Harry pushes two of his fingers inside, pressing them down against her tongue. "Dirty little mouth, hm?" He murmurs. She nods submissively and he grins, "Suck." She closes her lips, encasing his long fingers in her mouth as she begins to slowly bob up and down, taking them further. His fingertips make contact with her throat, eliciting a short gag as the muscles contract slightly around them. Quickly, he removes them. "Did I hurt you?" She shakes her head and reaches up to wipe away some of the drool that had escaped her mouth. "No. I like it." "Are you lying, baby?" He asks, moving her hair over her shoulder, "This isn't fun for me if you're just doing what you think I want." "I'm not lying, I promise. I like it." Harry's lips curl into a smirk. "Tell me what else you like, then." As she opens her mouth, he shifts his thigh between her legs, the muscles flexing firmly against her core. She gasps, though Harry pretends like he hadn't done anything, instead nodding at her shortly; an encouragement to follow his directions. "I like gagging on your fingers." She whines as he begins to move his thigh back and forth, just slow enough to create some friction between their bodies. "Yeah? What else do you like?" "You," she whimpers, gently rocking her hips against his jean-clad thigh, "When you keep me safe.” "Ah, my pretty baby likes feeling protected?” She nods as she begins to quicken my movements. He stills her hips but before she has a chance to whine about it, he mumbles out a "budge up, baby" so he can slip her panties off her legs. She resists the urge to hiss at the contact, her stomach tightening at the feeling of his thigh muscle against her. For a moment, he inspects the sodden underwear, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You made quite the mess in these, baby. What got you so turned on?” She swallows harshly, her chest shaky. “Y-you. Seeing you threaten that guy for me.” He smirks but decides to leave it at that, feeling the desperate warmth radiating from her core. "Go 'head," he mumbles, leaning back. "Let me see you use me." She feels her hole contract at his words, mentally cringing as he chuckles. He feels how needy she is and he absolutely loves it. Slowly, she starts to grind against his thigh, holding in pathetic whimpers at the solid surface making contact with her clit. Harry tsks when he notices her roll her lips into her mouth. She looks down as he moves his hand towards her lower half, momentarily excited that he’ll pet at her the way she’s craving. The dream is short lived when he parts her pussy lips instead to look at the wet mess between them. "Don't hide your sounds," he scolds, pressing the pad of his fingertip to her clit, rolling it in small circles. "They're too pretty.”

She nods, prepared to continue her movements when she gasps out in surprise. Harry had delivered a swift slap to her clit — not painful enough to ask him to stop, but just enough to deliver a sizzling sensation to her core. "Tell me you'll moan for me." "I will, sir," she whines, rutting helplessly against his hand. He smirks and pinches the skin at her inner thigh before nodding again, a wordless order to continue. Hesitantly, she rocks her hips, building up a slow and intentional pace that hits her clit at the perfect angle. She’s dripping now, embarrassingly so, and making a mess both between their legs and on Harry's, but she’s too turned on to care. There’s something about knowing he’s watching her get off and doing exactly what he asks of her that sends her to another dimension. It’s not long before she feels a familiar tightening in her stomach. They’d built each other up and up and up, teasing one another until they could barely stand it, so she’s not surprised when her muscles started to clench, pathetic gasps falling from her swollen lips. "Is my good girl gonna cum?" Harry teases from beneath her. She nods jerkily, her nails digging into his stomach. "Let me see. Cum all over my leg, baby. Make a mess." Harry's dirty talk is finally what does her in. With a few more rocks of her hips, she’s in heaven, whimpering out calls of his name as she peaks. He holds her hips to keep me on his leg as she bounces helplessly through her orgasm, her eyes slowly blinking open to find a smirk on his face when she finally begins coming down. "You're heaven sent, y'know that?" he mumbles. Y/N laughs breathily as she shakes her head, her blushy gaze falling to his lap. He thumbs at her bottom lip and gently nudges her chin up. “Lemme take you home tonight,” he whispers, cupping her cheek in his palm, “I wanna take care of you.” She nods. “Yeah, okay. You’ll wait for me to finish my shift?” “Of course,” he murmurs as he presses his forehead against hers. “Always.”

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lucyandthepen · 9 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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queenimmadolla · 3 months

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

(dad!eddie x mom!reader)

Summary: Eddie has to shower before he can hold his impatient baby. She's having none of it.

a/n: i was attacked by yet ANOTHER cute baby tiktok so here we are with a little bit of grease monkey!eddie and another little drabble. set in the early days of the pennyverse. and yes, i've used this gif before but he's dead so i'm running out of them. mistakes might be fixed later, i dont know :)

“Are these your little fingers?” You asked your baby, tone saturated in honey and affection as you held the chunky palm in question, lips pressed to her pudgy fingertips.

Despite your aversion to it prior to your pregnancy, you’d inevitably developed a baby voice when Penny had come into the world and you couldn’t be blamed. Not when she was all squish, delicate cheeks holding so much chub they bulged, and rolls decorated her little limbs. She was a glutton, always demanding your milk and you couldn’t deny her; those big, gorgeous eyes she’d inherited from her father made it nearly impossible to, even when the wetness welling up in them were completely alligator tears. And those curls.

Regardless of taming them with some water, a brush and maybe some vaseline, they ended up wild, flying about or mussed and matted to her head with sweat because your baby was a little heater when she slept and napped. Just like her daddy.

Your smile widened in size when you heard the sound of keys slotting into place at the front door, the lock mechanism giving away. It tripled when you realized your baby also recognized the sound, head turning to stare at the door as she bobbed in place, thick legs squatting and then popping back up as you held her by her waist with your other hand, assisting her with standing.

The moment Eddie opened the door and came into view she began cooing and squealing in excitement, mouth parting in a wide smile as drool raced down from the corner of her mouth.

You laughed, and so did Eddie as he heard his baby welcoming him home.

“You excited to see me, sweet pea?” He cooed right back, walking over to squat in front of the two of you, eyes raking over you momentarily in appreciation before focusing on the little one in your arms.

She let out another long coo that ended on an airy sigh, pulling her hand from your grasp to reach both of her pudgy ones out to him, practically begging him to hold her as she began wiggling in your arms.

Eddie’s head tilted, lips curling into the most tender smile as he stared down at her with nothing but love swimming in those eyes he’d shared with her.

“Daddy missed you and mommy so much.” He whispered, a hand reaching out, almost close enough to caress her soft cheek but it hesitated before he could touch her. His rough, grease covered finger was a stark contrast to her clean, smooth skin. Clearly, you’d given her a bath before he got home because her mouth and cheeks were usually covered in the food you were starting to offer her (sometimes baby food, but mostly bits of your food because she wouldn’t accept any offerings of mushed up veggies and fruits if there was something else on your plate, hence why your diet had been pretty bland and not at all a result of the tight budget your maternity leave left you on).

The rest of his hands were no better, palms stained, streaks all over his arms as a result of shucking the top half of the monkey suit and rolling up his sleeves at the garage.

There were even a few streaks of grease and maybe oil on his face and neck. Your husband smelled more so of tires than he had the spicy cologne that surrounded you when he’d kissed you goodbye in bed this morning.

And he knew it.

Penny didn’t let that stop her, still eagerly reaching out for him as she grunted to try and provoke him in swooping her up into his embrace.

“As soon as daddy’s clean, okay? I’ll pick you up and my sweet girl can give me all the cuddles she wants.” He promised, hands on his knees before he stood back up, leaning over her to give you a sweaty, greasy oh so sweet and firm press of the lips kiss before he swiveled around and disappeared into the small bathroom as quickly as he could to be out of hearing range when Penny began whimpering at his absence.

You heard the shower start running at the exact moment she began to cry and you offered a sympathetic whine of your own as you adjusted your grip on her, bringing Penny up to your chest, your cheek smushed against her more plump one.

“Shhh…it’s okay, my love. Daddy’s just showering. He’ll be back.” You stood up, hitching Penny on your hip as you walked to the entrance of the small hallway so the bathroom door was visible to her. Eddie’s humming floated out from underneath the crack of it.

Penny was Eddie’s daughter, alright, full of dramatics as her breathing remained heavy, chest rising and falling quickly with the hitches in her breath as a chunky fist gripped onto your blouse, lower lip curling out and wobbling. She didn’t seem satisfied with your explanation but that didn’t worry you. If Penny was awake when Eddie left for work in the morning, she’d start bawling.

The first couple of times she’d started reacting to his departure, he’d ended up full of guilt and late to work. It still wasn’t easy for him, even after you’d finally convinced him she’d have the same reaction whether he left in the morning, afternoon, or evening. Regardless of the time, she was going to be upset that she wouldn’t be able to see her daddy, probably convinced in her little baby mind that he’d abandoned her (he’d nearly quit the shop when you’d phrased it like that) but he’d always come home to her—and you—and that’s what mattered.

You were positive she’d start yelling and shrieking when it came time for you to go back to work, too. She was just a baby, so she was being a baby.

You carried your huffing and puffing daughter back to the living room, placing her down on the carpet in front of some toys she had been playing with earlier in the day. Maybe they’d distract her.

Wrong.

She sat on the carpet, chunky legs strewn out for just a few seconds before she was moving forward onto her belly and propping herself up. Then she was off, crawling as fast as she could towards the hallway while breathing heavily with exhilaration. You trailed after her, amused at how stubborn she was when she stopped directly in front of the bathroom door, propping herself up on her bottom.

You watched Penny reach out with shaky palms, pressing them gently against the door. It looked like they were feeling around it before she began slapping them against it as hard as she could as she yelled her baby babble, no doubt demanding her daddy open the door, pick her up and love her right now.

Giggles were muffled into your palm, as she kept up with it.

Eventually, maybe when she realized that wasn’t working, Penny leaned over, wiggling around until she was on her tummy and the side of her head was resting on the carpet. You realized she was trying to look under the door for him and your heart clenched, hand flying over your chest as if you could grasp the organ.

You expected her to sit back up and go back to smacking the door but she remained there, a stubby finger absentmindedly trailing through the carpet as she stared through the thin crack, warm bathroom light and Eddie’s voice flooding out from underneath to comfort her as she waited.

Picking her up had crossed your mind, and so did the idea of how loudly she’d probably start screaming and crying if you did.

The two of you didn’t have to wait for long, the shower shut off and you could hear the sounds of the shower curtain rings scraping against the rod as Eddie pulled them back.

Panic briefly filled your chest as you realized Eddie probably wasn’t expecting his baby to be lying on the floor directly outside of the bathroom—he’d step on her, so you called out, “Heads up, Eddie, you’ve got a visitor.”

You didn’t hear a response, but a few moments later, the door opened to reveal your husband. Water droplets slipped down his neck and chest. He had one towel—that had definitely seen better days—wrapped around his waist and another (yours) he was using to scrunch up his sopping wet curls to dry them.

Eddie had heard you, shooting you a smirk before he addressed the baby beaming up at him, “Shower’s free if you wanna hop in, stinky.”

Penny had no idea what he was saying, it didn’t matter anyways because he said it in the same voice he used when he gave her kisses and held her to his chest so she was reaching up for him and he finally reached down—with clean hands—grasping her sides before she was hoisted into his arms. Penny wasted no time, mouth parting wide to mouth aggressively at his face and chin while she shook her head and wiggled about.

She was giving him kisses.

Or trying to eat him, she had little bursts of energy where she’d do that—attack you out of nowhere while you held her causing the both of you to break out laughing.

Eddie let her get it all out, and when she cooed, resting her cheek on his shoulder, he retaliated. Her cheeks and little neck rolls were smattered in his smacking kisses as she squealed and shrieked and wiggled but there was no escaping her daddy’s clutches now that she was finally in them.

When every inch of her available to him had been kissed, he turned towards you and you suddenly found yourself victim to two sets of identical crinkly brown eyes. A deep chuckle rumbled from Eddie as he padded over to where you stood, mischievous smirk making another appearance.

“Mommy’s turn.”

2K notes · View notes

catiuskaa · 4 months

Text

you asked me to stay. [Not yet].

PAIRING! idol!bangchan x reader

SUMMARY: even if idols 'don’t date fans', there are no rules against a little bit of teasing, and so it happens that Mr Bang Chan here really likes your kind of thinking.

WC: 4.1k

CW: starts off fluffy, then angsty if you squint?, but develops into a (short but still) spicy NSFW. lol, the triangle of (fan)fiction! not gonna say anything else cause I don’t want to spoil it, teehee. Have fun! (I did!)

REQUESTED! here by my sweet 'n spicy baby @sharonxdevi, hope you like my take on it! <3

A/N: wanted to pop down here as a reminder that just because the setting is a fan meeting and yada yada, this work is still unrelated to Channie as an idol. now, please keep reading! I really like how this one turned out 🤭

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

He's so sweet.

You kept giggling and blushing like an idiot, but how couldn't you? The Christopher Bang was right before you, smiling and laughing at the lame jokes you blabbered as a blush surely creeped out, your face a deep shade of a pinkish tone.

“Oh, and I wanted to mention that you look so amazing in your performances! You have me addicted, Chan.” You giggled.

He chuckled, blushing lightly, raising a hand to his mouth, half covering it. “Really?”

You could melt at the sight of him.

“Yeah! I’ve watched all your fancams.” You nodded with enthusiasm.

His laughs turned louder, his ears red. “I feel so shy knowing someone as pretty as you watches me dance so much.”

…

You blinked, your eyes wide.

As what?

He cheeked his tongue, eyeing at you sheepishly.

Oh. So he knew what he was doing.

You smirked softly. Your change in attitude made him raise his eyebrows slightly.

“One minute.”

You eyed at the suited man that came to talk to Chan and smiled. He left back to his position, and you leaned closer to the idol.

“Just have to say, that tongue of yours?” You chuckled, and to him, it was one fo the most enticing sounds he had heard in a while. “Keep it in your mouth if you don’t want STAY to act up.”

There was a bubbly feeling in your stomach that only heightened when you watched his face displaying raw surprise.

You were about to combust in spontaneous fire because, well, you just flirted with an idol, a real famous one, that is, but then, he smirked, leaning even closer to you. You could feel his breath on the shell of your ear. His hand softly took yours, and your breath hitched as he snickered playfuly, making you feel a shiver travel down your spine.

“I’m thinking there are far more interesting places where I could keep it.” He grinned in a teasing tone, staring at your lips for a second, licking his own. “But I’m obedient. I’ll keep my mouth shut if you say so.” He stated lowly, his eyes locked on yours. …

Oh.

OH.

MY GOD.

He squeezed your hand, sitting back again. His face was covered by a shade of red, and he couldn’t exactly place what had taken over him.

For a moment, he bit his lip, wary of your reaction, considering you hadn’t so much as muttered anything, frozen in your place.

But then you chuckled, struggling to grasp what had just happened, and his whole body relaxed when you squeezed his hand too.

“Bet. You won’t.” You snickered, standing up, siren eyes staring down at him as you moved away, allowing the next person’s turn.

He winked at you as you left.

W-What had just happened?

Your mind felt fuzzy.

Had Bang Chan just done the triangle method on you?

Chan stared at your back before facing the person in front of him.

He could’ve sworn he had seen you before.

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Chan grimaced at Hyunjin, sinking his head back on the pillow in his hotel room.

“Leave him alone, Jinnie.” Yongbok frowned slightly. “But I have to say. Not the smartest move, mate.”

Chan sighed in frustration. “I know, I know.”

And it was because he knew that he didn’t dare to say, but just thinking about you, he also knew for a fact that he wouldn’t hesitate on doing it again. Had he had the opportunity, maybe even more.

But idols don’t do that.

Because it is for a reason that idols don’t date fans. Marketing? 100%. Sure. But it also protected them from scandals and such. Or that’s what Chan liked to say to himself.

Felix felt a bit guilty. Chan had gotten scolded by almost all the members now, some who went more ballistic than others —like Hyunjin, who still was fuming, claiming that if Chan was going to do something forbidden, he could’ve said something better than that—, but he looked at the fellow Australian and stood up, laying his small hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder.

The taller one stopped his rambling against Chan and his alleged lack of creativity regarding flirting, and his eyes softened, looking at Yongbok.

“Give the man a break.” Felix smiled softly. “He understands what he’s done. He’s a big boy. Right, Channie?”

The big boy lazily raised his hand from the bed, not moving his head from the pillow as he hummed and raised his thumb.

“This bitch—” Hyunjin started, threatening to throw a pillow at the older one, but Felix quickly pushed him away, taking him back to their room.

Finally alone after what seemed like a lifetime, Chan turned around, staring at the ceiling.

He covered his face with his hands.

Reckless. Stupid, reckless idiot.

It had to be past twelve when he got tired of waiting for sleep to get to him. That never happened anyways. So he stood up with a groan, yawning out of boredom, quickly fetching a jacket and heading to the elevators with slow steps.

He got in and slowly started to put on his beanie and his mask, which wouldn’t really make a difference if someone recognized him, still, it gave him some reassurance. But then, the elevator stopped barely two floors after he got in.

His whole body tensed up.

He recognized who stepped in, messy hair, funny slippers and padded jacket on.

He knew who that was, because he had been right.

He had seen you before.

“Oh.” You smiled, and he could tell by the small wrinkles in your eyes, because the bottom half of your face was hidden by the jacket’s high neck. “Good night.” You mumbled softly.

He nodded. He was afraid you’d recognize him. He was unsure of what to do himself —or if he should do anything—, he couldn’t even think of how you would react. And just the idea that you wouldn’t like seeing him there made him hide his face more in his dark mask, so instead, he fidgeted with his room card, not daring to look at you for too long.

“Trouble sleeping?” You pondered in a kind tone. He nodded again, and you smiled. He had to hold back the impulse of lowering your jacket just so he could see your bright features, the ones that had charmed him so much barely a couple of hours ago.

“Same here.” You muttered, and he could’ve sworn that your voice alone, warm and soothing, could singlehandedly lull him to sleep in a heartbeat. “Walking helps though, don’t you think?”

He, again, just managed to nod. But for some reason, your presence didn’t make him feel guilty for not talking. In the middle of the night nothing seemed to have any rules between you two and the four walls of the elevator.

“Sorry, am I bothering you?” You asked in a murmur.

It was the first time he shook his head no, vigorously so, and you blushed lightly, smiling.

“Good to know.” You grinned, chuckling softly. The elevator dinged, arriving to the last floor. Chan held back a frustrated groan, yearning to keep hearing your voice.

“Have a good night.” You smiled, but his hand softly took yours.

“Huh?” You muttered softly.

Chan struggled. Fuck, shit, fuck. He had done that completely out of reflex. He didn’t know what to say, and just scrathed the side of his face, staring at your linked hands.

He shook his head once more, asking you to stay.

To you, you already had the weird feeling that you knew him. But he touched your hand, and something from it felt shockingly familiar.

Now, you could’ve sworn you had seen him before.

“What is it?” You asked, your voice coated in something sweet, something that Chan suddenly wanted to taste. “Would you like to walk with me?”

He nodded eagerly. And you grinned sheepishly.

You two crossed through the hotel main’s hall nonchalantly, and Chan just followed you, intriegued that you hadn’t taken the main entrance door to exit.

“Trust me,” you muttered, smiling. He felt it was scary that he would, in a heartbeat. “The gardens are so much better.”

You took his hand. A motion completely out of reflex, that both of you only allowed yourselves to yearn for in silence.

You grinned at him, turning around, and his breath hitched, lips parted beneath his mask when he realized how close you were.

You opened a black door to your right with a soft push of your body.

The hotel gardens at night were like a dream. The moonlight turned everything into a soft, magical scene. Tall trees swayed quietly, and you could hear crickets and leaves rustling. There was a small lake below it, its water calm, that reflected the image above it like a mirror, moon and stars glistening on the clear surface.

Even if Chan was only looking at the glow through your eyes.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You grinned.

You stared back at him. Something in his eyes reminded you of someone you knew. A peculiar someone, that is.

He hummed in agreement, and your smile widened.

“Shall we?” You giggled in a murmur, letting him step outside before you.

There was a warmth in the night that ushered Chan to take off his mask and hat.

But he didn’t dare to. Not yet.

You two walked alongside, hands and knuckles brushing against each other, and the idol allowed himself to grin as you smiled, looking at the flowers that decorated the place. It was the first time in his life that he had found solace in the shared silence of insomnia.

With a swift motion, he surrendered. He felt like it wasn’t fair to know who you where if you didn’t —or couldn’t— recognize him. To hell with it, he thought, taking his hat and mask off.

But, much to his surprise, you didn’t so much as glance at him. You just snickered when he sighed, sounding happier, breathing in the sudden cold breeze that swooshed in the garden.

“Better, huh?” You mumbled in light amusement.

He smiled, shoving his hidden identity in his pockets.

“Much.” Chan muttered.

His heart beat loudly on his ears. He could feel it pulsating rapidly, waiting for the moment where you would turn to face him.

But you weren’t, just strolling down the stone path, callously ignoring his nervous demeanour.

He was about to stop and move you, but instead, your hand took his again.

And then you squeezed it lightly. Much like he had done a couple of hourse ago.

His breath hitched. He stopped walking.

“Chan?” You smiled.

He felt chaos unravel inside him, his cheeks blushing, his palms getting sweaty, and his heart giddily beating in his chest.

Another rush of soft air crossed through the hotel’s gardens, making your hair move with it. He could smell your light scent, something that felt warm inside him, something that he felt could lull him asleep.

You grinned.

“Hi.”

He chuckled lowly. He hadn’t let go of your hand. A part of him didn’t want to. Not yet.

“Hi.”

He saw you blush under the moonlight, not knowing his red-tinted cheeks were more obvious than yours.

“What’s a boy as pretty as you doing in a place like this?”

…

He blinked, his eyes wide.

As what?

He saw you cheek your tongue, doe eyes looking at him teasingly.

Oh. So you knew what you were doing.

He chuckled, thinking that was going to be all your teasing.

“Judging by how long it took for you to talk, I guess you did mean to keep your end of the deal.”

“Huh?” He inquired softly.

“You know.” You bit your lip and blushed a bit more, making him more interested, taking a step towards you without realizing. “Keeping your mouth shut. Like the obedient boy you are.”

He started breathing heavily, a low laugh rolling off his tone.

“Oh, yeah?” His smirk was only powered by yours. “I must say, I can be quite rebellious.”

“Really?” You snickered, feeling his hand squeeze yours again.

“Very.” He gulped. His bravado only lasted for so much, and deep inside, he was equally scared as curious.

He wanted to keep going. He wanted you to stay.

“Are you trying to prove it?” You mocked cheekily.

He stared at your lips, his breath felt heavy. “Would you like me to prove it?”

His hand threatened to reach for your cheek, but it was you who finally held it and moved it towards your face.

“Bet.” You giggled. “You won’t.”

The night air was crisp as your eyes, deep and expressive, locked with his, inviting and enticing, a secret to be held in them. His hair, often styled with flair, rested curly and messy, but you couldn’t help but get lost in the untamed beauty that he portrayed. Not even his lips gently grazing yours could wipe either of your smiles under the moonlight.

And then, for a moment, it wasn’t gentle.

Maybe it was because he sighed against your lips, or maybe it was because you followed an impulse and bit his lower lip, but then it got twisted. Tongues danced with one another, fighting for dominance in a burst of sudden passion.

“C-chan,” you gulped, arms traveling to his nape, playing with his hair. It made him weak.

“Chris,” he sighed, yearning to taste your lips again. And again. He didn’t want to stop. Not yet. “Call me— call me Chris.”

You chuckled. “Only if you call me…”

You were going to tease him, but your ideas suddenly flew away form your mind when he started peppering kisses on your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth.

“What?” He snickered. “A pet name of sorts?” He was teasing you, and he was so enjoying it, tasting the weirdly sweet and enticing flavour of your skin in his lips. “Would you like that, princess?” God, he needed more.

You bit your lip, holding back sounds behind heavy breaths, and he patted your thighs, making you jump into his arms without hesitation. Quickly, he moved the both of you, pinning you against the wall closest to you.

“C-chan…” He bit your skin slightly harder. “Chris! Ah, Chris…!”

“F-fuck…” He muttered. “I… I can’t…” He leaned his head in the crook of your neck, now covered in small and red lovebites. “You smell so good.”

You pecked his forehead, trying to catch your breath, your hands stroking his soft hair.

“Not here, right?” You smiled, soothing, comprehensive. His heart softened.

He nodded, sighting against your neck. He let go of your legs, allowing you to stand back on your feet tenderly.

“I’m sorry….?” Chan mumbled shyly. You giggled, brushing it off.

You were about to say something, but then the gravel cracked under someone’s weight. One that wasn’t either of you.

He tensed up under your arms.

You sighed. “Move!” You ushered in a whisper.

He frowned, his eyes darting from you and from where the sound had come from.

“But you—”

“Chan!” You pushed him away, hiding him behind another wall, and quickly took your phone from the pocket of your jacket, zipping back up what Chris had lowered.

“Who’s in there?”

Chan’s breath haltered.

You had hid him just a wall more, meaning that if the security guard found any of you, chances were that he wouldn’t be caught. You would.

You both held your breathing, hands interlinked even if your bodies were as far away as they could to do so, your heartbeats quickening in sync.

And then, it was just silence for a minute, the gravel cracked below the security guard’s feet, and he left as sudden as he had arrived.

You legs felt like jelly, and you let your back fall down the wall, ending up sitting on the floor with a huff.

“You were going to get in trouble.” Chris muttered.

You looked at him from the floor. The moonlight highlightened his lean figure and charismatic features.

You nodded. “It wouldn’t be me who’d get in the worst of it.” You smiled softly.

He nodded with you.

“We should go before it gets too late.”

Just before heading back together to the elevators, you looked to the reception, and grinned softly.

The elevator back up felt more silent than usual. And for some reason that could speak and make him blush, Chan missed the sound of your voice.

“Good night, Chris.”

It wasn’t going to be a good night.

Not after that interruption, which not only scared the shit out of him, but also made him rethink everything he was doing with you.

Chan arrived back to his room. After half an hour of mindlessly staring at the nightsky through the window, someone knocked on the door.

Could it be you? Chris blushed at the thought.

He opened the door to find nothing. Then, he looked to the floor, and found a mug of hot chocolate and a small note.

may have taken a peek to your room card before. i had fun tonight! see you tomorrow? xoxo, your princess.

He grinned.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad night after all.

[♦️☆🔓☆♦️]

When he woke up the morning after, his mouth still tasted like chocolate.

There had been nothing that could wipe the silly grin on his face that day. Not his packed schedule, not the knowledge that they had to go back home and it would be his last night there, not the fact that Han had come into his room just to look for his missing sock —which, for obvious reasons, he never found there—, not the fact that Hyunjin was still bitter with him because of what he had named the ‘pretty girl disaster’ —which Chan intended to tell you just to see if you’d laugh like he had imagined.

His mind was filled to the brim with thoughts of you.

Your flavoured chapstick, your sweet scent, the way you mumbled his name —his real one, that is—, how your eyes glowed under the moonlight, how his hands fit perfectly in the curves of your waist.

He sighed happily for the upteenth time that day, coming out of the shower.

But then, Minho came in to his room.

“Hyung.” He started, and his low tone didn’t seem to bring good news.

Chan nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“I know I’m not really good at these things, but I think you should see this.”

The dancer handed him the phone, and Chan turned pale.

It was a picture taken from last night. Chan’s silhouette was fairly obvious, slightly pixelated and hidden by his beanie and his mask. And right in front of him, back facing the camera, was you, your hand holding his.

“So it is you. That’s what I thought,” Minho mumbled. “A random number sent it to Hyunjin. He saved the picture and blocked it, but we thought you should know.”

“Did they know it was me?” Chan stuttered.

The cat owner shook his head, and Chan was able to breathe normally again. “They thought it had been me with Jisung.”

It was there when Chan’s daydreaming faltered.

His thoughts started spinning, not knowing how or where to start.

Would you know about this?

What would you do?

“Hyung.” Minho sighed. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

And Chan hadn’t been able to grasp that, but someone did.

The same someone who knocked on his door at night.

“Guys, you have your own cards.” Chan muttered, opening the door.

But it hadn’t been any of the guys.

“Hi.” You let out in a sight, panting.

Had you ran your way there?

“Hi.” He mumbled weakly.

“Can I…?” He opened the door for you, and quickly closed it back. He turned his back to you, his eyes wide and his heart going crazy.

“Chris.” You mumbled.

He turned around to face you.

“You asked me to stay last night and I went with you to the gardens.” You huffed. “But I want to stay here with you tonight.”

He blinked, passing a hand through his wavy hair. You were there. In front of him. Speaking. God, he had to concentrate.

“We’ll make a deal.” You breathed slowly, staring deeply into his eyes, yearning to know the secrets hidden behind them. “I’ll leave this here.”

You gently plopped your phone on the table near the door to his room. He was still standing there, as if frozen, pyjama pants on and only a bathrobe covering his lean and toned chest.

“A pretty man called Hyunjin came to me talking about some picture,” you started softly. “But yesterday didn’t happen so I’d ruin a man’s career.” His eyes followed how you raised your hands and smiled, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“It’s off.” Your voice lowered, and he got slightly closer, as if wanting to hear you better. “The phone, I mean. Feel free to check it.”

Surprisingly, he just stared at it, then smiled cheekily, heading towards you.

Your eyebrows shot up and you felt deliciously small under his new-formed grin, and how his hands cradled your face.

He pecked your lips with a yearning sigh.

“I missed you.”

You blushed.

“You can have me all night.” Your smile made him feel butterflies on his stomach. “Just me and you.”

He kissed you again, longer this time.

His frame slowly caged you against the door, and he broke the kiss, stroking your cheeks. His body was pressed up against yours, his lips parted as he breathed softly, taking you in. He could feel heat running down his body just by the feeling of you back in his arms, and the only thought that he had clear is that he couldn't hold back anymore.

He needed to kiss you, again, and again, and again. He needed to figure out what you tasted like. He needed to have you. Your hands had gone back to where they had been the night before, and the way you stared at his lips threatened to make him fall to his knees.

His eyes were glued on your lips, and not long after, his mouth followed.

Chris’ heart was pounding against his chest, and he knew for a fact that he had never felt this way before. Never in his whole life. The more he tasted your lips, the kiss almost as passionate as your first one, the more you ruined him, claiming him as yours, making him addictied to the way you sighed and grinned as he moved your bodies to the bed, the hotter his body became.

He fell with you on the matress, and much to his surprise, you moved your bodies, sitting on his lap, taking a groan out of him.

“Such a beauty,” you mumbled, almost to yourself rather than him. “All for me, huh?” You smirked.

The whole world was hazy, the only thing that was clear was your body and your words. Just hearing your voice saying those words to him made him shiver, a shiver that he never experienced before.

He smirked too, and sighed when you untied his bathrobe, your hands roaming freely wherever you wanted to, stroking his chest, claiming him with kisses, the soft colour that they left behind, pink due to your lipstick, and the soft scratches of your nails, that made him bite his lip to keep his sounds hidden.

“Nuh-uh.” You tutted at him with a smile.

He snickered. “Oh, princess. Two can play that game.”

His hands pinned you down against the bed, his lips quickly going back to yours.

“You said I needed to keep my tongue to myself, and I promised that I would” He grinned, almost menacingly, lowering himself, trailing kisses down your body, discarding your underwear.

“I intend to break that promise.”

Maybe you and him would be difficult.

But he had asked you to stay, and you did. And he didn’t want to stop trying. Not yet.

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

~Kats, who did most of this in a hospital bed (‘m okay now dw) but fell asleep and didn’t publish it, lol. I LOVED THIS IDEA POOKIE TYSM !!

2K notes · View notes

angelsrcute · 19 days

Note

can you do the they catch you read something spicy with kaeya, xiao and alhaitham?

THEY CATCH YOU SEEING/READING SOMETHING SPICY. 𝜗𝜚

(´∀｀*)ε｀　) ౨ৎ N–sfw content !! ; Dom!Kaeya, Xiao, Alhaitham + Fem n M(Xiao's part)!Reader ➜ cws: Modern au, riding, spanking. ᡴꪫ‎

꒰ঌ 𝐊𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐚 ໒꒱ — 🪦

He'd tease you about it so much I bet. He was working on a paper and saw you were focused on your phone. He got up, curious on what you were reading with so much focus that you're not doing the papers that are to be submitted tomorrow. You let out a shriek after noticing him behind you,

“Woah..are you into those type of things? interesting, Y/N. Why not try it, hm? given you're so red about it.” He coos, climbing on the couch, taking the phone away, “Welp, there goes our paper. Do think of the excuse we're gonna give.”

꒰ঌ 𝐗𝐢𝐚𝐨 ໒꒱ — 🪦

He would be crazy blushing. He decided to go to your room to play games, but God damn, what the hell. You were watching hentai. And it wasn't some normal type too, fuck, how down bad were you?

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?? yikes..”

Well this guy is fucked because you're already leading him to the bed, ass presented to you as his face faces the laptop. Let's just say Xiao couldn't walk the next day nor could he go out, especially with those visible ass bite marks.

꒰ঌ 𝐀𝐥 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ໒꒱ — 🪦

He'd be amused, but jealous too. God, what's the good about that fictional character when he's right there? the audacity! So here you are now, on top of him as you ride him, whining at how big he is. He'd spank your ass if you got too loud, reminding you that the neighbours would complain. Your cunt sucking his dick in, head all warm and fuzzy, eyes hazy. You had forgotten how many times you came, body shaking at this point.

“Why? Thought you wanted to be fucked stupid, reading that ‘overstimulation’ or whatever fanfiction. So, now be a little grateful.”

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ellemj · 5 months

Text

Right Here: 12 Days of Smut #6

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot

Summary: The team decides to interrupt your spicy moment with Bucky. The two of you have to sit through a debate about Christmas movies while being as discrete as possible about what's going on beneath the blanket that's covering both of your laps.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, cockwarming, slight exhibitionism, fingering, unprotected sex, sex in a common area, dirty talk, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 1.8k (it's a lil one)

A/N: I let @littlemiss-yeehaw read this first and her biggest concern was that I originally spelled Santa Clause without an 'e' on the end and she wasn't having it. But special thanks to her for catching my embarrassing mistakes and keeping me from having a big head.

It’s so damn big. It’s so big that you don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to sit still and stay quiet enough to make it through the next fifteen minutes until everyone has gone their separate ways for bed. It’s so big that even just taking a deep breath is too much movement for your body to handle. It is so fucking big that Bucky doesn’t know how you’re taking it so well. He knows his size is pushing you right to the edge of your limits, he knows you’re probably feeling more pain than pleasure in this moment, and honestly, all of that only makes him want to hold you here longer.

Bucky probably doesn’t even know that there’s a word for what you’re doing right now. You know he’s still a decent bit behind the times when it comes to modern-day dating and sexual education, so there’s no way he would have the vocabulary to accurately describe what this is. It’s cockwarming. If he knew the word for it, he’d add it to his list of favorite things. He might even go as far as writing it down in that little notebook he got from Steve. It’s the best thing he’s experienced since the first time he slept with you.

“Come on, nothing beats the original Santa Clause movies with Tim Allen. You can’t tell me that you really think Home Alone is better.” Sam says while giving Wanda a look of disbelief. The group has been arguing back and forth about Christmas movies for the last five minutes. You and Bucky had been watching, or more accurately listening to whatever festive flick was suggested first when you’d originally settled in for a movie by yourself. It wasn’t long before Bucky finished up in the gym, showered, and found you looking all irresistible on the couch. You were curled up under your little fleece blanket with a mug of hot cocoa in one hand and the other hand running through your hair. You barely even noticed Bucky when he joined you on the couch, completely invested in the most mediocre movie you could’ve chosen. That’s when he started running a hand up your thigh, innocently at first. He let his fingertips grace your skin so lightly, gliding back and forth from your knee up to the hem of your little pajama shorts. He liked the way you tried to pretend that it didn’t give you goosebumps or make your panties a little wetter than before. He knew that he had you right where he wanted you when he let his pinky finger brush over the fabric of your panties, just underneath your shorts, and you didn’t make a single move to stop him. In fact, you actually spread your legs a little more for him, giving him a silent go-ahead. Somehow, all of that built up and led to where you are now, firmly seated on his lap with your shorts and panties pulled to the side, silently sitting with Bucky’s entire length buried deep inside of you.

The Christmas movie argument drones on around you with no sign of dying off as you fight to breathe as slow and even as you can. Bucky’s impressive girth has always been an adjustment for you, no matter how many times you’ve fucked. He always has to give you a minute or two to get used to his size before pushing himself all the way in, but there wasn’t any time for that tonight. He had been watching the tip of his cock disappear inside of you when you both heard the commotion in the hallway, warning you that you were about to be interrupted by the rest of the team. Your first instinct was to get off of him and take your seat beside him on the couch but Bucky just couldn’t let that happen, so he gripped your hips even tighter and pulled you all the way down onto his lap. You let a whimper escape your lips at the stinging pain you felt increasing with every inch that penetrated your tight little entrance, but quickly silenced yourself and sat still as Bucky arranged the throw blanket just right to cover both of you from prying eyes.

“You’re so fucking tight. If you don’t relax, you’re going to make me cum in front of everyone.” Bucky grunts in your ear, his words so hushed and whispered that no one could have possibly heard him except for you. You take a deep breath, trying your best to relax around him. You focus in on Wanda’s speech about why Home Alone is the superior Christmas movie, but your focus is quickly broken when you feel Bucky’s right hand slip under the blanket and slide along the outside of your thigh. You want to tell him to keep his hands to himself, to calm the fuck down until you can get away from everyone and have a little privacy, but there’s no way for you to do that without revealing your current situation to everyone. So, you sit there, gently biting on your bottom lip as Bucky’s fingers reach your clit and begin rubbing agonizingly slow circles. After a few seconds of stimulation, you can feel the stinging pain of Bucky’s cock stretching your walls residing.

“That’s it, you’re getting used to it, aren’t you?” Bucky whispers, referring to the size of his cock. You let out a sigh but don’t even offer him a nod in response, too scared that someone will start to suspect something’s going on underneath the thin blanket. “My cock isn’t too big for you, huh baby?” Fuck. He knows it’s too big for you, but he also knows how determined you always are to get used to it and take it all just for him. You’ve always been ambitious. Bucky speeds up his actions on your clit, and you’re just starting to feel that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach when he spreads his index and middle fingers apart and slides them further in between your legs. It’s a new sensation for both of you as you feel his fingers slip between your folds and go around either side of where his dick is currently buried inside you. You feel Bucky shudder beneath you at how wet you are for him. He so wishes he could try adding a finger in alongside his dick, but he knows it would be too much for you, especially when you’re supposed to be staying quiet. He’ll save it for the next time he has you all to himself.

You’re sick of the Christmas movie talk. You’re sick of not being able to ride Bucky’s cock until you’re a mutual mess of sweat and cum. You’re sick of sitting here so still and stoic. So, just as you think the Christmas movie talk might be nearing a close, you stretch your arms up above your head and let out an audible yawn. That small movement alone causes Bucky to move his hands to your hips abruptly, gripping you tightly as a warning for you to stop moving. You smile and pretend it’s a smile at whatever the hell Sam is saying about Santa Clause. Testing the waters, you circle your hips once, as discretely as possible. You grind down on Bucky’s cock, letting your clit press against his balls, sending a nice little rush of pleasure throughout your body.

Shit. Bucky needs everyone gone. He needs you alone right fucking now. He needs the chance to flip you over so you’re face down and ass up on the couch, giving him the perfect angle and opportunity to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to remember what holiday you’re celebrating tomorrow. Bucky holds your hips so tightly that he knows your perfect smooth skin will be littered with bruises tomorrow, but he couldn’t care less. He keeps you still on his cock until Wanda and Vision finally stand up and bid their goodnights, heading off to bed. That leaves the two of you, Sam, and Torres. The two men remain in the living area for another two minutes until Bucky’s cold stare and your oddly out-of-character lack of conversational skills drives them both back to their separate rooms.

As soon as Bucky hears the final bedroom door shut in the distance, he’s lifting you off of his cock and tossing you onto the couch.

“Bucky, not here.” You laugh lightly at his impatience.

“Oh, we’re doing this right here. Don’t move.” Just to make sure you won’t move, Bucky places his vibranium hand over your middle back and pushes you down until you’re in the exactly position he wanted you in, before pulling your shorts and panties to the side once more with his right hand and slotting the head of his cock into your entrance. He doesn’t give you the usual amount of time to adjust, since you just sat on his entire length for so long. Instead, he slams into you and then watches as you quickly clamp a hand over your mouth. He doesn’t care how loud your bodies sound as they collide over and over again with each thrust. He doesn’t give the slightest shit that anyone could walk in right now. All Bucky cares about is feeling you come undone all over his cock.

He fucks you with every bit of pent-up frustration he’s withheld for the last fifteen minutes, dragging his cock out of you before pushing it back in repeatedly. You know he’s close when his vibranium hand leaves your back and he uses both hands to grip your hips and pull you back to meet every thrust. With your hand clamped over your mouth still, you fail to warn Bucky that you’re right on the edge of an orgasm, but you don’t even have to. He can feel the way your walls are clenching around his shaft and the way your legs are fighting to spread even more so he can reach impossibly deeper inside you. You want more, you need more.

Bucky snakes his flesh hand between your legs and begins giving your clit the stimulation that it needs to force an orgasm out of you. He fucking hates when you hold it back. As your orgasm rips through your body, causing your legs to tremble and pussy to tighten around his cock even more, Bucky continues to fuck into you until he can’t contain himself. He copies your annoying little move, refusing to tell you that he’s close. You figure it out yourself when you hear a deep groan rumble past his lips and feel him thrust one final time, making sure he’s balls-deep before filling you with his cum. He ends the night with one simple question, as he pulls his length out of you and situates your panties and pajama shorts back where they belong.

“So, do you have a favorite Christmas movie?”

TAG LIST:

@charmedbysarge @gyokujyn @mrsjoequinn @thealloveru2 @nixxaswrld @ordelixx @sweettae02 @frombkjar @hellfirebabe @edelweissbarnes @claireelizabeth85 @fandomsfeminismandme @sunnyhummingbee @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @crist1216 @twlkdead

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes fic #12 days of smut

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aerynwrites · 7 months

Text

Longing Pt. 2

Halsin x afab!Reader

A/N: it’s FINALLY here - sorry for taking so long with it lmao. NSFW stuff, while I love it is so hard for me to write. But here you go! I hope you all enjoy this spicy conclusion to this story!

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY || smut, virgin!Reader, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, PiV sex, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, Halsin being a total sweetheart by duh, fluff so much fluff and soft, aftercare (kinda?), outdoor sex, kissing, more fluff.

Part 1 || Masterlist

The early evening air is warm as it kisses your skin through the forest canopy. It’s the one thing you notice most besides the soft cloth covering your eyes, a familiar warm hand in your own being your guide through the foliage.

“Halsin, why can’t you just tell me where we’re going?” you ask, laughing through the question.

“Because, my heart, if I told you what was in store, it would no longer be a surprise,” he rebuffs, and you can practically hear the smile in his words.

You let out a little huff, but don’t argue further, letting the druid lead you through the forest by hand.

The journey is slow, with Halsin careful to guide you around any roots or rocks so you don’t stumble over the terrain, and you use the time to try and figure out where he’s taking you.

The smells of the forest fill your nose, the crunch of leaves beneath your feet, and you can even feel the last rays of the day’s light on your skin through the branches of the trees. But what gives you the most information is the sound of water roaring in the distance.

The waterfall.

Halsin had shown it to you just a few days prior, having found it on one of his outings in wild shape form. You remember vividly his barely contained excitement as he tugged you through the woods to show you, the blindfold withstanding.

You start to wonder why he would bring you back here so soon, and you cheeks heat at the first thought that comes to mind. When you had both arrived at the destination last time, you’d wasted little time stripping from your armor down to your underclothes and jumping in - Halsin not far behind you.

The druid had pulled you into his arms then, lips claiming your own as he maneuvered you both behind the waterfall’s curtain. You had almost jumped the proverbial cliff then, finally feeling comfortable enough to take that final step with him.

But he had pulled away, smiling down at you before tugging you back out into the water and recalling a story from his childhood.

As the sound of the waterfall grows ever louder, you silently hope for a repeat of those events.

However, the true intent of this trip is revealed when Halsin finally brings you to a stop, hands sitting comfortingly on your shoulders.

“We’re here,” he says, gently tugging at the knot holding your blindfold together.

The cloth falls away from your eyes and you blink to adjust to the light. Your surroundings come into focus slowly and you realize that you are near the same waterfall, but instead of by the river below it, you’re in a small clearing above it. You see the small river that feeds it running steadily by before moving to rush down the cliff side. And the view…it takes your breath away.

The clearing sits above the valley that holds your camp, letting you see for miles, the slowly descending sun casting an ethereal orange glow over the landscape.

Finally, your eyes land on what you assume is the last part of the surprise Halsin has planned.

In the middle of the clearing, just a few yards from the river’s edge, is an arrangement of dozens of furs laid out on the grass. You see a small burlap sack which you assume holds an assortment of food and drinks. And there’s even…candles. Some short, some tall - all of them spread around the space and lit, giving the moment a more… intimate feel than is already present.

Soft lips press against your temple before trailing down to brush your jaw.

“What do you think, my love?”

His words are soft, and you detect a hint of hesitance in them, as if he is worried you would reject this thoughtful presentation.

You turn around in his arms, lips spreading into a wide smile, your arms slipping around his waist as his do the same.

“You did all this? Is this where you were all day?” you ask, remembering his absence from your side this morning when you woke.

The druid nods. “When I found this place the idea immediately came to mind and I…I wanted to surprise you.”

Warmth blooms in your chest at his words, his thoughtfulness nearly knocking you off your feet.

You love this man.

“Well,” you finally say, leaning back to look up at him. “Consider me surprised. But…” you trail off, brows furrowing in question. “Is there an occasion for all this?”

Halsin pauses then, seemingly considering his words. You wait patiently as he does so, relishing in his embrace, his thumbs brushing over your hips slowly.

“I will not lie and say I have no goals in mind for this night but…” He pauses, eyes trailing over your face, hands tightening on your hips. “I just want to show you my love. In all the ways nature intended. If you will have me.”

Your heart stutters in your chest at his words, picking up on their meaning as all the warmth in your chest shifts down to pool in your belly instead.

You smile up at him again before leaning in to hug him, cheek pressed against his chest as he returns the affection.

“I’d love nothing more.”

Halsin leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling away quicker than you like, eyes shining with happiness as he leads you towards the furs.

“Let us eat first, while the sun still graces us with her presence. I gathered some of your favorites.”

The fur is soft beneath your feet as you remove your boots and move to settle onto the large makeshift blanket, Halsin right behind you. Idle talk fills the air as he begins pulling items from the bag, and you can’t stop the way your mouth waters at the presentation before you.

Various meats and cheeses, fresh fruit, wine, and even freshly baked items. Blueberry tarts. Sweet buns. This has obviously been in the works for a good while for him to find time to locate these items - a realization that makes your heart swell with adoration.

Quickly, before Halsin has finished unpacking, you lean in and press a chaste kiss to his lips, cheeks warm.

“Thank you. For all of this, for everything.”

Pausing his work, Halsin smiles, leaning over on one hand before reaching up to cup the back of your neck with the other. He brings his lips back to yours, and this kiss lasts a little longer before he pulls away to gaze at you.

“You deserve all nature has to provide, my heart. I’m simply showing you its bounty,” he tells you, leaning back to pick up one of the blueberry pastries.

He tears off a small piece before holding it out to you, eyes twinkling.

You raise a brow, unable to stop the smile that tugs at your lips. “Feeding me by hand now, too?” you ask, scooting forward to close in on the treat. “Careful, you might just spoil me.”

You take the offered bite between your teeth, lips brushing the tips of his fingers before he pulls back. The pastry practically melts on your tongue, the crust buttery and flaky - a direct contrast to the tart sweetness of the blueberry mixture.

You can’t stop the moan of appreciation that comes from you as you savor the treat, already wanting more.

Halsin smiles, tearing off another bite and offering to you again. “I would give you the moon and stars in the sky if it is what you wished,” he says, eyes crinkling happily when you take the offering again.

You let out a contented hum, scooting until you’re finally side by side with your lover, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw.

“As nice as that sounds…I’m perfectly content with blueberry tarts and sweet buns.” You reach up to toy with one of the braid in his hair. “And you, of course.”

Halsin laughs at your addition, the sound loud and joyous as it echoes through the trees. “I am honored to be listed among the sweetest of treats. Although, I must disappoint you and say that honey might always be my first love.”

You scoff, feigning hurt as you lean away from him, a hand over your heart. “I’m wounded. I thought what we had was special.”

Strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into his lap effortlessly as he attacks your neck and shoulders with kisses, making giggles erupt from your lips.

“You know I only jest,” he tells you as he finally pulls away, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair away from your face. “You are the only thing my heart desires. The moon to my night sky and the soil to my earth. Nothing could ever compare.”

Tears burn at the back of your eyes, and you have to blink to keep them back, his words making your heart so full you feel it might burst.

Cupping his face gently, you take a moment to let your eyes roam, taking in everything about the man beneath you. His scars that some might be frightened by, but you think makes him more handsome. The curving crimson tattoo that adorns his skin. His strong brow that complements his soft hazel eyes. And his lips…lips that smile down at you so often you sometimes worry they might get stuck that way. The smile that makes crow's feet appear at his eyes and show years of laughter he’s shared.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to each cheek before finally meeting his lips, holding him to you until the need for air arises.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, meaning every word.

————

The evening continues much like this. Eating and drinking and sharing kisses between, until you’re too full to continue. By then, night has fallen and has you both on your backs next to one another, eyes turned towards the stars as you each point out constellations and the stories behind them.

Halsin shows you the one representing Silvanus and goes on to tell you about his god and the stories behind his origin. You show him a constellation of the goddess your parents worshiped, recalling fond memories of your childhood.

A gasp falls from your lips in the middle of the story, eyes widening as you point up to the sky.

“Halsin, look, a shooting star!”

The little white light streaks across the sky, and you reach over to grab his hand in yours. “Close your eyes and make a wish!” you demand, eyes scrunching closed childishly.

You open your eyes once more only to see dozens of other stars following the first. Flashes of light igniting the sky before fading away.

You’ve never seen anything like it.

“Wow, it’s…beautiful,” you whisper.

You hear Halsin him in agreement. “It is…Nature has once again outdone itself.”

You turn to look at him, only to see his eyes aren’t on the sky at all.

They’re on you.

“You’re not even looking,” you chastise quietly.

Halsin smiles. “I’m looking at something more beautiful than even the stars.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks once more. “Halsin…”

Before your protest can continue, Halsin is moving. He rolls deftly towards you, hand never leaving yours until he pins it beneath his own beside your head, hovering over you. Your heart leaps in your chest, legs moving instinctively to cradle his hips as he settles above you.

His hair falls over his shoulders, the small braids swaying slightly in the soft breeze that whispers through the forest. His hand squeezes your own before his other comes up to cradle your face, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“I do not speak words without them being truthful - false niceties are an affront to those we care about, and I do not say these things insincerely,” he tells you, voice unusually quiet. “My heart does not stir lightly. But it does now. Allow me to show you the pleasures of the heart, my love.”

Excitement stirs in your chest before settling lower, warming your belly and making arousal thrum through your veins. You nod, reaching up to card your fingers through soft honey colored hair, before settling at the back of his neck.

He responds swiftly to your silent approval, his lips coming down to capture yours in a kiss so unlike the others you’ve shared tonight. They were soft and gentle and chaste, but this…

This is all consuming.

It’s heated, but not rushed. Firm, but not uncaring. His lips move against yours as if he’s pouring all his devotion into you, tongue teasing your lips until you grant him entrance.

Sighs and groans leave you both, swallowed by the other or lost to the night air as hands and lips start to roam.

Halsin shifts above you, moving to straddle your hips as his lips travel from yours to leave suckling kisses at your jaw, his hands moving to settle on your waist.

Your own hands fumble, not sure where to go when they want to touch him everywhere. They flit from his hips to his waist down to his thighs before running back up to tug at the hem of his shirt, fingers twitching as they itch to slip beneath the fabric.

Gods… you’ve never done this before. Is it too forward? Should you wait? Will he want to undress you first? What if-

Halsin’s soft chuckle rips you from your racing thoughts as he presses a kiss to the underside of your jaw, nipping lightly.

“You are free to touch, my love,” he says, as if reading your unsure thoughts. “I know I plan to. So, I believe it’s only fair of you to do the same.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at his words, his promise to touch you as you want to touch him. But his encouragement works, and before you let your insecurity take over once more, you slide your hands under his shirt.

You sigh as your hands meet his skin, instantly relishing in the heat radiating from him. The fabric rides up around your wrists as you reach higher, fingers tracing each and every muscle and divot in his skin. You think you can faintly feel scars marring his flesh, some large, some small as they stretch across his skin.

You aren’t left to wonder for long though, as Halsin pulls himself from you only long enough to tug his shirt over his head and toss it to the side before leaning forward once more, covering you with his body.

You almost let out a whine, wanting more than just a second to take him in, but the thought is quickly forgotten as his lips return to you once more, this time relentless against the sensitive skin of your neck.

His teeth gently nip at you before his tongue comes behind to soothe the mark he’s no doubt left behind.

Your hands trail up from where they rest at his sides, coming to run over his chest, the dark hair tickling your palms until they eventually flit upwards to rest against his shoulders.

Expert fingers tug at the laces of your top, and your eyes fall to meet those of the man above you. He’s pulled away from you now, eyes searching your face as he continues to toy with the front of your shirt.

Your chest is heaving, and it’s only in this moment of silence do you realize the heat running through you. The way your toes curl into the furs beneath you, the tingling and pleasure settling low in your belly.

Gods, you want him.

You arch up into his hands ever so slightly. “You don’t have to ask,” you say, tone impatient, a surprise even to you.

Halsin’s brows furrow, lips turning down ever so slightly. “Of course I do.” He leans down to place a kiss to the corner of your lips before trailing a path down your jaw to just below your ear. “Your comfort is my utmost priority, so I will ask each and every time.”

His over abundance of care makes warmth bloom in your chest, disposing what little nerves may have been lingering in the back of your mind.

You smile, turning your head to capture his lips with yours as you give his shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

“I can assure you,” you tell him, pulling away from the kiss just enough to raise your arms above your head. “I’ll be most comfortable when we’re both rid of all our clothing.”

Halsin smiles, eyes twinkling with amusement. “As nature intended.”

You can’t stop the giggle that slips past your lips as Halsin lifts your shirt over your arms. You’re used to his druidic nature quips, but they still always manage to bring a smile to your face.

Halsin is quick to oblige your request, and soon you’re both bare against the furs, and that tiny tinge of uncertainty is back as Halsin’s eyes roam over you.

Without thought, your arms come up to cover yourself, but Halsin is quick to stop you in your tracks. He takes your hands in his, threading your fingers together before pressing them into the ground beside your head.

“Do not hide from me,” he whispers, leaning down to brush gentle lips over your collarbone and down lower. “You are beautiful - more radiant than the sun on a clear day and more ethereal than the moon at its fullest.”

He nips at the swell of your breast before kissing the soft skin and traveling lower, pausing between the valley of your chest to shower kisses over the softness of your stomach.

Blood rushes in your ears, heart pounding, arousal shooting to your core as you realize the path he’s taking and his most likely destination.

“Halsin…” His name leaves your lips in a gasp as his hands leave yours to follow the path his lips took just moments before.

You can feel the roughness of his palms in stark contrast to the softness of your skin, arching up into them as he reaches your breasts, kneading them in his hands.

His thumbs brush over stiffened peaks, teasing as his lips move lower, nose nudging at your navel.

“I wish to know all of you, my heart - body and soul.” His lips move against the delicate skin of your hip, breath fanning over your most intimate parts. “I have longed to taste you, to have you come undone on my tongue before I show you the other pleasures nature has to offer.”

You’ve honestly never really thought about this before, your mind always jumping to the ‘ main act,’ if you will. But now, with Halsin’s hands on you and his lips so close to where you ache for him to touch you…You find you’ve never wanted anything more.

Your hips lift from the furs involuntarily, and Halsin’s hands are quick to slide down to your hips, holding you in place gently as a chuckle leaves his lips, ghosting against the crux of you once more.

“Yes - please …” The words fall from your lips in hushed whispers, the breath having long since left you.

You don’t even know what you’re begging for. It’s not like Halsin was asking, but he must find your quiet words pleasing as another amused rumble comes from him.

He’s down lower now, his lips brushing teasingly against the inside of your knee, placing feather light kisses up along your inner thigh.

“I’ll have you begging for much more than this before the night is done.”

A shudder runs through you at his words and before a retort can even come to your mind, his mouth is on you, stealing all thoughts away. A gasp falls from your lips as your fingers move to tangle in his hair, wanting to keep him close and push him away all at once.

His tongue parts you eagerly, his nose bumping against your clit as he teases your entrance.

Arousal is hot and piercing in your core, making you even wetter than you were before, Halsin’s ministrations spurring your pleasure higher and higher with each expert stroke.

The sensation is so… foreign. Something you’ve never experienced before that has you craving more and wanting to run away at the same time. Inexperience and utter pleasure push and shove at one another, until the latter wins out as Halsin presses one finger against you, sinking in ever so slowly.

His tongue, his lips, and now his finger sinking into you makes that feeling in your belly crescendo, a feeling new to you. You don’t know whether to urge him on or tell him to stop.

As if sensing your dilemma, Halsin adds another finger, making your jaw drop open as he crooks them inside of you, brushing up against a spot that makes you see stars.

He pulls away from you then, pressing a hurried kiss to your hip, nipping at the skin there.

“ Let go for me, little one. ”

His words are the last thing you need to catapult you over the ledge you’ve never jumped before. The tension in your core bursts, the taut pressure snapping in two as your body arches into Halsin’s.

Utter euphoria rushes through your veins in a burning tidal wave, toes curling, fingers tingling from where they still clutch at his hair. You can’t even find it in you to think about loosening your grip, the pleasure coursing through you like an electric current and locking you in place.

You have nearly no idea how much time has passed before your mind comes back to you, your chest heaving with tired pants as Halsin kisses his way back up to you, nuzzling your jaw before peppering kisses to your cheeks as his hands rub soothing patterns against your sides.

“That was…” You trail off, both lost for words and still trying to get your breath back. “A lot.”

Halsin chuckles again, making you warm inside for a completely different reason as he presses his lips to yours in a slow kiss before pulling away to press another one to your temple, lips tugged up in a grin.

“Well…I did promise to overwhelm you,” he says, calling back to your conversation all those weeks ago.

You huff out a short laugh of your own, arms coming up to wrap under his own so your hands rest against the back of his shoulders.

“Consider me overwhelmed.”

That smile still on his lips, Halsin comes back down to nuzzle at your jaw again, hands trailing down your sides to rest on your thighs, guiding them to cradle his hips as he press his body more fully into yours.

A short gasp slips past your lips as you feel him against you, hot and heavy against your inner thigh. You can’t help the way your eyes glance downwards, widening at the sight of him. You hadn’t really thought to look earlier, everything else holding your attention instead, but…

Good gods above-

“ Will it fit?” The question is out of your mouth before you can think better of it, the hot swell of embarrassment creeping up your neck as Halsin laughs again, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet forest.

He pulls you closer to him, your chest brushing his own as he captures your lips again. One hand reaching up to cradle your jaw, thumb rubbing soothingly against the skin there.

When he pulls away, it’s just far enough for his forehead to rest gently against yours.

“I will go slow,” he assures you, pressing soft kisses to our brow, “but you must be my guide, tell me what pleasures you most or what causes you discomfort and I will adjust accordingly.”

Once again, despite this intimate moment, Halsin is ever the considerate, giving partner. Never putting his pleasure above yours.

You smile up at him, fingers pressing into his back slightly.

“Thank you.” You lean up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “But I…I want you to enjoy this, too. It doesn’t have to be about just me.”

Halsin eyes twinkle in delight, one corner of his lips tugging upwards in that rare but beguiling smirk.

“Trust me, my heart - I am enjoying myself more than you can imagine. You are giving me a most precious gift, your trust - it is more than this old druid could ever ask for.”

His words once again, strike deep, your arousal and happiness all swirling into one big ball in your chest about to burst. You tug him down on top of you, relishing in the closeness of his chest against yours, his hands on your skin, his lips on your cheek.

“You have it,” you tell him, voice wavering with emotion. “I love you, Halsin. Please… I trust you.”

“I love you too, my heart.”

Halsin’s words are but a whisper against your lips before he claims them again, mounding you to him as he positions himself to press at your entrance.

He enters slowly, never breaking your kiss, swallowing the sharp gasp that leaves you. Your fingers dig into his back at the intrusion - while not painful, it is foreign; a pleasurable pressure within you that expands more and more the deeper into you he goes.

Your earlier orgasm makes his movements easier, but he still pauses when he meets resistance, a sharp intake of breath from you all he needs as an indicator.

He breaks his lips from yours, reaching up to brush a stray hair from your forehead now dewy with perspiration. His brow furrows in concern.

“Are you alright?”

You nod. It’s the truth - you are fine, there is no pain, but, gods, you already feel full and you haven’t even taken him fully yet.

“I-I’m fine, just-“ Another breathless gasp as he twitches inside you. “Go s - slow.”

Halsin obliges, working into you in slow, measured thrusts, pulling back before sinking a little deeper each time. Each movement, no matter how small - how tempered - sends a jolt of pleasure through you, igniting the flame that never really seemed to go out.

It’s like everything is amplified by a thousand with him moving against you. The way the hair on his chest brushes against your skin sends tingles down your spine. The blood rushing in your ears, the soft pants he exhales - breath warm against your cheek from where his forehead nuzzles your own. His hand feels like a branding iron against your skin where he pulls your leg up over his hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks behind.

You can tell he’s holding back, using every ounce of control he has to please you - to not rush this.

Your heart aches in the best way when he finally - finally - bottoms out, his hips flush against your own. His head falls to your shoulder, and the groan he lets out is sinful enough to match the moan that falls from your own lips - his name a whispered prayer in the night air.

You’re so full it feels like you can’t take a full breath without feeling him everywhere. Inside you, on top of you, his lips against your skin and his hands holding you in just the right way. You feel…made for him. Him made for you. Like pieces of a puzzle finally joining together.

You relish in the feeling of him like this. But more than that, you desperately want him to move, your hips twitching against his in silent request. Only, when he doesn’t respond do you speak up.

“I think…I’m alright, you can move,” you tell him, voice breathy.

You feel him nod against your shoulder, hair tickling the sensitive skin there as he speaks. “Yes I, ah - just need a moment.”

One of your hands runs down his back and then up again, your legs squeezing his hips gently. “Are you okay?”

Halsin laughs quietly, breath hot against your skin before pulling away, lifting one hand up to cradle your cheek as he gazes down at you in utter adoration.

“Yes, just…admiring all of nature's creations, and…considering how very lucky I am.”

You smile up at him, eyes starting to feel watery at the sincerity behind his words. “Halsin, I…I’m lucky too.”

His lips turn upwards before he leans down to place a slow, deliberate kiss to your lips before pulling away. “I care about you a great deal. More than…more than I can express. So, I will do my best to show you.”

His meaningful words end just as he decides to move, pulling out before sliding back in with one smooth thrust. The movement makes stars erupt before you as your eyes clamp shut, pleasure singing through you.

Halsin picks up his speed when you offer no complaint, skin slapping against skin as he finds a steady rhythm. His lips press haphazardly against you, moving from your neck to your collarbone, down and then back up again, as if he wants to worship all of you but doesn’t know where to start.

One of his hands plants itself in the furs beside your head, fingers digging into the soft fabric for purchase while the other falls down to grip your leg again, tugging it ever higher on his hip, allowing him to press deeper into you.

A high-pitched cry escapes your lips at the movement, the new angle letting him hit something devastating inside of you with each thrust.

Your fingers dig into his back, nails no doubt leaving behind marks as they score down his shoulder blades, desperate to pull him closer. He drops down to bear his weight on his forearm, pushing himself closer to you, pressing you into the furs beneath you as if he too can’t get close enough.

“ Oak Father preserve me,” Halsin practically growls, burying his face into your shoulder, blunt teeth digging into your skin before he speaks again. “You are so… perfect. Like you were created by the gods themselves just for me,” he groans as his hips stutter momentarily, grinding up into you. “I love you, my heart, more than words or any actions can describe.”

His words, the way he feels inside you, the way his lips smooth the dull ache his teeth left behind, it’s all too much. It’s overwhelming in the best way as that coil in your belly pulls taut again, ready to snap at a moment's notice.

Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, one of your hands coming up to cradle the back of his head, holding him to you as your legs finally move to wrap around his waist, heels digging into him, urging him on - silently begging him to bring you both to release.

“I love you too.” The words come out hoarse and broken.“ Fuck, Halsin I - I’m close, please… ”

He responds to your plea, his hips stuttering as he nears his own end. He turns his head ever so slightly, lips brushing your ear before placing a gentle kiss just below, whispering sweet nothings against your skin.

He reaches his end just before you do, and it brings about your own euphoria. The cord snaps just as his hips do against yours, warmth flooding you inside and out as you topple over the edge. His name falls from your lips over and over, a provocative incantation for only the night and the man above you to hear.

He works you through your release, only stilling when you’re both spent, chests rising and falling against one another, skin damp with sweat as you pull each other closer still.

Halsin tucks both arms beneath you as you slowly come down, pulling you tight against him as he rolls you both onto your sides.

Neither of you speak for several moments, instead choosing to bask in the afterglow, relishing the cool night air against your heated skin. Only when Halsin’s hand starts to trail random patterns against your back does he finally speak.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice gentle with just a touch of concern lacing his words.

You look up at him, brows furrowed. “Did I do something to suggest otherwise?”

Halsin shakes his head, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair back from your face. “No, but I…I know I am…more than most. I just wanted to ensure there were no…lingering discomforts.”

You shake your head. Other than the dull ache between your thighs, which you do not regret…there’s not a scratch on you. And you couldn’t feel better.

“No discomforts here,” you tell him, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “None that I’m going to complain about, anyway.”

Halsin lets out an amused huff before rolling once more so you rest on top of him, ignoring your gasp of surprise. “Good,” he says, reaching up to run warm hands down your sides before resting on your hips, eyes meeting yours once more. “I truly meant it when I said this was a gift. You are a gift, the greatest treasure Silvanus could have ever bestowed upon me.”

Halsin reaches up to take one of your hands that rests on his chest, bringing it up to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “You honor me by choosing to be by my side.”

Heat creeps up your neck, and words fail you at first. So, you lean forward to hide your face against him, nose brushing just below his ear as you nuzzle into the space between his head and shoulder.

“I’ve never…” You trail off before finally finding your words. “I’ve never trusted someone enough to…take this step with,” you admit, arms moving to wrap around him, hands tucking between his back and the furs beneath him. “Thank you for loving me enough to show me what it's like.”

Halsin’s arms wrap around your waist, holding you to him as his lips brush your temple.

“The pleasure was all mine, my heart. I love you more than the moon loves the stars and the sun loves the earth.”

You smile against him, eyes suddenly feeling heavy, sleep tugging at the edges of your consciousness. “That’s a lot of love…might take a while to get it all out.”

You feel his chest rumble with laughter. “That just means more nights with you in my arms.”

You hum in agreement, finally letting your eyes fall shut. And, as Halsin’s arms hold you tight, you both fall asleep under the stars, nature surrounding you.

#Halsin x reader #halsin x fem!reader #Halsin bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 #halsin

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changetyre · 5 months

Note

Can you feed me a fic?

Reader being Landos/Oscars gf and she wears something w big boobage so the boobs are unmissable and the bf eyes just don’t leave her cleavage for a damn time and he gently touches them and goes oink oink

Or he gets turned on and they have a spicy time in his drivers room

Or both

Stay hydrated love

One each II LN4 x Reader x OP81 ⓈⒽ

SUMMARY: Your boyfriends were so different to each other but when it came to you they were both a menace.

WARNINGS: Suggestive content...18+? First non smut fic here wow!

A/N: I know the request said one or the other but why limit ourselves like that you know I'm a sucker for poly fics anyways ;) This is short but open to making a part 2 if requested 👀

"You're going to dinner in that?" Oscar asked utter shock audible in his voice as he stared unashamedly at your chest.

"Well yeah, I-" You were about to explain when your other boyfriend walked out of the bathroom.

"WOAH!" His eyes opened wide, a smile forming on his face as he stared right at your boobs.

You'd bought yourself what you thought was a nice fancy dress for the end-of-year McLaren dinner they were going to with your boys, yes it was a little more revealing than usual but you didn't expect the boys to be this shocked about it.

"Come to Daddy." Lando giggled as he approached you with his pointer finger before poking one boob and then the other. "oink oink." He poked each one as he said so.

Lando giggled while Oscar simply rolled his eyes at his man's antics unable to hold back the smile. Oscar was often more serious and reserved while Lando was as immature as they came often saying the first thing that came to mind something that frequently got him in trouble.

"Why are you showing everyone our babies?" Oscar asked this time as he cupped your breasts on each side squeezing them together creating even more cleavage between the slit of your dress.

You weren't even surprised with the boys touching you so much often having a hard time with keeping their hands to themselves but you still found their behavior right now hilarious.

"It's a dinner dress you muppets. Now be sensible and keep your hands off...and eyes up here." You stepped back causing Oscar's hands to fall at his sides yet you still saw how both their eyes kept staring straight at your boobs.

"BOYS!" You clapped in front of their faces making them snap out of their trance.

"aww, but baby." Lando pouted at the fact that you wouldn't let him stare.

"Right, I'm gonna change." You sighed defeated as you noticed even Oscar was having a hard time not staring and he was normally the one with a little more self-control.

"NO!" They both shouted at the same time, Oscar grabbing your hand to stop you.

"No, don't...we'll behave." Oscar tried to remain serious but you saw the little smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Can we at least give you a kiss? One each?" Lando asked, a smirk visible in his face which you knew meant he was up to something.

"Yeah..." You replied unsure of what he had planned.

"Kay." He chirped happily leaning forward, you puckered your lips ready for the kiss but jumped slightly when you felt his lips against your left boob and then your right.

"Lando!" you yelled when you felt his teeth on your right boob.

"My turn." Oscar leaned down kissing your right boob and then your left as you also felt his teeth on your left boob this time.

"BOYS!" You pushed Oscar back quickly running to the bathroom to see the quickly forming mark on each of your boobs.

"What is your problem?" You called out to them coming back out to see them both proudly smirking at each other.

"C, mon let's go to dinner we don't wanna be late." Oscar reached his hand out to you.

"I can't go to dinner with a hickie on each boob!" You huffed annoyed.

"Sure you can." Lando shrugged.

"We have to make sure everyone knows what's ours," Oscar replied.

You felt tingles run through your body in between your legs as Oscar said so, suddenly finding yourself speechless.

"C, mon darling." Oscar walked to you placing his hand around your waist before he pulled you to him giving you a quick yet passionate kiss, feeling as his tongue traced your lips before pulling away.

You didn't even have time to catch your breath before you were pulled to your other side where Lando did the same kissing you as if he was trying to collect the spit Oscar had just left on your lips.

"mhm." You moaned/whined as you felt Lando pulling away.

Your lips were glistening with the spit of both your boys as you stood breathless between them.

"Off we go then." Lando took your other hand while Oscar still held your other as they walked you out, their plan of getting you hot and bothered off to a great start.

Part 2

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #f1 smut #f1fic #formula 1 #changetyre #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri #lando norris smut #lando norris #lando norris x reader x oscar piastri #polyfic #f1polyfic #f1 poly #oscar piastri x lando norris #op81 x reader #ln4

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holybibly · 2 months

Text

BOTH | Yungi x reader

Genre: +18, MDNI, smut, fuck buddies, University!AU

Pairing: Ynho x reader, Mingi x reder

Word Count: 4.2 k

Summary: You've liked Yunho for a long time and don't mind having fun with him alone, but what if Mingi joins in? Well, you should play with both.

WARNING: light MxM, unprotected sex, fingering, choking, degrading, pet names, spit kink, size kink, face fucking, hair pulling, threesomes, dirty talk, explicit sexual content, explicit language, squirting, oral, cum eating, overstimulation and more.

Holy Bunnies Tag list: @tiny-apocalypse @captain-joongz @alicedawitchbish @woohwababes @wlv-asteria @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisprincesss @lavishloving @teagietots @spooo00oky @sousydive @hwapou @bunnliix @softwsan @mjyungi @fantasy2wonderland @noirsfantasy @cassies-cookies @renaholicss @luffypants @hyukssunflower @watermelon2319 @peachygiku @bunnyxoxodarling @stolasisyourparent @soranosnowbunny @certifiedmoa @sanglix @slvtiny @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hecateslittlewitchling @xxawl @pastellbunno @starlletsblog @seonghwasstar @hwanring @vtyb23 @pearltinyy @minjaeum @chasevixx @bomi-ja @onedumbho3 @sanglix @cursedeastern @itza-meee @pinkies-things @atinism

A/N: My precious bunnies are having a special day. I'm here to treat you to something sweet and savoury. It's not much because I didn't have a lot of time today, but it's my hope that it's to your liking. And I know it's been your wish to have me do Yungi. Lots of love, my bunnies.

dividers @cafekitsune

As you ran your hand over his head, Yunho's blond hair felt so soft and silky under your fingers. Your tongue curled around his in a seductive way as his hands tightened on your hips, pulling up the already short dress that you were wearing. The kiss was heavenly—sweet but passionate—and you felt a little dizzy, or was it the amount of alcohol you'd had? As you sat on the table with your legs wrapped around his slender waist, pulling him closer to his neck, your kiss grew more intense and sloppy with each passing second.

You hadn't expected the night to end like this. But you hadn't come here to argue. After a long dance that felt more like a dry hump, in the middle of a drunken house party you'd both been invited to by your mutual acquaintances, you'd snuck into an empty bedroom for a hot kissing session that promised to escalate into equally hot, and you really hoped so, rough sex. Hell, you really wanted Yunho to blow your brains out; you could already feel how big and thick his cock was through his jeans, and you hoped that the boy would know how to make good use of it.

You'd liked Yunho for a long time—sweet as candy, but with that spicy sugar daddy flavour—definitely your type, so the possibility of being alone with him tonight seemed like a dream come true. The scenario was perfect; you'd spent the evening teasing each other, and when his gorgeous, wiry hands went under your dress as you danced, you knew exactly where it was going.

You couldn't tell who had given up first or how you had ended up in this bedroom, but that was of little interest to you at the moment. Especially when Yunho's big hand began to massage your breasts through your dress, you couldn't wait to feel those long fingers inside your pussy.

Just as you were about to undo the waistband of his jeans, you heard the bedroom door open. As you glanced in that direction, you rolled your eyes in irritation and pulled yourself away from Yunho's soft, flushed lips. With his arms crossed over his broad, muscular chest and the tip of his tongue poking the corner of his plump, sensual lips, Mingi leaned against the doorjamb with a cheeky grin.

"Don't mind me. Keep having fun, baby." His voice was deep and husky, sexy as hell, and your pussy clenched involuntarily at the sound. Shit. Mingi, locking the door behind him, walked over to the bed and collapsed on it, resting his hands on the mattress behind him and spreading his legs apart, a mischievous grin playing on his handsome face as he watched you and Yunho, who, by the way, was completely ignoring Mingi's presence, now planting hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

Song Mingi was a narcissistic bastard who knew he was incredibly attractive and sexy. You wanted to slap him to wipe that smug look off his face. Or, more likely, ride his big, thick cock to make him whimper and gasp. And you knew from experience that that was exactly what he was going to be like—hot and completely lost in pleasure.

"Mingi, not right now." You told him, screaming as Yunho's fingers rubbed your pussy through your lace panties; you were already incredibly wet from the blond man's confident caresses, and Mingi's presence only made you even more wet.

"Oh, the doll is getting feisty, isn't she? Wasn't that the way you were talking to me when my tongue was licking your pretty, tight cunt, or do you need a reminder of what you did last Saturday?" He licked his plump lower lip and reminded you with a cheeky grin. All in all, you weren't in need of a reminder; the way you were rolling on top of his face would be hard to erase from your memory.

That seemed to have finally gotten Yunho's attention, causing him to pull away from your neck, and oh, God, you were in a panic; you wanted that cock, and you weren't about to give it up because Mingi couldn't control his damn mouth.

"I had no idea you and Mingi were... together."

You muttered to yourself and rolled your eyes, getting annoyed. Fuck Song Mingi and his big mouth, and fuck you for even deciding to sleep with him last weekend. In your defence, you were very horny, and he looked like a wet dream in that sheer mesh top. And need you tell how juicy and delicious his thick thighs looked in those leather trousers that clung to him like a second skin?

Girl, there was no way you could resist that, even if you were a nun.

Fully prepared for him to turn and walk away, leaving you horny and unsatisfied, you looked longingly into Yunho's handsome face. But when you noticed that there wasn't an ounce of jealousy or annoyance in his features, you were genuinely surprised. His chocolate-honey eyes darted from you to Mingi, his eyebrows slightly raised in a silent question he didn't dare ask out loud. But the way his cock twitched against your thigh or the way his pupils dilated told you that Yunho knew exactly what he wanted. Oops, it turns out that Jeong Yunho wasn't as sweet and vanilla as you thought he was. And Mingi, well, Mingi was clearly the type with some damn spicy tastes.

"Since both don't care..." Mingi just shrugged his shoulders and got up from the bed to come over to you and Yunho.

And if you weren't reliving your most forbidden and wet dream right now, you wouldn't know what else to call it, because something about the way Mingi's long, ringed fingers grabbed Yunho's chin and pulled him in for a kiss clearly did something to you. Mingi's pierced tongue slipped between Yunho's slightly pink lips, and you were drooling, a new batch of viscous fluid pouring out of your pussy from the lewd show in front of you. The blond man's hands were on your body for a second, but it was only a moment before he responded to the rough kiss.

You knew how it felt. To see two fucking hot guys literally fucking each other in the mouth, and you were about to come just looking at that.

Mingi was the one who wanted to stop kissing Yunho; instead, he grabbed your hair and pulled you towards him for a hungry and aggressive kiss. It tasted like a mixture of champagne and raspberries to you, which was extremely sophisticated for Mingi's cocky appearance, but Song Mingi loved to surprise, and he was just as good at it as he was at fucking.

Without hesitation, you responded to the kiss and immediately let his long tongue enter your mouth and lick you from the inside out. Mingi's fingers tugged hard at your hair as he tried to drink your very soul through the bloody kiss, and Yunho's now impatient hands pulled your dress off your chest, the cold air of the room making your nipples instantly tense. You moaned into Mingi's lips as the blond man's fingers circled your nipple, tugging lightly. Watching the pink, swollen bud roll between Yunho's long fingers, growing harder and redder under his care, the brunet's eyes dropped.

His mouth filled with saliva and his cock twitched in anticipation; he could already feel pre-cum dripping from his swollen head.

"I must fuck you, or I'll lose my mind." Mingi growled as he pressed his forehead up against yours. You chuckled slightly at how quickly his insolence vanished as the prospect of getting his cock wet loomed.

"Guess you'll have to do that then, boys."

"Oh, that's exactly what we'll do, baby." Yunho whispered in your ear as he pressed his fingers to your clit. Oh shit. Was that honeyed voice always going to be so hoarse and dominant? God, there was a hidden threat in Jeong Yunho. "Bed, immediately." He ordered as he scooped you up in his arms and carried you over to the big bed that was neatly made up. You were already starting to imagine the mess that the three of you were going to leave behind.

Mingi was already sitting comfortably on the edge of the bed, and you pushed him onto his back, riding on his slutty, thin waist, trying to take the initiative, but he just grinned.

He grinned wickedly at your attempt at dominance, but let you do what you wanted. He pulled your dress off as you left hickeys on his neck. It didn't take long for you to be pulled up against Yunho's big, hot body, and the blond man greedily took your lips in a wicked, aggressive kiss. It looks like you won't be playing with him like a puppy tonight. While Yunho was devouring your mouth, Mingi was crawling off the bed to take off his trousers and his sleeveless top, which, in truth, left very little to the imagination.

"Oh my God, Yunho, I want to taste you." You said this as you broke the kiss and moved further down the bed, motioning for him to follow you. You pulled off his shirt and ran your hands over his smooth, milky skin, sure that by the end of the night you would have left him with countless hickeys and scratches as he stripped off his jeans and underwear. When he was comfortably settled on the bed, you found yourself between his spread legs and began to kiss his neck, slowly trailing kisses down the heaving ridges of his chest and below, sliding your tongue along the pronounced outline of his firm abs.

When your head reached his crotch, you looked up innocently through fluffy lashes, knowing exactly what drives men mad, and licked your lips hungrily, running your tongue in deliberate slow motion over the plump flesh, arching your spine as you arched your arse. Beautiful boys deserve nothing but the best service. And while you wanted to be bold and dirty with Mingi, you wanted to be a gentle and submissive princess for Yunho. To be showered with praise and fucked like there was no tomorrow. And that was definitely at the top of your list of things to do in life, at least for today.

Yunho stroked his big hand over your head as if he were caressing a kitten and pressed the back of your head so that your head sank down onto his hard, massive cock. And God, it was huge, thick, and wiry, with a big, reddened head that was already dripping with pre-cum. It was a real treat for an obedient girl.

"Come on, baby, don't be shy. Show me what a good girl you can be for me." You obediently hugged at the head of his cock with your lips, savouring the low, husky moan of his as your tongue circled around it and collected the brackish liquid. Your palm could barely encircle its length as you ran it up and down, feeling the heat and throbbing of his cock as you rubbed the thick, protruding vein several times. You smeared the pre-cum and drool that flowed from your open mouth onto his cock. Swirling your tongue around the velvet head to find out what he liked best, you concentrated all your efforts on that.

Yunho threw his head back, revealing the long, seductive length of his neck, and rolled his eyes in pleasure.

"Such a good girl; you'll let me fuck you in my mouth, won't you?" You moaned around him, sending pleasurable vibrations down the length of his cock, and relaxed your mouth to allow Yunho to push his hips up and push his thick cock deeper down your throat. As Yunho wrapped both hands around your head to hold you in place, you grabbed his hips and tried to find some stability, waiting for what would happen next. The next movement of his hips pushed the head of his cock against the back of your throat, and he let out a long moan as he felt your soft, wet throat tighten around him. The sound he was making was almost enough to make you come. "That's it." The low growl in his voice gave away the more sadistic part of his personality before he returned to honeyed tenderness as he held your face in place, pressing his balls against your chin. He enjoyed the way your eyes filled with tears and the soft gurgling sounds you made around him. "Take it like a good girl. You'd like me to be proud of you, wouldn't you? Then choke the hell out of it. Make Daddy proud." He moaned again as your hands dug into his meaty thighs. But Yunho was too intoxicated by the feeling of the walls of your throat contracting each time you swallowed around his cock to notice the vicious nail marks you left on his skin.

All of a sudden, you felt a pair of strong hands grab your hips from behind and dig their fingers into your soft flesh, leaving bruises in their wake. You were so lost in the way Yunho was fucking your mouth that you almost forgot that Mingi was there too. You didn't realise what you'd let yourself in for until Mingi's fingers started to pull your panties down until they were thrown somewhere on the floor. Your wet, pretty cunt was completely exposed to his gaze. As you felt Mingi's hot breath on your naked pussy, you couldn't hold back a loud moan. His fingers parted your soft pink folds before he took a long, slow lick of your pussy, his pierced tongue causing your hole to clench up from the action. A low purr vibrated in Mingi's chest as he tasted you on his tongue, weakly rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit as he plunged the tip of his tongue into your narrow entrance.

"You better squirt in my face, doll, or you won't get my cock." His plump lips touched your pussy with every word he said and for a moment you completely lost control, dulled by the sensation of Mingi licking and tonguing your cunt.

Taking advantage of your distraction, Yunho pressed harder his cock to your throat. You felt dizzy and tried to suppress your gag reflex as the thick, long cock plunged deeper. With each thrust, the outline of his cock began to bulge as he thrust against you. Yunho was definitely a wolf in sheep's clothing, and you thought Mingi had been rough with you the last time. The only thing that kept you motivated now was the gentle smile that flashed across the handsome face of the blond man as he continued to choke you with his cock.

And damn your praise kink, it made you want to give him even more pleasure. You wanted to be his good girl, the only girl who was able to warm up his big, fat cock so well in her mouth. And for his praise, as long as he kept looking at you with that gentle pride in his chocolate honey eyes, you were willing to let him get away with whatever he wanted.

You quickly regained your composure and relaxed your throat enough to let Yunho fuck you the way he wanted. You looked up again, looking for his approval, admiring the way he was breathing hard and hitching, the deep blush spreading across his cheeks and neck. And the way he was concentrating on Mingi, who was literally drinking your pussy as if he was dying of thirst. But apparently that's not enough for him, because you feel Mingi release your hips for a second, only for him to change position - and now your now swollen cunt is hovering over his face. A loud slap on your buttocks makes you whimper and drool all over Yunho's cock as he mercilessly fucks your mouth like his personal cock sleeve.

"Now lower your sweet cunt right on my face and ride like an obedient girl. Do you understand me, dolly?" The cold metal ball barely touched your clit as he spoke, his hot breath blowing around your folds. Mingi mumbled approvingly beneath you as you moaned and pressed your pussy against his face. "And remember baby. First you squirt - then I fuck you." Without warning, two long fingers with massive rings entered you, stretching your warm silky walls. Your pussy sucked them in with need as Mingi's lips encircled your clit, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue immediately beginning to flick across the sensitive flesh. Oh, fuck.

The stimulation makes you almost buckle at the knees and pushes your cunt even harder against his face. Mingi is sucking hard on your clit, pressing down on it with his piercing as he continues to stretch you with his fingers, his other hand guiding your hips to help them roll over his face.

Hell, he might not mind dying between your legs; your cunt was so perfect—sweet and plump and pink, and God, he loved every moment of it. When his fingers found your golden centre and began to rub relentlessly, you rolled your eyes in pleasure and moaned softly. The vibrations of your voice made Yunho shiver.

Holding back a wry grin as he watched you gasp for breath, a mixture of saliva and tears dripping down your face, he finally let go of you and pulled you away from his cock. Yunho let you struggle to catch your breath, but you failed to breathe. But you hadn't had a chance to breathe when Mingi's tongue began rubbing against your clit with renewed vigour, causing you to roll forward, face against Yunho's thigh. "Look at you. You're so damn beautiful for us, aren't you? Pretty girl, you will do as you are told and come all over Mingi's face, won't you?" Yunho strokes your hair lovingly as he watches the brunette suck your pussy like a leech. The room fills with obscene slurps and squelches, punctuated by a mixture of Mingi's deep moans and your weak whimpers, and Yunho wouldn't mind taking his place now and licking you clean, and maybe he'll do it later today.

Mingi releases your clit from his lips to run his tongue greedily around the edges of your stretched-out hole a couple of times before he pulls his fingers out with an obscene squelch and replaces them with his talented pierced tongue, fucking you fast and hard until your walls are closing in around him.

"Oh, shit. Fuck, Mingi. Fuck!" You curse as you feel his plump lips curl into a smug and lecherous smile. He swirls his tongue inside your hole, dragging the metal ball on his tongue along your sensitive, trembling walls. He eats you like a fucking animal, growling into your pussy and thrusting harder, his sharp nose rubbing against your clit.

"Tastes good, doesn't it?" Yunho asks, licking his lips as if he's trying to taste you, and Mingi just moans in response, lapping up your juices as if it were his last meal on earth. You begin to feel the familiar tension building in your belly with every passing second. The sharp tip of Mingi's tongue pierces your walls, and his nose rests against your clit. Your hips start to shake, you start to stiffen, and your pussy clenches to hold the hot, slippery appendage inside.

"Damn, Mingi, I'll cum." You moan in a hoarse voice, and he slaps your arse so hard it makes you squeal. You can feel him grinning into your cunt before his teeth brush against your clit and he bites into a bundle of nerves in an experimental way.

You squeal so loudly that it seems the whole house can hear what you're doing, and to be honest, you don't really care. Let the bitches be jealous; the boys are yours. Right now, one of the hottest boys in the world is Song. Mingi is fucking your pussy with his amazing tongue, and the big fat cock of the most beautiful boy in the whole university is rubbing sweetly against your cheek. Mingi is purring softly, like a contented giant cat, as you rub your helpless body against his face. You flex your hips, squeeze his face between your legs, and force his lips into a curl in order to stimulate your hole.

The whole of your body was on fire and in the sky at the same time. Mingi's huge hands gripped the small of your back, and his own breathing became ragged as you rode on his face and shamelessly screamed out his name. Your whole body tensed like a cord; you sobbed heavily, the tears dropping from your face onto Yunho's thigh, to which you were still clinging, your thighs trembling with pleasure. You were nearing orgasm, the hot sensation of release bubbling under your skin like boiling water. As Mingi slammed the palm of his hand down on your plump buttocks once more, causing the soft flesh to tremble and blush, you came. The orgasm was absolutely devastating, with your juices pouring into his hungry mouth and Mingi gobbling them up greedily, but it still wasn't what he was looking for from you.

You had to squirt, and Mingi was not going to stop until you did. He lifted your hips off of his face, only to have two of his fingers dive into the tightness of your cunt. You gasped for breath and tried to pull away from him, squealing and biting at Yunho's thigh. With his other hand, Mingi pressed you against his face, while he continued mercilessly and roughly fingered your over-excited pussy, now flowing like a waterfall.

Mingi pulled away from your clit with a wet bang, then flattened his tongue and used a small metal ball to stimulate your tortured clit. You felt the onset of a second orgasm, and your walls tightened around Mingi's fingers, the heavy, solid rings pressing against your plush flesh. His wet lips and chin opened and closed slowly as he breathed heavily and continued to torment you.

"Come on, sweetie, squirt on his face so I can finally fuck you. Fucking princess, come for us." Yunho growls as he wraps his fingers around your cheeks and turns your face around so that you're looking at him. "Make your daddy proud." The tone of his voice and the demand itself send you over the edge of euphoria as you shake your whole body and experience an embarrassingly intense orgasm, splashing Mingi's chin and lips with your juices as he swallows them with a satisfied smile. Mingi presses your hips up against his face and helps you through a powerful orgasm, your eyes rolling.

Your eyes are rolling up, your mouth is opening, and your tongue is flicking out. You're so fucked already, and they haven't even fucked you right, but fuck you want them to, and even if you pass out somewhere along the way, you'll be riding their dicks tonight.

Mingi rests his nose against your pubic bone for a second and lets out a heavy sigh before he picks you up and climbs out from underneath you. He gives you and Yunho one of his stupid, drunken smiles and licks his lips in satisfaction. Your juices run down his face, neck, and slowly rising chest as he crawls up to your face. But instead of giving you the attention you crave, his lips press against Yunho's in a completely wild and aggressive kiss that can hardly be called a kiss—it's all tongues and teeth.

When Yunho pulls away from him, he curves his beautiful lips loathingly.

"You bastard."

"You're the one who wanted to know what she tastes like. I'm just giving you a taste of heaven." Then he leans down and presses her wet lips to the side of his ear. "The doll can suck your cock as much as you want, but I'm going to be the one who drinks her pussy."

"I think you should stop measuring dicks and give me a good fuck instead, or should I find someone else to do it with?" You raised your head to look at them. Seeing the shocked look on their pretty faces after your words, a small smile formed on your lips.

"Looks like the doll is getting a little cocky, huh?" Mingi said to you as he pulled your boddy up to his chest.

You could feel Yunho's lips pressing against your ear before he whispered to you in his honeyed, sultry voice.

"Baby, if you misbehave, I'll have to punish you, and I have a feeling you won't be able to walk by the time I'm through with you."

"We'll be done." Mingi corrected him.

"Well, I guess I should just keep going and see what you can do. Because I'm pretty sure I can handle both of you."

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visionsofmagic · 5 months

Text

◜ mk1 men when you meet with their evil versions [+bonus]◞

▸ characters: raiden, johnny cage, kuai liang, tomas & [+bonus} bi han: meeting with his good version ◂ ▸wc: 2.7k

▸ tags&notes: drabble, fluff, hurt/comfort, spicy, flirting, touching, gentle, rough, lots of usage of version & timeline words (like in the game, lol), dilemma, betrayal, angst (a little bit), humor, use of y/n, pet names, no specification of gender (as I remember), well, ‘s all I guess? (lol, this is the mixed tags I have ever wrote, but, it’s a drabble, so… enjoy!◂ ▸ m.

RAIDEN can be one of the most precious men you have met, and falling for him is the rightest thing that has happened to you – however, contrary to how a loving boyfriend he is in your timeline, he’s the opposite one when it comes to his another version you have come across.

everything about his evil, the version seems all the same and different at the same time as he makes his way towards you, having the red color on unlike what your raiden wear normally. the only thing that reminds of him is the hat that covers his face from you until he slowly raises his head, eyes glowing red while looking at you from above. the danger is radiating from his presence, giving you a cold chill down your spine, making you crawl back step by step because of being on your ass, sitting on the ground after the fight has begun between you and the other timeline.

“oh,” he says, a smirk appears on his pretty face – not the one your raiden has, the one that is the representation of the most beautiful flower in the entire world, no, this one gives the feeling of an ivy full of poison. “y/n?” gulping, you remember the words that left liu kang’s mouth about how raiden once lost himself and sought the power to protect the earthrealm at any cost.

you stop when your back touches a wall, leaving no place to run either when raiden kneels before you, red lightning traveling on his body that looks so powerful that you find yourself getting weak – not only because of the aura he has unlike the one the raiden you know has, but also because how it seems that he pulls you closer to him. somehow, he makes you lose all logical sides of your brain with the way he looks down at you; prevailing.

“raiden?” you ask, sounding soft which earns a smirk from him as he holds you by the chin.

“oh my love, you’re so soft – so fragile. it seems your raiden doesn’t give you enough – he is still weak. with that power, he can’t protect you, but I can,” his fingers move from your chin to your cheek, and lightning under his skin tickles yours. “come with me. I will protect you and the earthrealm from any danger out there.”

“I can’t –“ you utter, sounding not so sure of the decision but your heart knows the best – and that is to stay beside your raiden, the one who has you completely, not the one seeking power even though he needs to end his friends’ life or even another timeline to accomplish it. “I will never leave my raiden’s side.”

“how loyal,” he says, both irritated by the fact that your bond with the raiden in your timeline can’t be broken and proud of how loyal you’re for your love. “I wish we met in my timeline.”

with his confession, he leaves you behind, going to fight with others – how ironic, he comes here to end any life form yet he shows mercy when it comes to you. whatever it is that makes him do that, doesn’t matter, you say to yourself as you get up and go to help your raiden, hoping he will never turn evil.

JOHNNY CAGE in your own timeline is flirtatious and teasing enough – or as you thought until you see his evil version from another timeline after the great fight has begun. you can’t distinguish him from your johnny – but the moment his eyes find you, admiring how you easily defeat one his companions on the way to the top, he whistles playfully.

when you turn to see him, ready to make a moral lesson about how he shouldn’t be humoristic in a fight for death and life, you see his eyes scanning your body from head to toe shamelessly. realization hits you like a ball in the face; he’s not your johnny. he doesn’t care about anything in the world, well, your johnny didn’t either before meeting with you.

acknowledging that you see the danger when he winks at you, eyes finally directed to your face. “well, hello cutie. aren’t you such a beauty who will make aphrodite jealous?” he leaves a chuckle when you roll your eyes. without positioning a fight stance, you begin to walk towards him so that you can pass by his side – you can’t stand a version of johnny who is cockier and open-mouthed.

“woah woah,” he stops in front of you, hands on his chest, smirking, “already going, baby? c’mon, there is no man who deserves your attention as I do – not even your johnny if there is one.”

crossing your arms, a weary expression lightens your face up – still, you can feel the heat rushing to your body because of his flirty manner and words. johnny cage will be able to make you giggle with his demeanor with every version of him, won’t he?

“what do you want? a fight? then do it with someone else.” a dismissive hand movement makes him close the gap between you, eyes shining at your words.

“why pretty? can’t hit my handsome face? I bet you love seeing it.”

“u-huh,” you say, smiling as you put a hand on his shoulder, winking at him when he gets excited at the action. “you’re right I can’t hit my boyfriend’s pretty face,” you show his back, “but he can.”

when he turns around after you take a few steps back to leave enough room for your boyfriend to hit his own-self’s face with a strong punch, you chuckle. it’s a sight that will never leave your mind.

“hey pretty,” your johnny says, gripping you by the waist and pulling you closer. chest to chest, he puts a kiss on your lips, acting like there’s no battle happening around you, taking the taste of you that he missed so much even though he had you before this hell. “you missed me so much that you began to chat with cheaper versions of me?”

“of course not. no one can be like you baby.”

“oh hell yeah!” he chuckles, taking you by the hand, “then, let’s kick some ass, well,” he takes a quick look around before turning to you, “our ass.”

KUAI LIANG of your timeline can’t be looking as dangerous as his evil version even when he has a venomous fire radiating directed to the enemies. your boyfriend tends to have a tender side in him, especially for you. he’s the fire itself – using it to burn the ones who deserve it, and for warming you at any cost, in any place because he loves you so much that he can’t let himself go all wide beside you.

however, his evil version is nothing similar to him – maybe in a few situations but not on the battlefield in which no single soul can escape from the wrath scorpion has.

watching him from afar, for a moment, you can’t help but feel both power flowing through his armored body within the flames rising on the outline of his build, and hatred.

he mesmerizes you in aspects it shouldn’t have – how can you feel a connection between an evil version of kuai liang when you’re destined to protect your own realm, fighting right beside your boyfriend? guilt rushing to you as scorpion becomes aware of your existence, looking at you after he takes down an ally – your wide eyes that do not leave him is the impulse of it.

“hmm,” he says, slowly approaching you – you try to move, you really do but you simply can’t, not when every step he takes towards you sends a jolt of excitement and fear to your core, alerting you to either run so fast or stay still and you choose the second option without realizing it until he stops in front of you. “liked what you see, princess?”

he flirts, teases, and even sounds as if your kuai liang except he has a bloodcurdling tone in his voice.

when you don’t respond, eyes scanning his suit – looks like he came from straight hell, or he’s the hell, he scoffs, gloved hand replaces under your chin, pulling you closer to him as you rise on your toes to reach his height, hands finding his chest not to fall. “isn’t my version in this timeline enough for you that you eyeing me too? maybe he’s not good at satisfying you.”

heat rising within you, you can’t stop looking at his eyes – burning with flames, magically, yet seeming real as the blood covering his suit. you want to feel disgusted, but you’re far away from having such emotion.

when he lowers his head, closer to you, you hear kuai liang’s voice behind you – taking you from daydreaming to reality, making you realize you let his evil version do whatever he wants with you. “y/n!”

with such speed, you get away from him, ready to stay in fighting style when your kuai liang covers your body like a shield, standing between you and his evil version.

“you should go,” he says, taking a look at your face as he prepares himself to battle with an armored scorpion whose eyes never leave yours, still attempting to capture you. attempt fails when you shake your head negatively when kuai liang adds, “I will deal with him.”

“no,” you sound certain, standing beside your boyfriend, an assuring smile on your face, “we will fight together.”

evil version only chuckles at that, darkly, and with that, “if it’s what you wish, my love.”

“not yours. mine. and I will make sure to show you that.”

TOMAS’ determination is visible through his movements, unlike the one yours has, his eyes bright with such madness that your heart begins to pound in fear, not knowing whether he sees you as a treat or not – yet, he should, in the end, you’re not his partner in his timeline and he’s here to fight, not spare you just because his soft version gives his heart to you.

“tomas –“ the words leave your mouth, no particular control on it since it just splits out of you easily, to get a reaction from tomas – a good one.

“not your tomas,” he utters, playing with his karambit knife to show the readiness he has, waiting for the exact moment to attack you or defend himself if you take a sudden move, yet, you two agree upon a thing even without knowing it; neither he or you’re brave enough to hurt another, not when you have the love of his version in your timeline – his reason is unknown though. “I am better.”

“maybe you’re, maybe you’re not. it doesn’t matter,” you say, trying to find a feature that has hints of goodness in it by watching him raise one of his eyebrows, clearly curious about the rest of your speech. “for me, my tomas is the best, and he will remain as one.”

he chuckles, “is that so?” he’s more excited than you expect him to be. arms unite on his chest, making him look more dominant than you used to see. “I wonder what he does for you to say that – believe that.”

“he’s not hurting me,” he shuts you down – the thing your tomas will never do, he’s such a gentleman.

“I am not hurting you either,” seeing your relaxed body, he shakes his head, and with a smoke pump, he disappears in sight only to appear behind you, hands hugging you from behind, caging you inside his arms – tight enough to not let you go yet tenderness can be felt as well. he whispers into your ear from his mask, chin touching your shoulder as you take deep breaths because of the proximity you begin to share. other than your boyfriend tomas, you don’t get close with people and since he’s tomas but a more evil version from somewhere else, it feels odd – and excitement mixing within. “but I can’t promise for the future. if you just let me –“

when his fingers find your neck, you push him back, turning around, you take a defense stance, furrowing both at yourself and him – how could he? your tomas would never do things that make you comfortable even in the moments it feels breathtaking. “I should make you regret even suggesting such a thing!”

“no need love,” the time stops for a second, and the heart and soul find the ultimate medicine in the voice of your lover, tomas, whose fingertips touch your upper arms gently, traveling from there until they reach your wrists – his chest touches your back and the remaining marks of his evil version, the ones give you danger, fading away. “at the end of the day, he will not be able to utter any other inappropriate words with you,” staying beside you, he smiles at you – angelic. when he turns to his version, he looks deadly – you have never seen him like this, and from the way he stands, you believe he is determined to make him regret for your sake. “when I am done with him, he will never have the courage to show his face in here.”

“such bigger words from my weaker version,” the other tomas says.

shielding you, tomas bite him back, “I will show you how powerful I can be for my goddess.”

BI HAN’s betrayal still eats you alive, the marks of it have its ghost on your skin and soul; broken pieces, and a wound on the cheek that you got from one of his ice blades he threw to kuai liang whom you intended to protect at any cost, not wanting him to get into a fight with his older brother.

you believed it wasn’t bi han who was speaking – it was his madness that needed to be calmed down – you tried though, you really did but the moment you got hurt, you saw the guilt and concern in his brown eyes before they turned to pure fury as he sought of obedience from all of you.

the brief moment created a bloom in your chest for a spell but it vanished as it came, taking hope into the deepest part of your heart as you watched bi han and kuai liang fight, wishing there wouldn’t be a miscommunication among you all, however, you knew bi han’s obsession with power for lin kuei got more dominant than he felt for you.

it was sad – to see bi han, your bi han, go away from you slowly, not understanding why you don’t agree to be on his side, he feels his own betrayal coming from you – before the fight, he said how he was wounded at your choice – didn’t you love him? he asked and his broken voice now fills your mind as you look at your hands – then, a movement catch your eyes as you wait for the big fight.

“who did this to you?” someone asks – not someone, a voice says, and when his fingertips touch your chin, lifting your head up from where you sit, you see eyes that resemble your bi han. he’s from another timeline, probably in which he doesn’t seek power like the way your bi han does.

tears appear in your eyes, and to hide them, you fend off his gentle touch, not letting him touch the wound directly, “it doesn’t matter anymore.”

he stays silent, realizing it is bi han, in your realm and he sighs, touching you once again even if you keep as distant as possible you can, not wanting to cry in the middle of a battle area where people go and come as they wait for the upcoming fight. “I am sorry,” he says, and for a moment, you hear the voice of your bi han before coming to your senses.

“it wasn’t you – so, you’re not responsible for saying sorry.”

“but you need it,” he convinces, holding you by the cheek, covering the wound with his palm as if he gives healing through the touch, “and I am here to give it to you.”

you smile, not caring that tears flow into your cheeks, and to his hand – he knows you, not better than your bi han does, but enough to make you sense the comfort you seek within him. “stop talking or I will begin to believe I can beat the bi han’s possession.”

he smiles under his mask, and it reaches his eyes – he looks innocence incarnate. “you will. believe me when I say it, pretty,” he caresses your skin, the free hand positions on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze, “he will learn that there is no greater need except – you, his beloved one.”

💙

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